Hansel 2: An Erotic Fairy Tale (10 page)

              I thought I knew what it was like to dance with a skilled partner, a woman who could match my every step. My drive.

              My passion.

              Then I met
her
.             

              Every step she takes conjures wild, dark fantasies in my mind. Every sway of those hips demands satisfaction. My hands on her body. Her lips parted in the sweet gasp of release. Easing those sweet thighs apart and sinking inside deep her, inch by ravenous inch.

              Her innocence is intoxicating. My lust is fierce. Primal.

              To watch her dance is to know the torment of true temptation.

              She will be mine.

Annalise

I’m in a gorgeous square in the middle of Rome, staring at the most beautiful fountain I’ve ever seen, when it hits me: I think I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Around me, the rest of my dance company are happily snapping photos of the view, but when I look into the water, all I see is the impossible task ahead of me. Two months to dance like I’ve never danced before. Two months to save my career before it’s over for good.

Maybe I should just go home.

No
. I stop that thought dead. There’s no way I can ever go home.

It was a last-minute thing. I came home to find my mom dragging my suitcases out of storage, a determined look on her face. “Someone dropped out of the touring company,” she announced. “I pulled some strings and got you the spot. You leave for Rome tomorrow.”

Rome?

I stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

“I was dancing solos at your age,” Mom reminded me, as if I didn’t already know. “
The Black Swan
,
Coppelia
... But you’re still in the
corps de ballet
,” she said, referring to the lowest rung of the company, the nameless, faceless group who dance behind the major stars, out of the spotlight.

There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s where all dancers start. I freaked out the day the letter arrived. I’d been accepted into the American Ballet Company, the most prestigious dance company in New York. All of my hard work, the years of training and sacrifice, had paid off. Maybe now, Mom would finally give me a break.

I could make her proud.

But the shimmer of membership quickly faded. Soon, just being one of the company wasn’t enough. It was about moving up, getting noticed, winning solos and larger roles. The training got harder, the competition more fierce. For the past year, I’d felt like I was running on a treadmill that only went faster: pushing myself harder, just to stay in the same place.

“I’m trying, Mom,” I protested. “You’ve seen how hard I’ve worked.”

“Not lately.” She gave me a cool look. “You’ve only been at the studio late four nights this week. When I was your age, I danced every night until my toes bled, and went straight back in the morning for more.”

I felt a flush of shame as she looked me up and down, adding, “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your weight creep up. We need to cut back again.”

I can’t escape my mother’s legacy. She was one of the best
prima ballerinas
of her era, and she still she has tons of fans—and a long list of people she trampled on her way to the top.

“But what does this mean about Rome?” I asked, confused.

“All the top dancers are staying here for the fall season,” Mom added scathingly. “This is the only way we can get you noticed. The other girls will be out partying, messing around. You can beat them. That is, unless you want to throw away everything we’ve worked for.”

For a moment, I thought about saying ‘no.’ The truth is, I wasn’t so certain I wanted this anymore—the work, the long hours, all the counting calories and missing out on normal teenage life. But I knew only one answer would do. “I’m ready,” I said quietly, and went to start packing.

But now, one week and a thousand miles later, I wish I’d been strong enough to tell the truth. Because here, away from my usual routine filling every hour of every day, I can’t help but hear the whispers of doubt I’ve fought so hard to keep at bay.

What if you’re just not good enough?

“Make a wish.”

A voice interrupts my thoughts and I snap my head up. An old Italian woman is hawking souvenirs around the crowd, carrying racks of keychains and cheap jewelry.

I stare at her, confused. She nods at the fountain, already sparkling with coins that shine through the clear waters. “You make a wish in the Trevi Fountain, it always comes true.”

I dig a Euro coin from my pocket.

“Wish for happiness and love.” The old woman winks at me, then moves off into the crowd.

I pause, turning the coin over in my hand. Wishing for happiness ... I give a wry smile. The woman has clearly never met a ballerina. We could never waste a wish on that, not with a lifetime of hard sacrifice behind us, training for hours every day, dancing until our toes bleed and our limbs ache.

We don’t dance to be happy. We dance because we have to. That instinct driving us on.

I flip the coin into the air, watching as the sunlight reflects on metal: a dazzling beam in the bright afternoon.

Please let me win the solo. Please let me be good enough. Please let me make her proud.

The coin slips into the water with a ripple, lost in the bed of other coins, other hopeful wishes.

I just pray that mine comes true.

**

Annalise and Raphael’s seductive dance begins in FIRST POSITION, out now!

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE DIRTY DANCING SERIES…

www.facebook.com/melodygracebooks

twitter.com/melody_grace_
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23361447-first-position”