“This next performer you’re about to see is Miss Aubrey Everhart.” There was pride in his voice. “She is playing the role of Odette/Odile in Duke’s production of Swan Lake, and when I tell you that she is one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen...” He paused as the crowd’s chatter dissolved into silence. “I need you to take my word for it.”

One of the photographers in the front row snapped a picture of me, temporarily rendering me blind by the flash.

“As most of you know,” he continued, “I’ve worked with the best of the best, spent countless years in Russia studying under the greats, and after a long and illustrious career with the New York Ballet Company, I’ve retired to teach those with untapped potential.”

There was a loud applause. Everyone in the room knew who Paul Petrova was, and even though most in the field were confused as to why he’d ever want to teach in Durham, no one dared to question his decision.

“I hope you’ll come out and see the first transformation of the Duke ballet program in the spring,” he said as he slowly walked to the other side of the stage. “But for now, Miss Everhart will perform a short duet from Balanchine’s Serenade, with her partner Eric Lofton!”

The audience clapped again, and the lights above them dimmed. A soft spotlight shone on me and Eric, and the violinists began to play.

Short, soft notes filled the room, and I stood on my toes—trying to dance as delicately as the music demanded. Yet, with each step, all I could picture was Andrew kissing me, fucking me, and ultimately lying to me.

“I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey. I trust you for some strange reason...”

I pushed Eric away when he held out his hands, and twirled across the stage until he came after me. He held my face in his hands—as if he was begging me to stay, but I spun away again, launching myself into a full set of nonstop pirouettes.

I was angry, I was hurt, and I wasn’t holding anything back as I showed off just how well I could dance en pointe.

The second the violinists struck the last note, the audience let out a collective gasp and applauded the loudest they had all night.

“Wow...” Eric whispered as he took a bow next to me. “I don’t think anyone will talk shit about you getting the swan role after that...”

“People have been talking shit about me?” I raised my eyebrow, but I already knew the answer to that. A junior landing the top role over all the seniors was unheard of.

“Bravo, Miss Everhart.” Mr. Petrova walked over to me. “She’s going to blow you all away in the spring, I’m sure of it!”

Another round of applause began to build and he moved the mic away from his mouth. “Where are your parents? I’d like for them to come up for a picture.”

“They’re out of town.” I lied. I hadn’t wasted my time even attempting to invite them to this.

“Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sure they’re very proud of you. You can exit the stage now.”

“Thank you.” I headed into the dressing room and changed into a short white silk dress and a grey feathered headband. As I looked myself over in the mirror, I smiled. There was no way anyone could tell that I was an emotional wreck inside.

I pulled out my phone and noticed a new voicemail from GBH. I knew it was about me missing my internship for the fourth day in a row, so I deleted it. Then something came over me and I googled “Andrew Hamilton” for the umpteenth time this week—hoping something would pop up.

Nothing. Again.

With the exception of his perfectly poised photo on GBH’s website and that less than telling bio, there was no information about him anywhere.

I’d even tried “Andrew Hamilton: New York, lawyer,” but the results were just as dismal. It was as if he hadn’t come into existence until starting at GBH.

“Great performance, Aubrey...” Jennifer, one of Duke’s top seniors, suddenly stepped into the bathroom. “It really is an honor watching someone so young and underdeveloped get unnecessary credit.”

I rolled my eyes and zipped my purse.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Do you honestly think you’re going to last until the spring performance?”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to stand here and continue this dumbass conversation?”

“You should.” She smirked. “Because between you and me, four years ago—back before your time...There was a certain dancer picked to be the lead in Sleeping Beauty, a double major. She was quite talented—a natural really, but she caved under pressure because she couldn’t devote as many hours to the craft as the dancers who only wanted to dance.”

“Is there a point to this story?”

“I took her spot and I was only a freshman.” She smiled. “Now I’m a senior, and a certain someone is dancing in the role that belongs to me. So, just like back then, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I get what’s rightfully mine.”

I shook my head and moved past her, ignoring the fact that she’d whispered “stupid bitch” under her breath. I was supposed to return to the gallery room and watch the other performers, but I needed a break.

I slipped past the sliding doors on the other side of the room and stepped into the gallery’s bistro. It was much quieter on this side, and the people sitting at the tables seemed to be preoccupied with conversations not centered on ballet.

“Miss?” A tuxedoed waiter stepped in front of me with a tray. “Would you be interested in a complimentary glass of champagne?”

“Two, please.”

He raised his eyebrow, but handed me two glasses anyway.

With no grace whatsoever, I tossed one back, then the other—licking the rims to make sure I didn’t miss a drop.

“Where’s your bar?” I asked.

“Our bar? I don’t think the patrons of the art gallery are permitted to—”

“Please don’t make me ask again.”

He pointed to the other side of the room where a few smokers were sitting, and I walked toward them.

“What can I get for you tonight, Miss?” The bartender smiled as I approached. “Would you like to try one of our house specials?”

“Can any of those help me forget about sleeping with a married man?”

The smile on his face faded and he set out three shot glasses, filling them with what I could only hope was the strongest liquor in the house.

I slid my credit card across the counter and downed the first one in seconds—shutting my eyes as the burning sensation crawled down my throat. I held the next one against my lips, and I suddenly heard a familiar laugh.

It was low and gravelly, and I’d heard it a million times before.

I turned around and spotted Andrew sitting at a table with a woman who was not his wife. I didn’t want to admit it, but she was pretty. Very, very pretty: Auburn hair with blond highlights, deep green eyes, and perky breasts that were too perfect to be natural.

She was rubbing him on his shoulder and giggling every ten seconds.

Andrew seemed undaunted by her affection, and as he signaled for the check, I could only assume how their night would end.

I tried to turn away—to act like seeing him with someone else wasn’t affecting me, but I couldn’t help it.