The man for me

Is it you??

The news hit the Vanguard Dance Academy like a physical shockwave, turning the humid, sweat-scented air into something sharp and electric. Roxy was in the hallway, adjusting the strap of Maya’s backpack before she sent her off to the daycare center three blocks away, when she heard the first scream. It wasn't a scream of pain, but the high-pitched, frenzied trill of dancers who had just seen a god descend from Olympus.

"He’s coming! Oh my god, he’s actually coming!"

Favour was standing in front of the main bulletin board, her hands pressed to her cheeks, surrounded by a cluster of girls who were all hyperventilating over a glossy, oversized poster that had been pinned to the cork.

Roxy felt a strange, cold prickle at the base of her neck. She stood frozen, her hand still resting on Maya’s shoulder. She didn't want to look. Every instinct in her body told her to pick up her daughter, walk out the double glass doors, and never return to the world of professional dance again. But her feet, trained for years to follow a beat, moved her forward against her will.

She nudged past a pair of junior students and looked at the poster.

The man in the image was leaning against a concrete wall, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were a map of corded muscle and subtle veins. His hair was slightly longer than it had been five years ago, swept back in a way that emphasized the harsh, beautiful angles of his face. His eyes—those dark, penetrating eyes that had once looked at Roxy as if she were the only woman on earth—were staring directly into the lens.

"GUEST CHOREOGRAPHER: NELSON VANCE. EXCLUSIVE SIX-WEEK RESIDENCY FOR NATIONAL SELECTIONS."

The name felt like a punch to the solar plexus. Roxy’s vision blurred at the edges, the sounds of the chattering girls fading into a dull, underwater roar. The world tilted. She felt Maya’s small hand slip into hers, the warmth of the child’s touch the only thing keeping her grounded to the floor.

"Mommy? You’re squeezing my hand too hard," Maya whispered.

Roxy immediately let go, her heart hammering a frantic, irregular rhythm against her ribs. She looked down at Maya, and for the first time in years, the resemblance was so terrifyingly clear it made her nauseous. Maya had his brow. She had his mouth—the one that had whispered promises of a "moment" into Roxy’s ear while the city lights twinkled behind them.

"I'm sorry, baby," Roxy breathed, her voice shaking. "Go on to school. Miss Hattie is waiting for you."

She watched Maya walk away with the daycare assistant, her mind a chaotic storm of "what ifs." Nelson was coming here. To this studio. To the very room where she spent ten hours a day. He was the man who had disappeared into the London fog, the man who had left her with a life of struggle and a secret that felt like a ticking time bomb.

"Don't even bother looking at the poster, Roxy," Vivienne’s voice cut through the air like a serrated blade.

The headmistress was standing at the end of the hall, her arms crossed over her chest, a look of smug triumph on her face. "A man of Nelson’s caliber is here to work with investments. He’s here to polish Favour for the gold. He doesn't have time for background dancers who can’t keep their personal lives off the studio floor."

Roxy turned, her face pale but her eyes burning with a sudden, defensive fire. "He’s a choreographer, Vivienne. He’ll want the best dancers in the room. He always has."

Vivienne laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "He’s a businessman now. He knows where the money is. And more importantly, he knows who belongs in the spotlight. Make sure the locker rooms are scrubbed before he arrives on Monday. I want this place smelling like success, not sweat and cheap diapers."

Roxy waited until Vivienne disappeared into her office before she let out the breath she’d been holding. She turned back to the poster, her fingers hovering just inches away from the image of Nelson’s face.

She remembered the way his skin had felt against hers. She remembered the weight of his body and the way he had looked at her in the dark, as if he were memorizing her. Had it all been a lie? To him, she was just a girl in a red dress, a fleeting memory he’d probably forgotten by the time his plane touched down in Heathrow. But to her, he was the beginning and the end of her heart’s peace.

She walked into the empty Studio B and sat on the floor, the mirrors reflecting her solitude. She had forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours to figure out how to stand in a room with him and pretend she didn't know the taste of his lips. Forty-eight hours to decide if she should run away or stay and fight for the career she deserved.

But as she looked at her reflection—the worn-out leggings, the tired eyes, the fierce determination in her jaw—she realized she couldn't run. She had a daughter to feed. She had a dream that was dying on the vine.

If Nelson Vance wanted a dancer, she would give him the performance of a lifetime. She would be a shadow. She would be a professional. She would be invisible.

Across town, in a luxury hotel suite he had booked under a pseudonym, Nelson Vance was standing on a balcony, looking out at the city skyline. He held a glass of scotch, the ice clinking against the crystal. He felt a strange, magnetic pull toward the north side of the city, a restless energy he couldn't explain.

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket—a printout of the Vanguard Academy’s roster. His eyes scanned the names. Favour. Sarah. Chloe.

Then he saw it. At the very bottom of the list, marked in small print as "General Ensemble/Maintenance."

Roxy.

He didn't have a last name. He didn't have a photo. But the name alone made his pulse quicken.

"Is it you?" he murmured to the wind. "Are you still dancing, or have you let the world break you?"

He downed the scotch, the burn of the alcohol matching the fire in his gut. He had come back for a reason, and he wouldn't stop until he found the girl who had haunted his dreams for 1,825 days. He didn't know about the child. He didn't know about the cruelty she had endured. He only knew that on Monday morning, the music would start, and he would finally find out if the rhythm they shared was still alive.

Monday was coming. And for Roxy, it would be the day her past and her future collided in a way that would leave the entire world of dance in ashes.