19. Dia

NINETEEN

I parkmy rental car in the lot behind the dance studio Bella asked me to meet her at. This is the first time we've hung out since Vegas, but when we were texting a few days ago, the subject of dancing came up. Neither of us have been able to do it since the Super Bowl, so we decided to meet up here instead of at Maverick's place in the city. Since she can't really just make a normal trip to a coffee shop for a girls' day without being flocked by fans, we had to find a studio that was willing to let us dance when nobody else was here.

Just as I undo my seatbelt, my phone rings from where it sits in the cupholder. I pick it up to see the same Chicago number that's been calling me since the other night. Eventually, I'm going to have to answer if I want it to stop, but now is not a good time for that conversation. I need to dance, and I know it'll just bring me down.

Not today, Satan.

I grab my bag from the trunk and make my way to the studio entrance, where Bella's bodyguard is standing. "Good afternoon, Miss Spencer," he says in greeting. I almost correct him with my married name on instinct but remember that nobody besides Blaze and Mads knows about it. I've decided to keep it that way for now. Not because I don't trust Bella, but the less people we involve in this whole situation, the better. The fact that the media still hasn't caught on to Dalton Davis getting married in Vegas is a miracle in itself. We're halfway through our six-week period and hopefully we can quietly divorce without having to explain anything to anyone.

"Hey, Carlo!" I say. "I assume my dance partner is inside?"

He nods his head. "Miss Simon is waiting for you." He opens the door, letting me inside before shutting it securely behind me.

The studio is a wide-open space with mirrors along every wall and a ballet barre stretching from one end to the other. Bella is sitting on the floor in the far corner, lacing up her sneakers. Her long, blonde hair is pulled up into space buns on each side of her head and her black leggings and sports bra cling tightly to her toned body. She looks every bit the world-famous pop star she is. But at the same time, she has that girl next door vibe. She looks up, a smile covering her face when she sees me.

"Dia!" she says, jumping up. "I'm so glad you're here." She gives me a hug in greeting, which I return. When I lived in Chicago, Mads was the only friend I had. That was kind of by choice. I obviously struggle with letting people get too close, and that has affected my ability to put myself out there with making new friends. Looking back, that probably put a lot of pressure on Mads, knowing she was all I had. But now that I'm here in Boston, I want to do better. This is a fresh start for me, and a way to slowly break out of those old habits. I may still be afraid of love and heartbreak, but I'm hopeful that I can open myself to making new friends out here. Bella couldn't be a more perfect person to start with, because like me, she's struggled to make friends that she felt like she could truly trust.

"Me, too," I reply. "I'm happy to have someone to dance with. I've missed it."

She laughs. "I miss it, too, but I definitely don't miss the hours of practicing to perfect a routine. It'll be nice just to do it for fun." Bella is taking a year off from performing for the first time in a decade, so I can imagine how amazing it must feel to dance for herself. Me, on the other hand? I'd love to do it as a job. It's always been my dream to turn dancing into a career, but once that seed of doubt was put in my head, making it a reality seemed to move further and further out of reach. Then when my parents got busted and needed my help, I couldn't even afford classes at the YMCA. All I had was a broken full-length mirror and the bare floor in the bedroom of our trailer. I'd put on my pointe shoes and do fouetté turns for hours because there was no space for anything else.

I open my bag and grab my sneakers. If Bella wants someone to dance with, that's what I'll give her. I love hip-hop just as much as I love ballet, so it doesn't matter to me what we do. I just want to move.

She stands, connecting her phone to the studio's speaker system. When she queues up Come My Way by PLVTINUM and motions for me to start us off, I walk to the center of the floor. When the lyrics come in, I begin freestyling with absolutely no idea what I even want this to look like. After four sets of eight counts, I start again, waiting for Bella to memorize my steps and fall in with me. When she does, a smile blooms across my face as I look at our reflection in the mirror. We're perfectly in sync. Bella smiles back, choreographing the next section as I watch, jumping in once the moves are drilled into my memory. When we put them together, it"s fucking magic. If someone walked in those doors right now, they'd think we've been dancing together for years. I didn't realize how much I needed this until now.

The song ends and I drop to the floor, pretending to faint as Bella follows me, laughing. She probably thinks I'm completely joking, but holy shit. I'm out of breath. I guess not dancing like this for months in a row will do that to you. But even though I feel like I'm dying as I sit here, struggling to catch my breath, I've never felt so alive. I just danced with the biggest pop star in the world.

"Do you mind if we do that again while I record it on my phone?" Bella asks.

I shrug, "Yeah, sure. But I need five. At least," I say with a laugh.

After I catch my breath, we hop back up and repeat the choreography while she takes a video on her phone. The second time through is even more flawless than the first. With all the stuff going on in my life right now, dancing here today has eased some of the anxiety and worry about what the next few weeks hold.

We decide to use the last thirty minutes of our time on ballet, but when I go to pull my pointe shoes out of my bag, I notice one of the ribbons has come off. I'll admit I've never been the most skilled seamstress, so I often have to re-attach ribbons after my weak stitches come undone. But this pair of shoes is particularly old and worn, so I'm not sure if it's worth fixing them.

"I don't have a kit in my bag," I tell her. "Looks like I'm done for the day."

"That's okay," she replies, putting hers away. "I'm not really that strong of a ballet dancer anyway. I just do it to keep my flexibility and posture where it needs to be."

We sit there for awhile longer, just talking about life. Well, I let her talk because I don't have much I really want to say right now. She tells me how she met Maverick's parents a couple of weeks ago and was shocked that his dad owned all of her albums.

I wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend whose family welcomed you with open arms. With Josh, it was pretty clear that he never intended on introducing me to his parents. Every time I would bring it up, he'd make some excuse about not wanting them involved in our relationship. But now I realize it's because he never intended to keep me in his life.

When our time is up, Bella and I pack our bags and promise to meet up again soon before heading out the door. I toss my bag into the back of my rental car before getting in the driver's seat and checking my phone. I have eleven missed calls, and as I hold it out in front of me, it rings again.

Fuck it. It's time to end this, once and for all.

"Hello."