Daniella stopped stroking my leg. ‘Why would she do that?’
‘No idea.’
‘And what, she’s just landed herself an audition right off the bat, after years of being out of the business?’
I shrugged. ‘Carlos saw her dance. He hand-picked her to come in.’
Daniella laughed. ‘Oh great. He’s plucking dancers off the streets now, is he?’
‘Hardly the streets. He saw her at her dance studio, when you guys were there auditioning. Apparently, she had picked up all the steps and he was impressed when he caught her practising them after she thought he had left.’
This was weird. I was feeling defensive over Lira, despite me not wanting her to get the job, either. What waswrongwith me?
‘Do you know her, then?’ asked Daniella. ‘From before?’
‘Not really,’ I said flippantly. ‘We met once, I think, years ago. In Paris.’
There it was again, the dreaded feeling in my stomach, the strange sense of pain I still felt about how all of that had played out; pain over one night of, admittedly phenomenal, sex; pain I was pretty sure I had inflicted on several women in my lifetime, and there would be more to come, I was sure.
How pathetic of me. Basically, Lira had treated me like I had treated many other people, as though I was something to be used and discarded. I would have begged her to stay if I could have. And now here she was, back in my life, and there was no way I was going to let her get under my skin again.
I sat up. Perhaps if I walked, got some fresh air, I would feel better.
‘Have to go,’ I said, kissing Daniella’s wrist before sliding out of bed and looking for my clothes, noticing the look of rejection on her face. I felt terrible.
‘Let us hang out again soon,si?’ I said, feeling as though I needed to give her something. Although I wasn’t sure that seeing each other again would help either of us in the long run.
Walking back to the tube, I checked my phone. I had received a message from my mother.
Happy birthday, my darling! Call me when you can.
Damn. I really had tried to forget it was my birthday today. I had never liked birthdays. Actually, that was notstrictly true – as a kid they had been fun. I had often spent them in Argentina with Mama and my grandmother while my father stayed at home in Italy to look after the farm. But once I started dancing professionally, once I moved away from home and was travelling from competition to competition and then later from show to show, it became less and less important. Perhaps it did not help that I never told people when my birthday actuallywas.
I called my mother back instead of messaging, suddenly wanting to speak to somebody who knew me, who loved me, and who I adored just as much.
‘Ciao, Mama,’ I said into the phone.
‘Ah, my Gabriele. Happy birthday, my sweet boy. How is everything in London?’
‘Busy,’ I said. ‘We start rehearsals for the show in a couple of days, so I am enjoying the rest while I can.’
‘Ah exciting. And you have a leading lady now?’
I swallowed, feeling as though my throat had tightened, suddenly. ‘We have.’
‘And she is perfect, just like you’d hoped?’
That was the problem – she was far too perfect in every way.
‘She is an excellent dancer,’ I said.
‘But…?’ said Mum.
She knew me so well.
‘But we only have weeks to choreograph four dances and she has been out of the game for years. I am worried she will struggle to keep up. I feel such pressure for this show to be a hit.’
‘It will be, Gabi, people will flock to see you, particularly when you come to Italy, but also in London, in Madrid, in Lisbon and in all the other cities you will perform in. You are a star these days and you must not forget it.’
