Falling for my boyfriend’s Navy brother
Chapter 97: Penny
The floor of the studio is so clean it practically gleams beneath my sneakers when I step in, duffle bag slung over my shoulder and nerves tlanged tight fo my chest. The walls are mitrored on all sides, stretching the morning sun into golden streaks that cast across the room like a spotlight–like it’s waking for me. Judging me.
Luc’s already there. Of course he is.
He’s by the barre, doing slow stretches, his posture perfect, arms taut and long as if carved from marble. His reflection meets mine in the mirror before he turns around and gives me one of those gentle smiles that never looks forced on him.
“Bonjour, petit cygne,” he says.
“Hi,” I smile, a little breathless already. “Please don’t
He laughs. “Then I’ll say it quietly.”
little swan in front of Madame, she’ll kill both of us.”
I change quickly–leotard, tights, ballet shoes, hair up. My body is already buzzing from the familiarity, from anticipation. I warm up quickly at the barre beside him, moving through pliés and relevés, and I try not to think about what Anna said.
We start with the basic positions, and Madame walks in mid–way, tapping her cane on the hardwood floor to signal attention. Her presence is like a lightning strike. We both straighten, fall in line.
“Today,” she says in her sharp French accent, “we begin the pas de deux.”
My throat goes dry. That’s the duet.
Black Swan’s pas de deux.
Luc steps behind me, hands hovering over my waist. He doesn’t touch me yet–he’s waiting. nod once. He lifts me slowly, arms strong but steady, and we glide into the lift. I focus on my arms, keeping them fluid, my toes pointed, back arched.
Madame yells from across the room. “Penelope! Point your toes like you are slicing through clouds!”
I tighten my core and stretch further.
“Luc! Higher!”
“I’ll break her if I go higher,” he mutters under his breath, which makes me snort.
We transition through the turns next, and he spins me in perfect rhythm. We’ve been working on this choreography for just two days, but already the chemistry is there, the timing syncing..
“You’re not too heavy,” Luc whispers when we pause, breathing hard. “So stop worrying. You’re like lifting a feather.”
I glance at the mirror and see my reflection–flushed, sweaty, alive.
Madame claps sharply. “Again. No breaks unless you collapse.”
We go again.
The second time is better. The landing of the lift is smoother, my balance more controlled. Madame nods once. That’s a good yelling.
We move to the more advanced sequences–Black Swan’s seduction, the fouetté turns that come after.
Luc steps back, hands on his hips as he watches me do them solo.
“Eyes up,” he says, his tone calm. “Imagine you’re performing it, not practicing it.”
lot praise, but not
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Chapter 97: Penny
I meet his eyes in the mirror and focus on breathing through each turn. I count them in my head.
One. Two, Three. Spot. Four. Five…
I lose track after twelve and
I stumble.
Madame sighs loudly. “Penelope, you are dancing like a schoolgirl! Again!”
I breathe in deeply. My legs already burn.
Luc comes closer, “She’s pushing too fast.”
Madame looks at him with narrowed eyes but doesn’t argue.
“Water,” Luc says to me, and I nod. My limbs are trembling
I go to my bag and take a long sip from my water bottle, hands shaky. Luc sits beside me, grabbing his towel and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“You were good,” he says softly.
“I messed up the turns.”
“They’ll come.”
“I’m scared of dropping the tempo. Of getting dizzy. Of falling.”
“Then we practice until you’re not,” he replies. “I won’t let you fall, you know. I promise.”
There’s something comforting about Luc. He’s steady. Kind. But when he looks at me, there’s no heat behind it. No danger. No fire. He’s just… Luc. Exactly what I need in this studio.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
We rehearse for another hour–lift sequences, turns, stretches. At some point, Madame even mutters, “Better,” which is like receiving a standing ovation from
her.
It’s intricate, layered, emotionally exhausting, and physically brutal. The music is sharp and commanding. The steps are calculated with barely a breath between them. It’s not a dance, it’s a battle. But we’re doing it.
Luc’s hand finds my waist, lifting me into a high arabesque. I extend, back taut, legs stretching into a perfect line. He holds steady.
“Oui, Penelope,” he says, his accent clinging to the edges of my name. “Stay there. Tight core. Good.”
I count to four in my head, then breathe out as he lowers me with precision. My toes find the floor. We pivot immediately into the next movement–an en attitude turn that leaves me breathless by the third rotation.
Madame claps once. Loud.
“Again!” she barks from her chair by the mirrors. “Penelope, you are anticipating the lift. You wait for him, not the music. Trust your partner.”
“Yes, Madame,” I gasp.
Luc gives me a small smile, breathless too. “We are getting better.”
“Yeah,” I say between panting breaths. “We really are.”
We return to the top of the sequence. I take my place–arms poised, spine straight, breath held. The music begins again. Tchaikovsky’s notes pierce the air like arrows.
2/3
Chapter 97: Penny
a!, =
r’s tax being airborne and countly grounded at the same time. 1 know it won’t
becoming vernd nature. Like festinct Like trust.
Grop me. He’s steady. He’s always wady And the way 2*
When we reach the part with the final -the one I’ve been scared of since day one—I don’t hesitate. I launch. He catches me, perfectly, palms Bar against for small of my back, my body in a perfect bow, weightless and floating
My heart is racing, but for the first time, it’s not with feer.
“Brass,” Madame mutters, scribbling something in her notebook. That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever heard from her.
We finish the last eight counts and freeze in our ending pose. My chest heaves. Lut’s forehead glistens with sweat. The final notes ring through the room.
“And break,” Madame says, finally. “Fifteen minutes. Stretch. Hydrate. Then we run it again.*
Luc lets out a long sigh and offers his hand to help me off the floor. I take it, grateful, my legs still trembling slightly.
“You were good,” he says in that charming, casual tone. “Better than yesterday.”
“You too,” I reply. “I’m actually not terrified of you dropping me anymore.”
“That is a very high compliment,” he says with mock pride.
1 laugh. “Well, don’t get cocky. We still have two months until the show.”
He shrugs and wipes his forehead with a towel. “We will be perfect by then.”
I move to the side of the room, pulling my water bottle from my bag and collapsing onto the floor in a stretch. I glance at my reflection in the mirror- sweaty, flushed, but glowing. It’s working. The choreography, the training, the partnership. It’s all coming together.
Even without the person I wish was watching.
My phone buzzes once in my bag. I don’t check it. I don’t want to ruin the moment.
I close my eyes instead and just focus on the rhythm still echoing in my body, the tension in my muscles, and the phantom sensation of flight. We still have so far to go. But for the first time since this all began, I think we might actually get there.
10
Together.
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