Subject: Happiness.

Are you happy with your current life away from GBH? Are you pursuing your ballet dreams finally?

—Andrew

Subject: Re: Happiness.

Please stop emailing me and delete my number.

Thank you.

—Aubrey

“Mr. Hamilton?” The driver held the door open. “We’ve arrived...Do you plan on getting out of the car?”

“Thank you.” I grabbed the bouquet of roses and lilies off the seat and gave him a tip, telling him that I needed him to stay close, that I may be bringing someone else back with me.

The line to enter the venue was wrapped around the block, so I skipped everyone and walked straight through the front door.

“Excuse me, sir?” An usher immediately stepped in front of me. “There’s a line outside for a reason.”

“I don’t like to wait.”

“None of us do sir,” he said, crossing his arms, “but that’s gala policy unless you already have a ticket. Do you have a ticket?”

“I don’t like those either.”

He unclipped a radio from his belt buckle. “Sir, please don’t make me call security. You have to purchase a ticket just like everyone else, and you have to stand in line just like everyone else. Now, I’m going to kindly ask you to—”

He stopped mid-sentence once I handed him a clip of hundred dollar bills. “Did you say your ticket was in the front row, sir?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what my ticket says.”

He smiled and led me down the hall, into a colossal room that featured floor to ceiling windows, glimmering chandeliers, and freshly polished marble floors. Hundreds of tables were dressed in white table cloths—stamped with lavish gold and silver centerpieces, and the letters “NYCB” were etched onto every dinner menu and program.

There was no formal stage in this room, only a slightly elevated platform that stood in the center—in perfect view for all the dinner tables.

“Will this seat be okay for you, sir?” The usher waved his hand over a seat that was directly in front of the platform.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Dinner will be served in about an hour, the sponsors of the NYCB will be honored shortly after, and then the short tributes and the dance portion of the gala will begin.”

I thanked him again as I took my seat. If I had known the exact order of the program beforehand, I would’ve shown up much later.

Picking up the brochure in front of me, I flipped through the pages—stopping when I saw Aubrey’s face.

Her picture was taken mid-laugh, as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked directly into the camera. According to the picture, her hair was much shorter now—it barely touched her shoulders, and her eyes looked more hopeful and happy than I’d ever seen them.

I stared at the picture long and hard, noting all her new changes.

The lights in the room flickered, and a soft applause arose as a woman dressed in all-white stepped onto the platform.

“We will begin now,” she said. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen for attending the Annual New York City Ballet Company Gala. It is with great honor and pride that we present tonight’s artists—principle dancers, soloists, and corps members. As you know, due to quite a few unfortunate circumstances, we had to replace nearly ninety percent of our group over the past few months, but as always, the show must go on. And, I truly believe that this is the best class we’ve had in a very long time.”

The audience clapped.

“Our company will be performing several productions this year, but the ones that will be presented this winter are The Firebird, Jewels, and our company favorite, Swan Lake.”

More applause.

“Tonight, our corps will introduce themselves to you personally and perform small tributes as a thank you for your continued support of the arts. And as always, when it comes to the art of dance, please do not applaud until after the last note has played. Thank you.” She walked away and the lights transformed from a stark white to an airy blue, then they dissolved into heavy hues of purple and pink.

One by one, the dancers came out—reciting a short monologue and dancing to a short piece of piano music. While most of the performers were entertaining, a few of them made me wonder if they’d simply awoken this morning and decided try ballet for the first time.

In between the sets, I could hear a few murmurs from the crowd: “Are they sure this is their best cohort?” “Maybe they should’ve canceled the season after that accident...” “Hopefully, they’ll be having nonstop rehearsals until the season actually begins...”

A man next to me was whispering about how he missed “the good old days of the company” when Aubrey stepped onto the floor.

She was wearing a thin black top and a pink tutu, and her lips were coated in a deep dark red.

“Good evening, New York City,” she said. “My name is Aubrey Everhart, and...”

She was saying something else, something that made the audience clap loudly, but I could only focus on how good she looked. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I’d kept that photo frame of us on my nightstand ever since she left—looking at her pretty face at night whenever I had a bad day.

Tonight she wasn’t “pretty,” though. She was a fucking vision.

Her mouth stopped moving amidst another round of applause from the audience, and the soft sounds of a piano and harp slowly filled the room.

Aubrey shut her eyes and started her routine, dancing as if she was the only person here.

There was an immediate change in the gala’s atmosphere. Everyone watching her was fully engaged—captivated, by her every move.

Out of nowhere, a male dancer joined her, picking her up and holding her high above his head—spinning her around as the music became harsher. After he set her down, the two of them completed steps together—smiling at each other and exchanging glances that made it clear that they knew each other a little too well.

The second the music stopped, the male dancer pulled her into his arms and kissed her lips.

What the fuck...

The crowd stood to its feet and clapped for the first time all night, but I remained seated, completely taken aback by what the fuck I just saw.

“Maybe I won’t have to cancel my season tickets after all, eh?” The man next to me winked. “Bravissimo!”

I narrowed my eyes at Aubrey and her partner, seething as he wrapped an arm around her waist and strummed his fingers against her skin. He whispered into her ear and she blushed, making my blood pressure soar to an all-time high.

“Well, what a response!” The director took the floor. “Thank you, Miss Everhart and Mr. Williams. I want you all to know that those two will be headlining next month’s Silver Moon Gala as well...” She continued talking, saying more about the program, but her words were soundless to me.

I was confused by what I just saw—not sure if Aubrey’s mouth had actually been on someone else.

More dancers took the floor, more applause, more speeches, and my thoughts remained the same. It wasn’t until the patrons took the floor, that I realized that the showcase part of this evening was over.

“Are you interested in donating to the NYCB?” A ballerina, still dressed in her white performance outfit, stepped in front of me. “Would you like to make a contribution?”