Chapter 1

Seven days before nationals, my fiancé gave Bianca my place in my mother's final dance.

One week later, Marcus would stand on the opposite side of the national floor and watch the rival he hated most place a hand at my waist.

He would watch me lead the final turn he swore I could never finish without him.

But that morning, he was still holding Bianca in my opening pose.

Then the sponsor's photographer waved me out of the shot. "Move, Lena. You're ruining their picture."

I stopped at the entrance of the rehearsal studio, my gym bag still on my shoulder.

Marcus did not release Bianca's waist.

"You heard him," he said. "Step back."

The Last Turn thundered through the speakers—the unfinished dance my mother had left me.

For twelve years, that opening had begun with Marcus's hand at my waist.

Now his hand was on Bianca, and my competition number was pinned to her dress.

The camera shutters snapped across their faces.

Bianca missed the next cue. Her heel caught, and she stumbled out of the spin.

Marcus did not snap at her. He caught her around the waist, his thumb moving gently over her hip.

"It's fine," he murmured with a patience I had not heard in years. "Let's take it from the top."

Last year, during regional qualifiers, I had torn the ligaments in my ankle.

I sat on the floor while the joint swelled dark purple beneath my tights.

Marcus had tossed a roll of athletic tape at my feet.

"Wrap it tight, Lena. The judges don't award points for tears. The schedule won't stop for your pain."

I had danced for three more hours.

"Lena, I'm so sorry." Bianca broke the frame and hurried toward me, her eyes already shining.

"The sponsors came early, and you were still at the costume fitting. Marcus didn't want them waiting, so I only stepped in for the pictures.

"I really didn't mean to cross a line."

"Only for the pictures?" I asked.

Marcus stepped between us.

"Stop giving her that look. Your mother left choreography, not a sacred relic no one else can touch.

"Bianca is drawing attention, and the team needs it. Stop being so sensitive."

I did not argue.

I walked down the corridor to leave my fitting logs at the manager's office.

The door was half open, and Marcus was already speaking to the head coordinator.

"Don't worry about Lena's mood," he said. "She won't leave before nationals. This is her mother's legacy.

"Besides, we're getting married in three months. She'll be angry, but she'll stay."

My phone buzzed.

The sponsor's official account had posted a new video: MARCUS COLE AND HIS FIRST PARTNER REUNITE—THE ULTIMATE CHEMISTRY.

The comments praised their natural connection and called me the cold partner holding Marcus back.

Marcus's official account had liked the video, then removed the like three minutes later.

I opened my private messages.

Two texts from Noah Reed sat at the top of the screen. Noah was Marcus's fiercest rival on the national circuit.

The first had arrived twenty-four hours earlier.

"Registration closes in thirty-six hours. My partner slot is still empty."

The second had been sent twelve minutes ago.

"Marcus called the league office this afternoon. He asked how late a lead partner could be replaced. Did you know?"

For the first time, I did not delete the thread.

I opened the reply box.