Instead of taking his hand and letting him lead me into the “water,” I leapt into his arms—letting him hold me high for all the other swans to see. And then the two of us spun into oblivion—“dying” together.

The music began its decrescendo—half-somber, half-light, and the lights shut off—leaving nothing. Ending everything with blackness.

And silence.

All of a sudden, a raucous applause arose from the audience and a collection of cheers—“Bravo!” “Encore!” “Bravissimo!” echoed off the walls.

The stage lights brightened and I took a bow, looking out into a sea of well-entertained faces: Mr. Petrova was front and center, nodding as he clapped, mouthing, “Good job, good job.” My mother was wiping a tear from her eye and looking up at my father, saying, “That’s our daughter.” Even Mr. Ashcroft, still stone faced, was standing and applauding, stopping once his eyes met mine.

“Bravo.” He mouthed before turning away.

I kept a smile plastered on my face as I scanned the room, looking for the one person I wanted—the one person I needed to see, but he wasn’t there.

“Thank you ladies and gentlemen for attending our opening night,” one of the directors said as she took the stage. “Per our opening night tradition, we will now introduce the members of our corps to you…”

I tried to focus on the introductions, tried to focus on someone else other than Andrew, but as I was lifting my head up from another bow, I saw him.

He was there in the front row, in the last seat on the left. He was looking at me and smiling, mouthing, “Congratulations.”

“And last but not least, our leading lady of the night and a new principle dancer here at NYCB—Aubrey Everhart!” The director said into the mic, and the audience cheered loudly.

“Miss Everhart?” She nudged me, whispering, “Miss Everhart, you need to take your final bow and leave the stage…”

I didn’t move. I continued staring at Andrew.

“Miss Everhart?” She whispered, more harshly now. “Take a bow and get backstage…Now…”

I walked away from her and headed straight toward Andrew—taking my time down the stage’s side steps. I stood in front of him, looking directly into his eyes—ignoring the confused murmurs of the crowd.

The director said a few more words, Mr. Ashcroft gave his regards, and the curtains closed without me.

As the audience gave one final applause and started to file out of the room, I finally found my voice.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming…” I whispered. “Did you come here just to see my show or are you staying a little bit longer?”

“I’m staying a little bit longer.”

“Does that mean permanently?”

“No.” He wiped away my tears. “It means I’ll stay here until you realize how terrible this city is—until you’re ready to leave.”

“I signed a contract for three years.”

“Every contract is negotiable.” He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “And if you don’t apologize for ruining the closing credits tonight, they just might risk breaching it and fire you…”

“Where will you work?” I asked. “Are you going to practice law? Can you practice law?”

He kissed my lips. “I’ll be teaching at NYU.”

“What?” My heart immediately felt for the future students. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“You’re a terrible teacher, Andrew…All of the interns at GBH hated you.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I’m serious…” I was actually worried. “I think you should reconsider. Teaching isn’t for everyone, so—”

“First of all,” he said, cutting me off and tightening his grip around me. “I am a good fucking teacher. It just depends on the subject matter…” He trailed his finger across my lips. “I can recall teaching you how to do something very well…”

I blushed.

“Second of all, last time I checked, all of the interns at GBH were quite unteachable and they were dumb as stones—all except one.”

“The one that was a fucking liar?”

“Yes,” he said. “That one.”

“I heard she broke all your rules.” I brought my hand up to his face. “I heard she ended your one dinner, one night, and no repeats streak… ”

“I’m pretty sure that she didn’t.”

“Is that so?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is it still going on? Is that still your personal motto?”

“To a certain extent,” he said, pressing his lips against mine. “Since I still like the sound of it, and will only be dating her from here on out, I’ll just replace the word ‘one’ with ‘more’…”

Epilogue

Six Years later…

New York, New York

Andrew

I stood in front of a classroom at New York University—counting down the seconds, asking myself why I’d ever agreed to this.

“Are there any questions?” I looked at my watch.

Several hands flew into the air.

“I’m only answering three of them.” I pointed to a young woman in the front row. “Yes, you. What is it?”

“Um…” She blushed. “Good morning, Professor Hamilton. My name is—”

“I don’t care what your name is. What is your question?”

“Um, it’s been about two weeks since the semester started and you have yet to give us a syllabus…”

I ignored her and pointed to a jock in the back row. “Yes?”

“You also haven’t told us what books we need to buy…”

“Does anyone in this classroom know the definition of the word, question?” I picked the last student, a redhead sitting by the window. “Yes?”

“Is it true that we’re required to take turns bringing you coffee every day?”

I looked at the coffee mug on my desk, at the sign-in sheet that listed which student had brought it today.

“It’s not a requirement,” I said, picking up the cup. “But if you miss your day to bring me my coffee, I’ll make sure everyone in this class regrets it.”

They groaned collectively and shook their heads. A few of them still had their hands raised, but I was officially done for the day.

“Read pages 153 - 260 from the printout by next class. I expect you to know the ins and outs of each case. Class dismissed.” I walked out, saying nothing further.

Slipping into my car, I noticed a new email on my phone.

Subject: Bathroom.

Thank you for sending me that very inappropriate note with my flowers today. Everyone in my cohort now knows that you and I have yet to fuck in our brand new bathroom.

Why are you so ridiculous?

—Aubrey.

Subject: Re: Bathroom.

You’re very welcome for the flowers. I’m hoping that you liked them.

And that wasn’t a “note” that I sent you. It’s a demand that’s about to be addressed within the next few hours.

Why do you deny that you love it?

—Andrew.

I could picture her rolling her eyes at my last message, so I revved up my car and sped back toward our home.

Even though I’d spent the last six years here, I was still building my tolerance for the things I once hated, things that now bothered me less and less, but I still had a long way to go.

Some memories can never be replaced…

Aubrey was completely captivated and entranced by this city, though. Whenever she wasn’t incessantly touring with the ballet company, she was insisting that we try every restaurant, theater, and tourist attraction possible—trying to make me fall in love with everything again.

I parked in front of our brownstone—a newly purchased brick building in Brooklyn, and walked up the steps.

“Aubrey?” I said as I opened the door. “Are you in here?”

“Yes.” She called from a distance. “And I’m not in the bathroom.”

“You will be eventually.” I walked down the hallway, stopping when I saw her hanging another frame in her office.