AISLING

The delicate strains of Clair de Lune drifted through the auditorium. The first notes drifted through the performance hall, soft as moonlight, and my body moved before I even thought. Ballet had always been that way for me—a language my bones spoke better than my mouth ever could. Each turn of my wrist, each rise onto my toes, felt like breathing underwater—dangerous and beautiful all at once.

The stage lights burned hot against my skin, but I imagined myself somewhere else—dancing in a field at dawn, pale blue skies brushing over my hair, white cascading dress. The audience didn’t matter. Not the way their silence pressed against me, not the way their eyes followed every leap. When I danced, I belonged only to the music.

But tonight was different. Very much so.

I could feel a different gaze pressing onto me. A different air, and fuck if it didn't make me feel good. I didn’t know who it was, but I knew who he was.

Clair De Lune filled the air for the next three minutes until it finally came to an end, then it was utter silence before the auditorium screamed and clapped. Most threw flowers at the stage and, like every other time I danced, I thanked them with a bow deep enough.

Vanessa, my backstage friend, slipped out and helped me with the flowers while I went backstage. My body ached, and I needed a very nice massage.

"You were so good out there, Ash!" Vanessa complimented, and I graced her with a small smile, too tired to talk. Hopefully, Taylor wouldn't show, because she would be the one to force me into talking.

"Aisling!!" Just my fucking luck. "Baby, you were so beautiful out there," Taylor said, reaching to me and enveloping me in a really tight hug as though we hadn’t seen each other in a year.

Spoiler: we'd had drinks last night.

"Thank you," I said. Taylor was my best friend, the closest I got to a sister. She was two years my senior, but we had met when we were in the same year in high school, then attended the same college. Our bond over the seven years we’d been friends was beautiful and unbreakable—or so I liked to think.

"You did brilliant out there. We should have a drink." I pushed past her to the cart, still in my white singlet and tulle skirt. While she talked about drinks we were going to have, I opened a can of Coca-Cola and downed the whole thing, but the shit didn’t go anywhere.

"Oh, that’s right!" She paused, hazing over while I opened another can of cola. "Renji Mori was here."

The cola went down the wrong pipe, which had me choking and coughing while cola slipped from my nose. Taylor burst into a fit of laughter at my reaction.

"Is this funny to you, Taylor?" I asked, trying my hardest to look mean, but she called my bluff, still laughing. "Stop saying things like that if they are a joke."

"Wait, bitch," she wiped her eyes, "I actually meant what I said. I saw Renji fucking Mori. I was so shocked myself, so I actually had to look him up and know if it was actually him or just a look-alike. It was him."

My heart thumped loudly, while butterflies I’m sure I didn’t have for breakfast fluttered in my tummy. "What... What could Renji be doing at my show?"

"To watch you, of course. It’s not like he came to plan your murder." She shook her head. "And the way he was staring at you... God, it was so intense."

So that explained the sensation... I knew it was him. What I didn’t know was why he was here.

I didn’t want to call it obsession, might as well be. I’d been attracted to Renji Mori ever since I set my eyes on him three years ago at Y&M Couture’s grand opening. He’d returned from Tokyo to open the Boston branch of the boutique with his father. Don’t ask how I know—Internet would tell you a lot of things. I asked Papa why he hadn’t attended. Yamaha Mori looked like someone he would be friends with, but Father had said they were enemies. Blood enemies. It should have chased me away from the Moris—or one particular Mori—but instead it increased my intrigue for Renji Mori.

I’d searched and searched, learning more about him than I was sure anyone else really knew. He was twenty-nine, six years older than me. He was born and bred in Tokyo. He had four brothers, from different mothers—Father told me that one—and last but not least, he was in the Mafia, the Yakuza.

"Earth to Aisling!" Taylor’s not-so-girly voice brought me out of my haze. "Wow, see you all flushed, thinking about your crush, Ash?"

"Renji is not my crush," I said as Vanessa finally showed with my dress. I hadn’t even realized when she left.

"Could’ve fooled me." Taylor rolled her eyes. "Anyway, go and dress up. I’ll be your man tonight and drop you off. I know you’re too tired for a drink."

I chuckled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, loving her more with each passing second. "Thank you, love, but it’s not night yet," I said, then walked towards the other door into the locker room, changing into my blue tee and black sweatpants, holding my long straight black hair with a blue face cap, then my black Crocs. Before going back to Taylor, I took a route to Michael’s office. I knocked before entering.

"Ms. O’Connor. Your show was lovely today," he said with a small smile, kind as he always was.

"Thank you, Michael. When next do I have a show?" His brows furrowed; I’d never asked about my shows. I’d only just get an email the month before, then start the preparations.

"Uh... Not for the next two months. Any problem?"

"Oh, thank goodness. I was worried it would clash with my exhibition show next month," I said, feeling lighter than usual. I loved ballet and painting, but if I were to choose, I’d choose painting every day. "See you next time then, Michael. Have a good day."

"Have a good day as well, Ms. O’Connor," he said while I turned and left for the backstage room.