It’s true, after all. He’d never believed it before, but now he can’t deny that the director of his ballet school in London had been right when he said that even fame can become tedious.

Aidan is sitting in his dressing room, face framed in his vanity mirror, applying far too much rouge to his cheeks, chest and shoulders. Anything, really, to counteract the ghostly cast of the stage lights.

He curses himself for being so naturally pale. Lilliana is fair-faced ...