Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 65

Do watch the clip that I've linked above from Manon. It's my absolute favorite pas de deux. (If you haven't figured out what a pas de deux is yet, it translates from French to English to "dance of two.") Also, feel free to visit the American Ballet Theatre's site to read the synopsis of Manon if you're interested.

The American Ballet Theatre (ABT) is one of the best ballet companies in the world. If you aren't one of the ballet dancers/RQ fans (there seems to be a lot of you) who have found this fic, you might not be familiar with ABT. Along with the New York City Ballet and the fictional Calore Dance Academy, ABT is located in Manhattan and employs some of the best dancers in the world. You may be familiar with Misty Copeland--she dances there.

As always, enjoy! Star and leave some comments. Kudos to the people who explode my notifications. There's nothing better than waking up with 200 new comments. <3

A big thanks to xamxthystx for continuing to be my wonderful editor! The time you take to edit my chapters is beyond appreciated. :)

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I'm feeling cute.

In a grey cashmere sweater that hangs loosely against my body, a pair of dark blue jeans, and sleek black boots that give me an extra two inches of height, I stare at my reflection in the Academy's elevator. My black coat, something out of a fancy department store that my sister convinced me to buy—along with the rest of this evening's ensemble—extends to my knees. I'm not usually one for expensive outfits, but tonight's a special night.

And I'm feeling cute.

I put on some mascara and lip gloss that tastes like strawberries. I let my hair out of its usual bun so that it's falling halfway down my back in satiny locks. I had to refrain from curling my hair or applying another layer of mascara.

I'm just going to the Met.

The Met.

You know, that beautiful opera house that I've wanted to go to for as long as I've been dancing.

The Academy elevator doors glide open, revealing a familiar lobby bathed in gold. But today, I'm just as glamorous as it is, and my heeled boots click across the marble in graceful strides.

Maven and Cal, just as they were this morning, are waiting for me near the elevator.

My boyfriend looks better off than he was this morning, even if his outfit gets progressively more casual as it goes down. He wears a navy blue coat over his black sweater along with a pair of jeans and Converse.

Cal, meanwhile, has a leather jacket over a maroon sweater with a quarter zip at his neck. In washed jeans—they must be the same ones that I met him in—and men's black dress boots, Cal stands with his hands stuffed in his back pockets. As usual, nothing about his clothes hides his tall, broad, and muscular frame.

He has his hair combed back for once, and it looks nice. He's cleanly shaven, and he matches the glow of the lobby with his tan skin and rugged ensemble. Cal looks handsome.

"You can't wear a leather jacket to the Met, Cal," Maven hisses at his brother.

"I think that I'll wear what I want," Cal replies. "If I have to deal with you and Mare, I might as well be comfortable."

But neither Maven nor Cal is paying much attention to his brother anymore. Instead, the brothers both stare at me as I make my way across the lobby.

Maven's eyes trail me as I get closer. Wearing lip gloss was probably a mistake.

He gives me one of those dorky, innocent smiles as I finally stop before the brothers.