When I was a little girl, my parents enrolled me in ballet classes, hoping it would draw me out of my shy little shell. Witnessing how graceful the instructors were as they floated across the hardwood floor, stretching their limbs with each movement, their muscles flexing and tensing, is what began my obsession. I was the little Latin girl with frizzy curls tied into a bun and a tutu smelling like the Menudo I had for dinner. 

But I didn't care that the other girls would pinch their noses and laugh. When I was at the dance studio, I soared.

Plus, I wasn't the only girl who smelled like dinner. I met my best friend Anika there, and we bonded over her smelling like whatever Indian dish her mother made that night.

As I got older, my obsession turned into determination to dance with the San Francisco Ballet Company, while Anika turned her sights toward medicine. 

However, today, as I sit here in a pair of pink tights, a black leotard, and point shoes that I just broke into, everything I've worked for has shattered in the utterance of a few words.

"But..." I take a moment to compose myself with a hard swallow, my eyes watering. "I just started. It's only been three months, and you said I'm the best dancer you've seen in a while, and I could become a principal within a year if I work hard."

"And all that is true, Mara," my manager says.

Sniffling back snotty tears, I wipe my nose. "I'll work harder. I'll spend all of my free time practicing. I'll do whatever you need me to do. Please don't fire me. I beg you."

"We're not firing you," another person from the company says. "It's a layoff due to budget cuts. Trust me when I say we didn't want to do this. Unfortunately, you're not the only one."

"We've had to let thirty-nine other people go. Ten of them were dancers. Amazing dancers."

This doesn't comfort me at all. If this massive layoff is due to budget cuts, then it's likely other ballet companies are having a hard time making ends meet, too. I refuse to wait tables again. I've worked too hard to achieve my dream.

"If you'd like, we can put a word for you at The American Ballet Company."

My soft crying stops, and my gaze meets theirs. "That's across the country. In New York."

"And you'd make a great dancer there," one of them says. "They would be lucky to have you."

"I can't move across the country." I snatch the gym bag, resting on my sore feet. "You know my dad has Alzheimer's. So there is no way I'm leaving the Bay Area."

They all glance at one another, exchanging dialogue with their eyes as an awkward silence clings to the atmosphere like humidity, making me perspire. I bet they think I'm throwing my career away by not taking them up on their offer. 

"Thank you for these last three months." I stand and step toward the door. "It was a dream come true, and I learned a lot." 

"Mara," my manager calls. "We truly believe you're a beautiful dancer, and when things change, we'd like to invite you back."

I swing around. "You mean that?"

"Yes." They all nod.

"In the meantime, I'll stay in touch," my manager continues. "Perhaps there is a studio where we can put in a word for you."

"I'd appreciate that." I wipe my eyes as relief stretches across my face with a smile. "I'd appreciate that a lot."

Leaving the building, I find the nearest cafe to buy a caramel latte to cheer myself up. The first sip starts my next chapter as an unemployed ballerina—hopefully a short chapter. While on the subway, I think of how I will break the news to Josh. We've been together for three years but have lived together for two, and we split everything. So, things will be tough for a while, but we're a team, and we'll get through it.

When I walk into our apartment, Josh is in the kitchen. He does remote work and is texting on his phone with his back to me. When I rest my keys on the counter, he flinches and shoves the phone into his pocket before whirling around.

 "Mara, you're home early."

My shoulders sag, and I go to him for a much-needed hug, my body slumping into him. Might as well rip the bandaid off and tell him the news.

"What's wrong?" He embraces me. 

"I got laid off. Budget cuts. They let go of anyone who started within the last six months. Forty people total."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," I begin crying again, and this time, it's big, ugly sobs that catch in my throat. "I worked so hard to get into the ballet company, and now it feels like my dream was destroyed. I can't even wrap my head around it. Now what? Now, what do I do? I'm twenty-four. Most ballerinas retire at thirty. Who will want me at this age when they can hire someone younger who will be with them for ten solid years? What do I do, Josh?"

Tilting my head back, I search his eyes, but they're distantly staring at something behind me. I pull away, my arms retreating as I glance at what has his attention, but there is nothing. Josh snaps out of it and cups my face.

"Let's not worry about that right now. How about after work, we order pizza, and you can even ask for all the toppings I hate?"

"Ok." I wipe my eyes with a little laugh. 

"Anyway, I gotta get back to work," he says, and brushes past me, so I reach for his elbow.

"Josh. I love you, and we're going to figure this out."

"Yeah." He nods.

∆∆∆

It's later in the evening, and our bellies are full of gooey calzones, mozzarella sticks, and bruschetta from our favorite Italian place. We're watching old Justified episodes while drinking red wine, and Josh uncorks another bottle to top off my glass. His lips are stained, and I'm buzzing, and despite getting laid off, I'm having a great time.

I love this man.

He is my rock.

When he sits back down, I snuggle closer to him, but he starts fussing with the remote. So, I pluck it out of his hand and set it on the coffee table with my wine glass. There's something about Timothy Olyphant's gun-toting sexiness that has me ravenous. I peel my shirt off.

"What are you doing?" Josh asks.

"This..." I climb onto his lap.

"Mara, you're drunk."

"And?" I skim my lips against his. "You like me when I'm drunk."

"Mara, I don't think—"

"Shhh." I unclasp my bra, and toss it aside, spurring Josh to run his fingers through his hair while blowing out a breath, eyes glued to my breasts.

"You certainly know how to get your way."

"I just want to feel you close."

"Ok," he whispers, and we make love on the couch.

Then again, in bed.

When morning arrives, my head is like a bee's nest, and the sun invading past the curtains is too bright. Throwing the blankets off, I find myself still naked and grin mischievously. Perhaps with me being jobless and Josh working from home, we'll get to have daytime sex like we used to when we first started dating? Lately, things have felt routine, but maybe we can change that. I drag my feet to the hallway bathroom and peek into his small office. He glances up from typing and greets me with a nod, so I push into the room and do a naked pirouette, my tangled curls whirling with me.

"Cute," he grunts.

"How about I take a shower, and you join me?"

"Can't. I have a Zoom meeting in five minutes." 

"Alright..." I sigh and do a little booty shake in the doorway. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Uh-huh," he says, but his attention is already back to whatever he's working on.

Ten minutes later, I'm showered and twisting leave-in conditioner through my curls. Today, I will do a job search and see what's out there. I will find a job, even if it's temporary, until I get invited back to the company.

"Can we talk?" Josh says, and I jump back from the surprise. How long was he standing there?

"You scared me, babe. My heart is racing." I clutch my chest with a laugh. 

"Sorry. Got a minute?" 

"For you, always." I lean in for a kiss, but he walks away, texting on his phone.

When I meet him in the living room, something isn't right. He's sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands, and my gut wrenches like it's being squeezed for lemonade. Did someone die? I walk toward the couch where Josh is sitting, but my soul is floating somewhere above us, watching like an owl in a tree. I ease onto the couch.

"Mara..." he begins to say, then stops and studies his hands as he picks and fidgets.

"Honey, what is it?" 

"I... I know it's terrible timing because you just lost your job, but," Josh pauses and swallows. 

He still won't look at me, and there might as well be crows fighting to break free from my chest. Whatever is troubling him, we'll get through it together. So, I reach for his hand, but he pulls away, and my stomach plummets. 

Oh, it has to be bad. 

And I pray his job isn't relocating him. They just opened a new office in Chicago. We can't move. Not with my dad's illness.

Josh takes a deep breath and says, "Fuck it. Just get it over with."

"Get what over with?" I crook my brows. 

"Mara, we can't do this anymore."

I tilt my head. "Do what?"

"This." He motions between us. "I'm... I'm breaking up with you."

Shit. It's worse. So much worse.

My entire face collapses. "What?"

"We've been together for three years, and they've been great, but I've realized you're not my person. Otherwise, I would have asked you to marry me by now."

My jaw drops.

"Deep down, you know I'm not your person either."

My heart shatters.

"Josh, what the hell are you talking about? I love you." 

"I love you, too, but maybe it's not enough? Maybe I want to feel that crazy, insatiable love that so many others have."

"Do we not have that?" My eyes blur with tears.

"We've had a good run, Mar." He takes my hands. "But we're too young to settle."

"Settle?" I yank my hands away. "You think you would be settling with me? What about all that talk about having kids, and if we have a boy, naming him Thaddeus and calling him Teddy for short? Was that a lie?" 

Josh laughs, "I wasn't serious about naming my son Teddy. Come on. That was us goofing around."

"Well, it wasn't a joke to me!" I skyrocket from the couch. "And what about last night? We made love twice."

"We were drunk."

"Are you saying you didn't want to? Because you sure as hell made it seem like you were into it!" I wipe my eyes angrily.

"Come on, Mara. You know how sexy you are with your dancer's body. What man would say no."

"What!?"

"Plus, you were sad you lost your job."

"So it was pity sex?"

"No. Just sex."

"I can't believe this..." Bile begins rising in my throat, so I press my hands to my chest and take deep breaths through my nose. Swallowing, I narrow my gaze at him. "So yesterday, you knew you wanted to break up with me, but like a coward—"

"Hey!"

"Like a COWARD." I hold up my hand. "You pretended that you love me and even went as far as having sex with me—meaningless sex, according to you."

"I didn't pretend."

"Bullshit! You don't break someone you love, and you certainly don't sleep with them when you plan to shatter their heart."

"That's not fair, Mara. I do love you, and I do care about you. It's not like I can turn the attraction off. You know how sexy you are."

"Stop saying that!" I hide my chest with my arms.

"Well, you are. Heads turn when you walk into a room."

"And it makes you insecure?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying, Josh?"

"You seduce." He shrugs, and I inhale sharply.

"I have never cheated on you!" 

"I didn't say that. You know how you look and use it to your advantage."

This is nuts. I cover my eyes and take deep breaths. What are we even talking about? What is he getting at? Did he low-key call me a slut? Josh knows I've only slept with two other guys before him.

"You're just not my person," he continues. "I want more than a sexy girlfriend and mediocre love." 

With those words, he has officially eviscerated me. He has reduced me to the value of my body and claims the love I gave with my entire heart wasn't good enough. I stare at him, aghast. Where is the Josh I've known for three years? The man sitting on the couch isn't the same one I made love to last night. 

Unless, for the first time, I'm looking at the real Josh?

That realization thuds in the pit of my stomach like a bowling ball. 

"Josh..." I wipe my eyes. "Is there someone else?"

"No. I told you, you're just not my person, and we're too young to settle. I'm sorry."

"Right." I nod and walk away to lock myself in our room to weep. 

How has everything around me crumbled in twenty-four hours? This is Josh's apartment, so I'll have to move out. I can't crash at Anika's because she lives in a studio, which means the only place for me to go is back to my parent's house. 

However, that's a worry for later. 

Right now, I need my older sister, Lydia. She'll help me sort this mess. 

So I dial her, and as my fingers swipe the keys, the next chapter of life truly begins.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

To avoid possible confusion about the narration, this book contains 3 POVs:

Mara - the main POV

Enzo - the sugar daddy

"Him" - the killer