by JJ Knight
He leans in close. “How about we just run away?”
“I’m in,” I say.
A voice booms from over head. “We can hear that,” it says.
Devon looks up. “Hear what?”
“Let’s make a break for it,” I say.
And we do, dashing off the stage, out the secure door, and into the hall. Our laughter echoes off the walls as we barrel down a corridor and turn to Blitz’s dressing room.
We burst inside like hell is on our heels, and once we’re in the quiet, Blitz pulls me close for a long, lingering kiss.
Then we hear a throat clearing.
We break apart.
“You two are really something.”
I turn. It’s Mack Williams, the new dance bachelor.
“Oh, shit, I forgot this was your dressing room now,” Blitz says.
“No prob, bro.” Mack stands up leisurely from a stool near the big mirror. He extends a hand. “Good to see you again.”
Blitz and Mack shake. He looks so different here than on camera, his hair calm rather than spiked and styled, his face stubbled instead of smooth.
“I don’t think you’ve met Livia,” Blitz says, turning to me. “Apparently I’m proposing to her on your show.”
Mack’s hand is gentle on mine. “That’s what I hear.” To me he says, “Sorry I missed you when we had the auditions last year.”
“I was doing a ballet,” I say. The whole process of choosing the new bachelor occurred while I was on tour. Blitz went up for it, but I was in Seattle.
“We have a ballerina this season too. She’s a finalist,” Mack says.
“I’ve seen her,” I say. “She’s very good.”
“She didn’t make any of the important troupes,” he says.
I’m not sure how to respond to that. Beth Ann seems good enough compared to what I saw on tour. But many of the big companies only take dancers from their own schools.
I got lucky that a new corps formed around a Russian ballerina who defected to the U.S. I certainly could never have attended one of those ballet schools from age four. My family was way too poor to think about extras like dance lessons.
“Seems like the blonde is in the lead,” Blitz says.
Mack settles back on the stool. “Yeah, hell of a thing, having it be a television vote now.”
“You had a say in the final three, though, right? Or did they lie about that?”
Mack glances at the mirror. He shrugs. “They got rid of Felicity.”
“Was she your pick?” I ask.
Both the men look at me and tilt their head toward the mirror.
Right, the cameras. That huge mirror hides at least three of them. No doubt at least one is always running, hoping to pick up something juicy.
“We should get a drink somewhere and talk,” Mack says.
“Damn straight,” Blitz says, clapping him on the back. “We’ll get out of your space.”
“I’m headed to rehearsal again anyway,” Mack says. “But I wouldn’t do anything crazy in here. This room is always hot.”
“I forgot what it was like to be in a digital cage,” Blitz says. “But you’re nearly done.”
“It’s been a wild ride.” Mack picks up a towel and slings it around his neck. “See you in rehearsal.”
He heads out. Blitz takes a moment to look around. He stares at a bit of the wall for a moment and I wonder what’s got his attention. I stand beside him, following his gaze. Then I see it. A muted red light behind the cover of a mounted lamp.
“They recorded the whole thing?” I ask.
“Looks like it,” he says. He shakes his head and takes my arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
I couldn’t agree more with that.
Chapter 4
My new, deeper blue dress arrives the next day. Blitz’s tux gets fitted.
New sky writing doesn’t appear until afternoon. We hear about it from the staff.
Cecilia shows me the image on her phone. “It’s that Giselle all right,” she says.
This time it’s a pig.
“They’re getting fancier,” another stylist says.
“Do they think Blitz will kiss the sky?” the wardrobe girl asks.
Blitz kissed a pig at a rodeo during the weeks he tried to repair his reputation after the bad tweet about Giselle.
I sit down to let Cecilia do a practice set on my hair. We have full dress rehearsal today.
“What do you think she wants?” I ask.
“She feels herself sinking into nothing,” Cecilia says. “She wants to stay in the spotlight, no matter what it takes.”
“The entertainment shows have caught on,” says another girl. “They’re all including the sky drawings in their segments on the upcoming finale.”
“Great,” Cecilia says. “Has Giselle spoken up?”
“She’s acting all innocent,” the girl says. “Insists it must be her fans.”
“Ha, like anybody even remembers her,” Cecilia says.
I shift on the chair. This whole situation makes me anxious.
But the day moves on. Blitz and I land all the lifts in the rehearsal, our last one since it’s more critical that the finalists have the practice rooms and the attention of the trainers. This is all old hat and nobody’s judging us.
I meet Beth Ann, the ballerina finalist. We’re filmed practicing together in ballet gear, and I give her a few pointers. I want to apologize after, as she’s been dancing since she was six years old. I’m only a few years into my own training.
But she’s a sweet girl, probably too gentle for the debacle that is reality TV. I sort of hope she wins over Dolly or Veronica, although I’m not sure I wish this life on someone genuinely nice like her.
Devon likes our banter so well that he schedules some quick spots with me and the other two finalists for optional footage should they need the time during the live show. After Giselle trounced off stage during our broadcast, creating a panic, they’ve learned to be prepared to insert emergency video clips.
I’m still not comfortable on camera, and the conversations with Dolly and Veronica are stilted and false. I doubt they’ll get used.
The sky writing stops, and the day of the live show finally arrives. I start to breathe a little easier. I’m only involved in maybe five minutes of the entire hour, and then all this will be over.
We have to be at the studio ridiculously early for final rehearsals and wardrobe. Cecilia gives me a divine hairstyle reminiscent of my own season, a braided princess crown with a long fall of curls in the back.
Every time Blitz and I practiced the proposal, we made Devon sweat by changing it up. It’s been a little joke between us to never do it quite the way the staff expects it. When Blitz and I are alone, we justify this because they’re making us do this publicly when we already did it for ourselves.
A scant two hours prior to the live show, Hannah enters with a ring box. It seems my real ring, the one Blitz picked out for me, isn’t showy enough for the producers. They’re insisting Blitz propose with a ridiculous seventeen-carat princess diamond surrounded with pale blue stones to match my dress.
Blitz loses his mind, threatening to walk off the show entirely.
It’s Mack who takes him aside and convinces him to follow along for now. After tonight, we’re free of the show, and besides, the ring is just on loan. It’s not like I have to wear it forever.
But even after the pep talk, Blitz has a gleam in his eye that I recognize. It’s what prompted me to walk onto his own show finale two years ago. He’s going to do something crazy.
So now I’m nervous.
He goes on stage for his dance with Mack. I watch it live from the wings, then head back to the dressing room to see the footage of Mack and Blitz talking about Mack’s decision.
The swan girls are all inside, sitting on every surface, faces turned to the monitor.
“Livia!” they chorus when they see me.
One scoots over on a bench to make room. “Bl
itz is telling Mack to choose for love,” she says, shifting her feathery headpiece. “It’s so romantic.”
I peer at the screen. The two of them are in the decision room. Photographs of Beth Ann, Dolly, and Veronica sit on a shelf.
“They totally stole that from The Bachelor,” another girl says.
“Duh,” comes from behind. “They’ve done it since the first season.”
“Of both,” someone else says.
I try to focus on the screen. Mack turns to Blitz. “I hear something special is happening for you tonight, bro!”
Blitz shrugs. “It’s about time.”
“You really going to propose right here on the show?”
“You know it!”
They clasp each other with a pound on the back.
Mack says in Blitz’s ear, “Don’t blow it.”
I know he means not just the proposal, but the show itself. He knows how angry Blitz is about the whole thing.
They break for a commercial.
The door opens. Amara gestures for the swans to come out. “Positions, ladies!” she says.
They all scurry from the room. Amara glances at me. “I would go warm up with Vince,” she says. “Your dance is in approximately fifteen minutes.”
I nod. It will be more like thirty. The show has barely started. But it does go fast. I remember.
I stand up and turn to the mirror. My blue dress is brilliant and sparkles in the lights.
Sometimes when I’m all fixed up for a show or a publicity appearance, I see the new, more confident Livia. The one who charged onto a TV stage. Who left her parents’ iron grip and made a life for herself. Who tried out and earned a spot in a national ballet tour.
I’ve held on to Blitz under incredible pressure that might have crushed a different couple.
But I lean in, and I know who is still there. Shy Livia. Scared Livia. The Livia who was told she was the shame of her family. The Livia who was locked in her home, unable to go anywhere. Who gambled on her first love and lost hard.
The Livia who gave up her baby for adoption.
Who didn’t fight.
My eyes go wet, threatening my makeup. Cecilia and the staff will kill me if it isn’t right.
I stand up straight. This is no time for thinking about the past. It’s now, and Blitz is about to propose on camera. We’ll get to share the thing we’ve kept to ourselves for months.
We’re getting married.
I think ahead to the cruise. A private, exclusive boat. A few carefully chosen friends and family. No cameras. No interviews. No screaming fans.
Just us.
All I have to do to get there, is make it through the next half hour.
Chapter 5
I watch from the wings as Barry Winston talks to the live audience during the commercial break. He’s been the host for all four seasons, and he loves his job.
He wears his signature brown suit, his dark hair smooth and sleek.
Barry holds out his arms before the crowd. “We’re just moments away from seeing Blitz and Livia together again on this stage! Are you ready?”
The crowd screams their excitement, and my belly calms. I forget that there are good moments in this business. This is one of them.
Blitz comes up behind me in his tux for the dance number.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
“We playing the proposal straight or winging it?” I ask.
“I say we do whatever the spirit moves us to do,” he says.
I laugh. “Then I’m going to say, ‘As long as a cheesy rainbow doesn’t appear, I’ll say yes.’ That’ll freak out the lighting staff.”
Blitz grins. “Now that’s my girl.”
The countdown starts and Amara motions us to head out on stage. It’s very dark, but we’re still spotted by the live audience. They start screaming and chanting Blitz’s name.
Barry speaks again, calming the noise. “Let’s get ready to go live,” he says. A hush falls over the audience.
The countdown clock begins, bright numbers on a screen beneath the sound booth. Ten, nine, eight.
I shift my gaze back to Blitz. We’re in position for our dance number. Barry will introduce us, then the stage is ours.
The Dance Blitz theme song plays, then the spotlight comes up on Barry.
“Here it is, the moment you’ve been waiting for. The return of our original Dance Blitz bachelor, Blitz Craven, with the girl it took three seasons to find — Livia Mays.”
The crowd cheers, and the lights reveal us. I smile up at Blitz. I can’t believe I’m doing this again. That I’m here.
The music begins, and we start our waltz. The first steps are easy and slow. I’m sure the entertainment shows will call it “classic Blitz and Livia” tomorrow.
But then it speeds up and the crowd responds, cheering as we go into our first lift, then a twist, then another lift. The first two cloud puffs don’t go off, but I don’t have time to think about it. We just keep dancing. We cross the stage, and when Blitz pushes me up and then brings me into a cradle, the third cloud machine does work. The audience goes nuts.
We spin and hit our marks, taking brief moments to catch each other’s eyes when we can. My skirt whirls out, then settles, then catches air in another lift. Another cloud. Another cheer.
The song winds down, and we’re breathing hard. It was a taxing dance. We hold our final position, and Blitz looks into my eyes.
And the magic is there. We don’t have to fake it. He’s missed this too, and he’s loving that we’re here together, on stage, in the world that brought us together.
Time feels suspended. His finger grazes my cheek, and he says, “Livia, you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Cheers from the audience erupt but are quickly shushed. Blitz waits them out. He’s a pro. Then he says, “Do you think the whole world is waiting for me to ask you an important question?”
I laugh. “That sounds like Blitz Craven talking.”
This is completely unscripted. I sense some tension in the wings. The rainbow scrim operator is probably panicking, wondering what to do.
“I think the world is with us,” he says.
And that’s when it drops. Behind us, the scrim lights up, a rainbow sliding across its surface.
“See?” Blitz says.
The crowd tries to erupt again, then hushes as Blitz lifts me out of the bend and gets down on one knee.
I watch the amusement playing across his face. What is he going to do?
“Livia Mays, I have a question for you,” he says.
“You do, huh?” I say, trying to stop from giggling. The producers will be so mad if we muck this up.
“Would you be interested in a nontraditional domesticated arrangement?” he asks.
The unicorn dancer gallops across the stage, a ring nestled on her cloud pillow. Then she realizes what Blitz just said. She stops, looking around. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to come out for that or not.
“You’re totally messing this up,” I say, sitting on his knee. “How about I give it a shot?”
Blitz lifts me up and stands. We face each other. “Okay. I’m game.”
“Blitz Craven, dance god, teacher of wheelchair ballerinas, terrible driver, and secret French fry addict, I take you as you are. Will you do the same?”
Blitz turns me in slow circle. I lift my leg for a pretty arabesque, the skirt fluttering. It’s the first move I ever taught him, the very first day we met. And no one knows that but us. Not the fans or the staff or anyone watching on television.
It makes this moment a little more ours.
Blitz continues the turn until I face him again, then says, “Livia, ballerina extraordinaire, talent beyond measure, brave stage-stomping girl, and stealer of blankets, I will take you as you are.”
His hands go to my waist and lift me into the air. His palm shifts, and we’re back into our language, the communication of touch and angles and movement. I wait a hairbreadth of a second
, then roll down his arm, and his body, and he catches me in front of his hips, taking me into a dive, my face near the floor, feet in the air. It’s a startling, fast move, like I’m falling.
The crowd gasps, then cheers.
Blitz sets me down and draws me close. “Will you marry me, Livia?”
“Only if you promise we will always dance.”
His lips brush against mine. “I will.”
The unicorn approaches, but we ignore her and her fake ring, spinning in alternating pirouettes across the stage. Confetti drops on both the stage and the crowd. The noise is tremendous.
We dance right into the wings, and the spotlight goes back on Barry. He will bridge the time gap between the proposal and the next commercial break, or lead into a video. Doesn’t matter. Our time is done. The show is over for us.
Dancers and staff congratulate us as we make our way across the dark side stage to the exit door. Then we’re in the hall, and the swan girls are hugging us. Wardrobe and makeup come out to squeeze us too.
We accept it all graciously. This is their chance to congratulate us since we got engaged far away and quietly.
The monitors blink for the end of the commercial and people start to scurry. There’s one more number with the former contestants, and then Mack will announce his winner.
We head to the viewing room to watch with the producers. Everyone inside stands up to slap Blitz’s back and shake my hand. They seem pleased with what we’ve done.
“That will be everywhere tomorrow,” says Taya, one of the producers. “It was spot on for a big splash on the news shows.” She is practically giddy, doing a little hip-shaking jig in her charcoal pantsuit.
“Glad to be of service,” Blitz mumbles.
The door bursts open, and Duke comes in. “Hey, bud, getting hitched, I see!” he says. He’s got his cowboy hat on, like we’re still in San Antonio. He grew up there with Blitz and served as his bodyguard in LA. Now he works for Mack.
“I got this here back for you safe and sound,” he says, passing something to Blitz.
It’s my regular engagement ring.
“Thanks,” Blitz takes my hand to slide it on. “The other one never even touched your skin,” he says to me.