Monsieur Paris is a noble dancing legend.
The lyrical kind.
He defined my purpose. Occupied my childhood with his furious, magical dances. With his unmatched, relentless skill. And when the famous dancer visits our class, I feel like I'm in a dream.
But I keep missing my steps.
I keep missing the tune.
I keep... flopping.
Because underneath his heated gaze, I'm a quivering mess. A disappointment. And I don't know why it feels like I'm the only one in the room, dancing for him? Why does it feel like he wants something else from me?
Something unheard of in these sacred halls?
Something sweet...but wicked?
And why do I want that too?
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"Listen up, girls!"
Madame Ophelia's throaty growl comes with a sharp clap that draws our attention from our individual rout
