8
Isaac
“As much as you love the spotlight onstage, you truly hate it in person,” I said to her, grabbing two glasses of champagne off of a passing tray. I handed one to her.
She mumbled, “Thank you,” and took a fortifying sip. “Yeah, well, I always have.”
“I don’t know how you even handle the life you live.”
She shrugged. “Most times, I don’t know either. But I love ballet more than anything, and it’s not always people rushing me to discuss the Time article. I should have prepared myself for that.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
She tilted her head to the side and looked off, away from me. Her face was carefully blank, but I could read her like no other. Even all these years later, she gave the same tell. A part of her thought that she should have known what to expect here. She’d alway
