And just as I guessed, her tone shifted as she continued.
“Though honestly, Darcey, you’ve been practicing forever, and your moves still aren’t smooth. Maybe it’s time to find a better coach?”
I bit my lip and stayed quiet.
This routine was mine, a mix of contemporary and traditional dance. I’d spent months perfecting every step.
Ulysses patted her hand gently. “Alright, let’s go get your room set up.”
As I watched them walk away together, I took a deep breath and put my headphones back on.
The music started, and I lost myself in my own world. Ballet was my only refuge—the only place where I could momentarily forget all my troubles.
But that peace didn’t last long.
Ginger started redecorating the villa as if she were already the wife.
My favorite oil painting? Gone. She swapped it for some postmodern installation art she loved. She even installed security cameras in every corner of the villa.
The dining room got a fancy new set of bone china, but the home-cooked meals I grew up with? Those were history.
“You’ve all been eating way too carelessly these past few years,” she said, directing the chef. “From now on, you should be more particular. Darcey, you should learn to develop some taste.”
I stared at the exquisite but soulless dish in front of me and found myself missing Miss Merrill’s simple bowl of mac and cheese.
But Miss Merrill got fired. Ginger’s reason? “She wasn’t professional enough.”
And Ulysses turned a blind eye to all these changes.
He was getting busier, leaving early and coming home late. And when he was home, all his time was spent with Ginger.
“Lee, don’t you think this painting looks good here?”
“Sure.”
“Darling, will you come with me to pick curtains this weekend?”
“Of course.”
He never said no to her. It was like this villa had always been hers to run.
I started hiding out in the rehearsal room out of habit, hoping to escape her, but even there, I couldn’t.
One day, while I was rehearsing, she walked right in without warning. “Darcey, can I use this room for a bit? My friends want to see it.”
I glanced at the clock. The Youth America Grand Prix was just a day away. “I still need to practice…”
“It’ll only take a moment.” She’d already opened the door, letting in a group of women dressed to the nines.
I had no choice but to pack up and leave. As I passed by, I overheard one of them whisper, “So, this is the adopted daughter? She’s pretty, isn’t she?”