Spiraling Deception Read Online Free PDF Page A

veins of gold and rose threaded
through the tiling. An old-fashioned, but pristine claw-footed
bathtub with what appeared to be actual gold-plated
fixtures— you’ve got to be kidding
me —beckoned seductively from the center of
the room.
    A sharp knock at the bedroom door abruptly
brought me out of the dreamy haze I was in and reluctantly, I left
the heavenly bathroom to answer it.
    “ Charli. You have got to
see our freaking room—” squealed Courtney as I opened the door.
Barreling past, she strode into the room, and then stopped dead in
her tracks and gaped, mouth wide open like one of those clowns you
throw balls into their mouths at a carnival sideshow. She turned
around in a slow circle and took in every detail of the lavish
suite, all the while chanting, “Ohmigod! Ohmigod!”
    “ Court.” I waved my hand
in front of her face.
    “ And I thought our room
was the shit. Your room is straight out of a fairytale story.
It’s…It’s like Cinderella’s freaking bedroom.”
    “ I know, right?” I
followed her gaze. “That’s exactly what I thought!”
    Courtney skipped over to the bed and jumped
on it, bouncing twice and then swung her gaze around the room once
more. “Oh, I forgot—your bag is at the door. They brought it to our
room by mistake. Also, Jake says to tell you to be ready in fifteen
for rehearsals,” she said absently.
    “ Thanks.” I retrieved my
small rollaway suitcase from the hallway and rolled it toward the
foot of the bed, wishing I didn’t have to leave my room at all.
Maybe after the show, I could slip away unnoticed and at least
enjoy a soak in the claw-footed bathtub before we had to leave
first thing in the morning.
     

     
    “ You ready?” Jake
asked.
    “ Yeah,” I replied between
breaths. Nerves always got the better of me right before a
performance. But as soon as the lights lowered, the music began and
I took the stage, my hand caressing the silk fabric of the aerial
ribbon, all the butterflies in my stomach would dissipate and then
nothing else existed in that moment of time.
    “ Showtime, kiddo,” Jake
whispered into my ear, and gave my hand a quick, encouraging
squeeze. I watched as he confidently walked out among the crowd and
stepped up on the small raised platform erected for tonight’s show
in the center of the ballroom.
    Rehearsals went smoothly and after I got
over the initial shock at the sheer size of the chateau’s grand
ballroom, I was excited to see Uncle Mike and the rest of the
troupe who were already there and going through a series of safety
checks and last-minute preparations for the evening’s
performance.
    As I adjusted the sheer pearl-white chiffon
skirt that tied around the waist of my sleeveless leotard, I
silently counted to ten and watched Jake effortlessly climb the
trapeze on the center stage and then made my entry into the vast
ballroom. The room lighting was muted to a soft glow and only the
spotlight shone visibly onto the center platform. After I climbed
the three small steps, I stopped beside the ribbon and caressed it
affectionately with the palm of my hand as I waited silently for
the music to begin.
    This was it—my last performance with the
troupe, bittersweet yet hopefully an exciting finale. The
choreography, combined with the song “Stay” by Rihanna, made the
routine hauntingly seductive and soulfully melancholy—the perfect
combination for my final performance. Although a beautiful piece,
it was fittingly sad because, I was sad to be leaving the troupe.
We’d all formed a close-knit bond over the years of touring
together.
    Shrouding the room into further darkness,
the muted lighting was extinguished as the piano intro began. As I
extended my right hand, I wound the white silk ribbon around my
wrist and down my forearm like a snake coiling an unyielding spiral
around its prey. Looking out into the darkened ballroom, I couldn’t
see beyond the first row of tables closest to the stage, but from
rehearsals earlier that