Synopsis:
After
graduating from high school early, twenty-year-old Philippe Bergeron spent the
past several years lost among the stars while fishing off the New England
coast. A shoulder injury ends his dream of living reclusively on the water, and
he finds himself lost among the bright lights of New York City. His older
brother, Henri, has asked Philippe to chaperone his seventeen-year-old niece,
Sophie, on her tours of the city's legendary dance programs.
Sophie
meets with professional dancer and choreographer, Dario Pereira, to prepare a
routine for her college auditions. Dario’s cool perfection and immaculate style
contrast with Philippe’s awkward scruffiness, but it wakes desires Philippe
thought he’d left behind. When the attraction is surprisingly returned, Dario’s
confidence won’t let Philippe remain invisible. Unsure but curious, Philippe
relaxes his rule of isolation, and as the summer progresses, his relationship
with Dario leads him to a surprising discovery of his submissive sexual
tendencies and a greater sense of self-awareness.
Tragedy
threatens to destroy the connections Philippe has made and forces him to
retreat into the shadows of his past, far from the radiance of Dario’s love.
Ultimately, he must decide if it is time to stop hiding and set himself free.
Excerpt:
“We
had not intended to exile you from the studio, Philippe, but Sophie wanted the
first part of her solo to be a surprise to you. We couldn’t very well surprise
you if you watched us put it together, could we?” Dario led me back into the
studio. I’d been walking around the Upper West Side for the better part of two
hours, which I didn’t mind in the least—I was just a single grain of sand on
the beach, here in this city.
I
didn’t say anything as I headed toward my usual corner, but Dario stopped me.
His wiry arm thrust out across my middle. “Sit up here, instead.” He grabbed me
by the arm and led me to the front of the studio, and then he pushed me down to
sit on the floor with my back against the mirror. Dario had no trouble being
pushy.
Sophie
took her starting position, and Dario moved to the corner where he started the
music, an eccentric blend of bells and chimes and piano. And my niece began to
move. The piece seemed to be rooted in ballet, which was clearly Sophie’s strongest
suit, but Dario had woven into the piece many of the movements she had learned
in the different modern and contemporary classes she’d taken since we’d come to
the city. I guess he’d been paying attention when she’d demonstrated the
different steps she’d learned in classes each day.
My
overall impression of the piece—it was stunning—she was stunning.
Her
body, longer and leaner and stronger than I’d ever before noticed, seemed to
own the music. No, it was really much more as if her body was creating the
music with its movements. She leaned and stretched, her back flat at first and
then it gradually curved, and when she leaped, with her feet flexed and her
hands posed like claws, I felt goose bumps climb up the skin on my arms.
And
Sophie’s face reminded me of what I could remember of my mother’s. Proud
and brave, and, at moments, even tough, but at the very same time, so fragile.
But at the moment, she was looking over at me wearing an inquisitive
expression, trying to gauge my reaction to the first thirty seconds of her
solo. All I could think, though, was that she was everything I remembered my
mother being.
“Phil,
do you like it?” Her open expression shifted into being one of concern—and it
was all Sophie I was seeing again. “Is it okay?”
But
my eyes had filled up, and I fought to keep my tears inside. Images of my
mother always brought me to this state. I looked to Dario, who now leaned
against the far wall, and I saw that he was equally affected by her
performance, or maybe it was by my reaction to it. Our damp eyes kind of
collided—for a moment it was like we were of one mind—until he nodded a bit in
Sophie’s direction, to remind me to answer her.
“Was
it okay? Oh… oh, shit, yes.” I rarely cursed; my mother hadn’t
approved of foul language. And then I was somehow up on my feet, looking across
the room into her pale blue eyes. “It was… it was amazing, Sophie… I had no
idea….” And then I was right beside her. “That dance was beautiful, Soph… you
were beautiful.”
She
blushed, pleased and proud. We quickly looked away from each other, though,
uncomfortable with the emotion that charged the air between us.
“Well,
I guess it’s time to call it a night, then.” Dario let us off the emotional
hook we’d been caught on. He picked up his bag and his water bottle.
Book Links:
About
the Author:
Mia
Kerick is the mother of four exceptional children—all named after saints—and
five nonpedigreed cats—all named after the next best thing to saints, Boston
Red Sox players. Her husband of twenty years has been told by many that he has
the patience of Job, but don’t ask Mia about that, as it is a sensitive
subject.
Mia
focuses her stories on the emotional growth of troubled men and their
relationships, and she believes that sex has a place in a love story, but not
until it is firmly established as a love story. As a teen, Mia filled
spiral-bound notebooks with romantic tales of tortured heroes (most of whom
happened to strongly resemble lead vocalists of 1980s big-hair bands) and
stuffed them under her mattress for safekeeping. She is thankful to
Dreamspinner Press for providing her with an alternate place to stash her
stories.
Mia
is proud of her involvement with the Human Rights Campaign and cheers for each
and every victory made in the name of marital equality. Her only major regret:
never having taken typing or computer class in school, destining her to a life
consumed with two-fingered pecking and constant prayer to the Gods of
Technology.
My themes I always write about:
Sweetness. Unconventional love, tortured/damaged heroes-
only love can save them.
Author
Links:
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