Three days pass between agreeing to move in together and riding the metro to our first day of work. We've talked about nothing.

Actually, we've talked about almost everything. There was a very lively debate about the best type of croissant and whether the baguette should really be considered the epitome of French bread products, but there wasn't much by way of our supposed wedding.

I had foolishly assumed that when we left the apartment and made our way back to the hotel, he would say something about my complete slip of sanity. But he talked to me like nothing was going on. Like we were just roommates like we always have been.

So I've taken my cues from him, and I'm currently still pretending nothing's happening as we make our way back into the studio for the first time since neither one of us passed auditions to move from the school to the company all those years ago.

It's like being back home, in a way. Walking through the doors the school shares with the company, but it's weird turning left instead of right.

"Can you believe it's our first day?" Rafael nudges me with his shoulder and pushes a door open, allowing me to go through first. "I never in a million years would have imagined being back here after we so narrowly missed the cut all those years ago."

"I never imagined leaving the company back home, but... it's Paris!" I answer. The walls are covered in a matte wallpaper with shiny golden accents and red curtains adorn the pillars where the guests would mingle if this were an event and not a day at the office.

Rafael grabs my hand and pulls it into his side. "You don't have to be nervous. They hired you for a reason."

"I know. But it was risky. I know it was. They were going to promote me at home and here I'm back at the same position."

"You're about to be a soloist at the best ballet company in the world. And you deserve every second of it."

"I guess." I have to admit he has a point. It's not really a step back. Like going from the last grade in primary school to the first grade of high school, it isn't really going backwards, but it can feel like it.

Rafael fishes around in his bag while we make our way to the dressing rooms. "I got you these," he says, holding out the most beautiful red pair of leg warmers I've ever seen in my life. They look warm and... "They have compression," we both say at the same time.

And I don't know what possesses me in this moment. I should give him a hug or say a simple thank you or make a joke and send him off to his dressing room. But instead, I say, "this is even better than a ring."

And just like that, it's awkward again.

I don't wait for him to say anything, ducking into the women's dressing rooms and scanning the shelves for my name. It's way at the back of the room on the end, giving me a lot of room to spread out my stuff in the corner if I want to. But not today. At least for a little while, I need these girls to think of me as a clean and friendly human being.

Or at least, less of a mess than I actually am.

For example, I definitely don't need them to know I'm fake engaged to my best friend and currently playing my awkward request for a ring in my head on repeat. If I never have to talk about that again it will be too soon.

So I keep my head down. Nothing but pleasant hellos and discussions with people I've never met, including the girl sitting beside me, a new apprentice from the ballet school. She's probably amazing. They always are.

Even the presence of a few familiar faces doesn't calm the fluttering in my stomach from the fact that I haven't addressed anything with Rafael, I haven't danced here in almost a decade, and I have to move into a new house somehow. Tonight.

I'm very aware I should have done it yesterday, but not moving made it not real so... Instead of doing that, we'd checked out of one of the rooms and shared a much smaller one with two beds for the remainder of our stay. We can afford it a little longer with the low rent on the new place.

That we're going to share.

Because we're getting legally married.

And all he gave me were some leg warmers.

Granted, they are very nice leg warmers.

I finish sewing my ribbon on my pointe shoe and grab my skirt for the morning's class and then leave the dressing room and the chattering corps de ballet behind.

I head straight to the studio and wander in when there's only three or four other humans in the room. And one of them is the accompanist. She plays a lively tune on the piano as the choreographer of a different ballet performs a short piece I suspect to be part of a pas de deux. Obviously he's only one person, and it's fairly contemporary, so it's hard to tell.

I gently sit my bag on the floor and stretch, sliding my already-sore feet into my pointe shoes for the first time in a week. It does not feel nice, but I know I'll be back at it in no time.

After securing the ribbons of my pointe shoes and throwing on my warm up clothes, I see the little piece of red fabric peeking out from inside my bag. I sigh, wasting no time in slipping the beautiful leg warmers over my calves. They feel even better than they look.

Damn it, Rafael.

No sooner have I thought about him, I apparently manage to conjure him. He strides across the studio with precision and focus, slippered feet barely making a sound as they contact the forgiving flooring.

It's hard to describe the way Rafa carries himself. Like he's got just enough confidence to be proud of his achievements and just enough arrogance to know it, and way more strength than should be legal for any one person to possess. But there's also a softness about him. He isn't all hard angles and sharp points. He is the defined curves of rolling hills, not jutting peaks of the mountains.

Oh God, I'm staring. I really hope my mouth wasn't hanging open.

"You're wearing the leg warmers," he says, hiding his smile behind his shoulder as he slips his own warm up pants on.

"They are heavenly," I sigh. "I haven't even danced in them yet and I can already tell I'm never going to want to stop wearing them."

"I might need to get you another pair, then."

"You'll do no such thing," I gasp, glaring at him and throwing my hands onto my hips. "I'll buy my own leg warmers."

"As you wish," he says, slipping into a side split. "Now let's get ready for our first rehearsal. Then we'll go to lunch before our second and third rehearsals and when those are done, we can eat out of the one takeout container we can afford while we fill the entire bathtub with ice for our feet."

"You had me at ice." I laugh, drawing the attention of one of the other dancers, Amandine, who I remember from our days at the academy. Hopefully she's over her little crush on my current best friend slash fake fiancé slash future legal husband or this could get real awkward real fast.

Another laugh escapes me, this one louder and more abrupt than the last one. Turns out it's already really awkward so maybe it'll get better from here.

In no time at all, class has begun and we've found our places with our respective groups of dancers at the barre and my mind is free. Like I never took a break at all, I'm back into the swing of things, working my muscles and extending my back and breaking in my first set of company pointe shoes.

It's not like I never left. I can tell that I left. Little bits of the classic Parisian style have left my muscle memory, replaced with Canadian flourishes I'd had to train myself into when I went back home to work. But it is kind of like riding a bike, I assume, and if I keep working at it, eventually it will come back to me.

We spend the whole class at the barre, which M. Lemont tells us is not to be expected to continue beyond our first day.

I resist the urge to look at Rafael. Mostly. I only look a little bit when we're doing arabesque and I regret it the second it happens, because that image is never leaving me.

But soon enough I'm peeling my very effective leg warmers off and sitting in the cafeteria with a whole group of corps dancers who will be performing with us.

"Do you think we could sneak a salad into your purse for later?" Rafael whispers, snaking his arms around my waist from behind and plopping down on the bench seating very unceremoniously for someone of his profession.

"I don't have a purse, Rafael," I laugh. "Maybe we can try it tomorrow."

A couple of the girls glance at his arms but neither of them says anything. I can tell it will come, either when we're alone in the change room or when they get a little more comfortable with us. At some point we're going to have to come up with a story about the ring, because I doubt even they would buy the leg warmers were an appropriate token of the promise of marriage.

Rafael redirects the conversation every time it gets close to topics I don't like to discuss, like this evening's rehearsal. Which does very little to stop me from thinking about it, unfortunately, because the seconds tick by until we are moving with the river of dancers through the hallway to the studio.

"Miss Ouellet, to the front, please," someone calls as we enter the room.

"I guess that means we aren't together today," Rafael says, squeezing my shoulder. "Go get 'em."

"Thanks, Rafa." I try to smile, but my stomach is in tight knots and my legs aren't much better. My first day here and already I'm being called out.

"It's a good thing," Rafael reminds me, squeezing me one last time and then setting me free, dropping his bag in the back and sitting down in the circle of dancers I've never met before.

I take my place in the center of the floor near the front and the ballet master makes his way across the floor, bringing silence like a wave behind him.

"Ah, Miss Ouellet. A pleasure to see you back with us. You will be dancing with Maxence today. We're just trying out a couple pairings to see what will work for you. I haven't seen you dance in so many years."

I smile up at the tall, muscled man I've been paired with and nod. "I'm sure we'll get it in no time. Maxence looks like a wonderful teacher."

"I am," he answers, extending his hand out to hold mine.

The music for the variation starts and I forget where I am, moving from one position to another, leaning on Maxence for support on occasion. The man doesn't buckle. He's as stable as a rock.

Near the end of rehearsal, M. Lemont lets the corps go except me and Maxence, who he demands another iteration from. The music plays and we nail it. For our first time working together, I couldn't have asked for a better partner. We couldn't have asked for a more successful dance.

Overall, it was a great first day, full of the kind of attention and suggestions any dancer hopes to hear: constructive and helpful without being overly harsh.

I'm doing okay.

I race out of the room, still in my pointe shoes and holding everything else in my arms. My head is on a swivel, hoping to find Rafael. But he's nowhere to be found.

I'm just glad there's no one around to see my disappointment.

"Looking for your friend?" Maxence asks from behind me, dressed and ready for the outdoors.

"Actually, he's my..." I feel like I need to correct him for the charade to be realistic, but when I try to say the word fiancé it just gets stuck in my throat.

"I'm her fiancé," Rafa says from a nearby alcove.

"There you are," I say, pushing forward until I'm wrapped in his arms. "I had such a wonderful day."

Rafa, by the look on his face when I pull back from our hug, did not.

"What's going on?" I say, sitting down on the floor to remove my pointe shoes. I get them untied and throw them into the bag, reaching around until I find the leg warmers I'd discarded for this evening's rehearsal. I manage to find both with ease and slide them back onto my calves. It feels like I'm wearing a warm hug from Rafa.

I don't have time to dwell on that right now because he still hasn't answered me. His shoulders are up at his ears and his chest rises with a deep breath and falls with a heavy sigh. "I don't know, it's just been a long day and you're supposed to move into your place today and I guess—"

"Great work today, Rafael," Amandine interrupts us as she passes by, hair removed from its bun and makeup reapplied for whatever her evenings plans are. "Maybe we'll be partnered next time."

I must audibly scoff because Rafael thanks her and then turns to me, brows pulled so close together he's created a unibrow look.

He still looks good. That should be illegal.

"What?" he finally prompts.

"It's nothing. Let's go back to the part about me not wanting to move right now or ever or at least until I've iced my feet."

"I'm not letting you move out at midnight by yourself," he argues, folding his hands across his chest.

"I'll stay the week, then," I say, "until our day off Sunday. But then I'm moving out and..."

We both stare at each other as the hallway clears, the bright overhead lights from the studio dimming as the last dancers leave.

Neither of us speaks as we exit the building, not quite touching but close enough to feel a gravitational pull, like planets in orbit. When we exit the building, the cool night air nips down the back of my neck, bringing a shiver.

Something resembling an awkward silence settles over us but whatever it is that needs to be said is going to wait until I'm not being stared at by angry old French men. What is it about 10pm that brings them out in full force?

In no time at all we traverse the metro and arrive at our hotel. My feet burn in my shoes as we wait for the elevator even though we're only going to the second floor.

The door closing behind us with a click only amplifies the awkward feeling between us. We've left it unsaid too long but neither of us want to bring it up.

He looks at his feet. I look at him. He works his jaw like he's practicing what he has to say, but not letting it out yet. And then he snaps his head up to meet mine and pushes forward like a pouncing cat. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay?" I say, pushing my back into the opposing wall, simultaneously unsure of what he's about to say and completely intoxicated by the very Rafael scent coming off him with a mix of clean laundry, body wash and sweat.

"Have you decided what we're doing with the apartment yet?" He looks over my shoulder when he says it, like he doesn't want to hear my answer.

I'm usually so good at reading Rafael, but right now I have no idea which answer he wants to hear.

So I'm flying without a navigation system when I open my mouth to speak.

I'm going to say something.

I think.