Everything is falling apart.

Our lunch break is over far too quickly, and despite a great deal of research, we are forced to leave the cafe with more questions than answers.

Even the sky agrees we're doomed, greeting us with nothing but grey clouds so dark they cause the streetlights to illuminate in the early afternoon.

"They're going to know something is up," I say, slipping my hand into Rafa's and tugging a little until he looks down into my eyes. "If we keep acting like this no one will believe we are happy."

"I know," he sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on with me."

"We'll just leave it be for now. We'll have plenty of time to figure it out tonight, okay?" I offer. "There has to be some way to make this work. We always do our best thinking when we're dancing, right?"

"Not really," he laughs. "I seem to recall you once deciding garbage bags could be taped together to make a balloon mascot?"

"Shut up," I tease, nudging him with my shoulder. "If I can think of something that far out of the box, I'm sure I can figure this out. If nothing else, we can always get married by proxy back home. Start thinking about a person you trust to pretend to be you and keep everything a secret. Just in case we have to go that way."

"Why would someone pretend to be me?" He spins to face me, waiting for the traffic to stop so we can cross the street. "And what is marriage by proxy?"

"I have a cousin who did it," I answer as well as I can remember. "Basically, you can appoint someone to attend the wedding in your place. It's abnormal, especially for both parties to stand by proxy, but it's possible. I'm still looking into places we could get to around here, though. There has to be somewhere like European Vegas where you can just get married super easy, right?"

He shrugs. "Let's look into other options first. Or maybe other apartments. I don't want to take the risk of someone back home knowing what's going on. If it got back to my mother, I think she would die."

"Your mother loves me," I tease again, trying desperately to lighten the mood. The sky rumbles as the rainstorm and darkness approach us, reminding me there's no hope of lightening anything.

"I doubt she'd love finding out I married you and didn't invite her, though."

"Oh." The thought hits me right in the center of my chest. "I hadn't thought of that."

What were we going to tell our parents and friends about this? Were we just going to divorce and pretend it never happened? What about when we decided to get married in the future and needed to provide our proof of divorce?

All the anxiety and uncertainty swirls back in, but I've agreed to this. One year of being spontaneous and enjoying life in Europe and abroad and then hopefully a promotion and enough money for a better apartment. It's just a temporary measure to bring us back into line with our finances. It's just for us to be here. To be able to adventure. For me to stop being so closed off.

Rafael tells me all the time I have so much to give, but all I can think is that there is so much more I could be giving if I weren't choosing not to.

This is my year to step out of myself and make my dreams happen. And I'm not going to let a silly little marriage law get in my way.

No. I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to stay in that cute little house and marry my best friend and work my tail off until I gain that promotion. I will be a principal dancer here in Paris. And I will prove everyone wrong.

I can do this. And I'm not going to be stopped by a little marriage snag. "Don't worry, Rafa. I'll figure it out."

"You don't have to do it alone, you know?" He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

There's no denying it. I feel it in very part of my bones. I know I don't have to do this alone. I know he would never let me.

Which is exactly why I'm going to figure this out. Because he might not feel anything romantic towards me, but there is no one on earth I can imagine trusting with my life. No one I would rather do this with than Rafael Silva.

We don't even make it all the way across the street, and we must be less than 500 meters from the door into the studios when the sky opens up, dropping a sheet of rain and soaking us to the bone. Rafa grabs my hand and pulls me across the rest of the street at a breakneck pace, pulling me under the nearest awning of the building.

Soon we're joined by a crowd of people who had the same idea we did, pressing into us from all sides until we're face to face, crowded into a space the size of one person.

Rafael's hands are on my back, and my lips are this close to his shoulder. Deep breaths might calm me down if it weren't for the fact that he's got a new cologne or something and every deep breath I take sends it all swirling through my brain, taking away my ability to stand upright on my legs. Good thing I'm so squished in here I'd probably stay right where I am even if my legs stopped holding me up.

"What a day, huh?" Rafa laughs lightly into my ear.

"We did say we'd have adventures," I reply, and my voice betrays me, shaking slightly.

"That we did," he agrees, craning his neck to look at something behind me. "And I think we might have to have another one if we don't want to arrive both late and soaking wet to rehearsal."

My nose scrunches up at the thought. "You're about to tell me we have to go back into the rain, aren't you?"

"Just a little bit," he laughs, stepping out under the awning and reaching his hand back for me. "You ready?"

"No," I laugh, taking his hand and allowing him to pull me out of the crowd and lead me down the sidewalk to the main studio entrance.

When we get there, he pushes me into the wall under the small overhang and reaches around me to open the door. He's way too close. Someone could see.

"Let them see," he says, reading my mind. "Believable is good, remember?" And then he ghosts a kiss onto my temple and nudges me through the door, following in after me and shaking out his hair like a dog.

"You're lucky my hair is up right now," I shove him away so the spray doesn't land in my face.

"Why? You'd get back at me for this?"

"Yes," I say simply. "I would."

I could now, too. My sweater is drenched but my bag, still slung across his shoulder, is mercifully waterproof, so I should be able to find something dry to wear. Eventually.

"I have to find something dry for rehearsal," I say finally, pulling my bag off his shoulder and stepping away. "Meet you in there?"

"You can count on it, Miss Ouellet."

A quick glance at my watch says I have fifteen minutes before I'm late. Which isn't even close to enough time to change, get my shoes on and stretch. So I race down the hallway to the nearest bathroom and strip off my drenched clothes, shoving them into a small outer pocket of my bag and hoping I remember to take them out before they get gross.

In less than five minutes, I change into dry dancewear and race out of the bathroom into the studio. Most everyone is warming up at the bar when I throw my pointe shoes on and tie them.

The attempts to be quick are slowing me down, and Rafael's legwarmers are still a little wet, so I lay them over my bag, hoping they will dry so I can wear them again. Finally, I stand and place my hand on the bar. If I had to guess, I'd say I went from bathroom to barre in seven minutes, leaving me no more than three minutes for warm ups.

Don't ask me if it was worth it. I don't want to have to lie.

I've barely begun my second exercise when M. Lemont enters the studio, clapping his hands for our attention. Our rehearsals have officially begun.

In all of the chaos, I hadn't even bothered to look around the room. My head swivels around the studio, pausing to check the groups of dancers clinging to the barres. I don't see Rafael anywhere.

"Where could he be?"

I must say it out loud because the man standing nearest me, whose name I still cannot remember, says, "Where could who be?"

"Sorry, I was talking to someone else," I say, trying to cover for my awkward mistake. He looks around and sees what I know to be true: there's no one else around. But mercifully he doesn't say anything, turning to face M. Lemont, who is calling out groups of corps dancers to partner.

"Miss Beauchêne and Mr. Silva, please."

"Mr. Silva just stepped out for a moment," someone calls from the back.

"I'll make sure he finds me when he returns," Amandine says, eyes darting around the room until they land on mine.

I don't care. I do not care. I don't care at all. I trust Rafael and I am going to remain calm.

"Piper and Maxence of course will remain our soloists. Amandine," he turns to her. "You and Rafael will understudy the role, today, please."

She smiles and quickly nods. "Of course, M. Lemont."

"Good," he says. "Let's get to it, then."

I jog over to the center of the studio where Maxence awaits me. I still can't find Rafael but I have to get my head in the game or I'll definitely end up falling down on top of Maxence.

"I expect the two of you are available tomorrow afternoon for an additional rehearsal before the corps joins us," M. Lemont says when I arrive.

"Of course," we answer in unison.

"I know it's early, but we've had to readjust some schedules with some adjustments to the tour schedule and available dancers. You understand."

"Of course," we say again in unison.

"That is why you are dancing together," he says with a laugh. "You are one."

I don't know why I feel so itchy at the idea of being in sync with Maxence. The very thought of him being my perfect match is inconceivable. I know they haven't seen me dance with Rafael in more than five years, so maybe I'm reading too much into this.

Plus, I'm not even married to him. Gotta remember that.

I mean, even if we were married, working with another dancer shouldn't be a problem, because married dancers perform with not-each-other all the time. I'm definitely overthinking this.

"Piper?" Maxence asks. "Are you prepared?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." In no time, we're in position to begin the variation practice.

Three iterations of it and still Rafael is absent. I'm breathing so heavy I can't think straight from all the jumps we've had to perform, and still all I can think about is where Rafa ended up. Missing rehearsal isn't like him at all.

"Where is Mr. Silva?" M. Lemont asks. I really hope I wasn't the one to draw his attention to Rafa's absence, but I have a feeling I was.

"He's fallen ill, Sir," someone says from the back. "We've set him up with the recording."

"Ah, all right then." He looks around the room, assessing us for a moment before demanding, "Again!"

We do it again.

And again, and again, and again. My footwork grows sloppier with each iteration.

"You need practice, Miss Ouellet," M. Lemont says quietly after the last rehearsal. "It seems the break has not agreed with you."

"Yes, Sir," I say between breaths. "I will."

Especially since I'm fairly confident I'm not out of breath and sloppy from dancing. But how do you tell someone you're messing up the dance because all of your focus is on the sudden absence of Rafael? I'm pretty sure I'm visibly shaking with anxiety over what's happened to him.

There's no way he got that ill between almost kissing me in the rain and less than twenty minutes later when rehearsal started without him here.

No, something is definitely going on. And I'm going to find out what.

As soon as I get through the rest of this rehearsal.