Spotlight and Exclusive Excerpt Reveal – With Every Heartbeat by Melody Grace

I’m in a gorgeous square in the middle of Rome, staring at the most beautiful fountain I’ve ever seen, when it hits me: I think I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

All around me, the rest of my dance troupe are happily snapping photos of the view, but all I see when I look into the water is the impossible task ahead of me. Two months to dance like I’ve never danced before. Two months to save my career before it’s over for good.

Maybe I should just go home.

No. I stop that thought dead. There’s no way I can ever go home.

It was a last-minute, out-of-the-blue thing. I came home to find my mom dragging my suitcases out of storage, a determined look on her face. “Someone dropped out of the touring company,” she announced. “I pulled some strings and got you the spot. You leave for Rome tomorrow.”

Rome?

I stared at her, gaping. “I don’t understand.”

“I was dancing solos at your age.” Mom paused to give me a look, the familiar mix of disappointment and impatience that makes my heart clench with guilt in my chest. “The Black Swan, Coppelia … But you’re still in the corps de ballet,” she said, referring to the lowest rung of the company, the nameless, faceless group who dance behind the major stars, out of the spotlight.

There’s no shame to the position, it’s where all dancers start. I remember being thrilled the day the letter arrived: I’d been accepted into the American Ballet Company, the most prestigious dance company in New York—and the world. All of my hard work, the years of training and sacrifice, had paid off. I could finally make Mom proud.

But the shimmer of membership quickly faded. Soon, just being one of the company wasn’t enough. It was about moving up, getting noticed, winning solos and larger roles. The training got harder, the competition more fierce. For the past year, I’d felt like I was running on a treadmill that only went faster: pushing myself harder and harder, just to stay in the same place.

“I’m trying, Mom,” I explained quietly. “You’ve seen how hard I’ve worked.”

“I know.” She gave a brusque nod. “It’s the director. He’ll never give you a break, not as long as you’re my daughter.”

I shifted uncomfortably. My mother’s legacy is inescapable. As one of the best prima ballerinas of her age, she has a legion of fans—and a long list of people she trampled on her way to the top. “He’s not holding that against me,” I murmur.

“He is, which is why you’re going to Rome. All the top dancers are staying here for the fall season,” Mom added. “This is your chance to win a solo, get noticed. The other girls will be out partying, messing around. You can beat them. That is, if you’re ready.” She paused, giving me a searching look. “Are you ready, Annalise?”

I paused. The truth is, I wasn’t so certain anymore, but I knew only one answer would do.           “I’m ready,” I said quietly, and went to start packing.

But now, one week and a thousand miles later, I wish I’d been strong enough to tell the truth. Because here, away from my usual routine filling every hour of every day, I can’t help but hear the whispers of doubt I’ve fought so hard to keep at bay.

What if it’s not the director’s vendetta against Mom that’s been holding me back? What if I can’t even win a solo here, in the touring company, without the best dancers to beat?

What if you’re just not good enough?

“Make a wish.”

A voice interrupts my thoughts and I snap my head up. An old Italian woman is hawking souvenirs around the crowd, carrying racks of keychains and cheap jewelry.

I stare at her, confused. She nods at the fountain, already sparkling with coins through the clear waters. “You make a wish in the Trevi Fountain, it always comes true.”

I dig a Euro coin from my pocket.

“Wish for happiness and love.” The old woman winks at me, then moves off into the crowd.

I pause, turning the coin over in my hand, feeling the smooth metal and unfamiliar ridges. Wishing for happiness … I give a wry smile. The women has clearly never met a ballerina. We could never waste a wish on that, not with a lifetime of hard sacrifice behind us, training for hours every day, dancing until our toes bleed and our limbs ache.

We don’t dance to be happy. We dance because we must.

I flip the coin into the air, watching as the sunlight reflects on metal: a dazzling beam in the bright afternoon.

Please let me win the solo. Please let me be good enough. Please let me make her proud.

The coin slips into the water with a ripple, lost in the bed of other coins, other hopeful wishes.

I just pray that mine comes true.