Extra Bonus #70: Donnelly & Beckett Get Ready for Ballet (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MY GUY BECKETT—his ballet schedule might as well be tattooed inside my brain by now. It’s one of those indelible things that I can’t forget. Been engrained to always remember. Guess that’s why I know nothing is gonna happen at 5 a.m. and I should shut my eyes. Go back to sleep.

He won’t be ready to leave till 8.

I lie on my bed in my fancy Hell’s Kitchen apartment, wide-awake.

Pressing my hands to my eyelids, I can’t stop replaying two days ago. Two days ago, I stopped by the Philly townhouse for Beckett. He’d wanted to spend time with Sulli, and I decided to show Luna the sketch I’d been working on for her galaxy tattoo.

One thing led to another, and I went down on her.

I ate out Luna Hale.

The thing is, every time I remember the moment, us—I just start smiling. Making Luna feel good might be a drug I can stand behind. I feel high on life, which is the best high if I do say so, but I’m afraid of its disappearance as much as I am of its existence. I can’t keep grinning like I tasted the elixir of my life, which apparently happens to be Luna’s pussy, because I don’t need to advertise a thing.

For her sake.

For my sake.

In the quiet of the night, the moment replays on loop again. Underneath her sheets, her floral scent nearly sent me, and the warmth of her thighs is deep-rooted in my head. She smelled way too good to be real. Pheromones are also one hell of a drug, and I can’t say I’ve ever been that overcome by them.

Not until now, or really, then.

I can control base impulses, though. Primal instincts are no joke, and fucking is one of them. But no way would I’ve let it go that far and fucked her. Not unless she asked for more.

On my mattress, I rake my hands through my hair, resting them on my head.

I stare at the ceiling, but all I see is her.

The way her amber eyes flitted to me, light in them. The way her grin grew seeing my grin.

“Eat me out, then, for science,” she said.

For science. But I told her the truth. That I wanted it to feel good for her. I wanted it to be the best she’s ever had. She deserves that.

There are pricks out there who’d love to sleep with Luna because she’s famous and the daughter of Lily Calloway. Bragging about it—that’s all they’d do. They wouldn’t give a shit how she felt or if she got off too, and anger scrapes against me just thinking guys could’ve done that to her.

In my bed, my grin begins to fade.

No one can know what we did, except Jane walked in on us. She found out. But Jane has that Cobalt blood. She’s loyal, and I trust that Jane won’t tell a soul. By association, I can only hope the same can be said for Thatcher.

Thatcher Moretti.

He wouldn’t have been the first bodyguard I’d put this type of trust in, but I’m just trying not to think about that. He hasn’t given me the third-degree I thought he would. Thatcher likes cuddling with the rulebook, and I’m not an enemy of rules either. I know we need ‘em. I like to follow ‘em too.

But I went down on a client, who’s not even my client, and that’s breaking one big enough for the ax. I’m not Farrow.

I’m not as vital to the team, but I’d like to believe I bring something more than my good looks and jokes.

I’m supposed to be here.

They need me, but there’s a chance they might not see it like that. So yeah, Thatcher could slap me hard with the rulebook, but he really didn’t. Makes me think he’s breaking the same rule and doing something behind closed doors with Jane.

I wouldn’t be shocked if their fake dating op has become a real thing, but I know to keep these theories to myself.

Gripping my hair, I let out a deep breath, wanting to stop the circular thoughts. They always begin with going down on Luna, turn to my job in security, and then eventually land on Loren Hale.

Tempting her dad’s rage isn’t smart. It’s not like I charted a course to break a promise I made to him. He tried to scare the shit out of me at the Metropolitan Opera House, in the bathroom, and his clear threat makes me keep the moment with Luna close to my chest. Protected, locked away.

I should regret eating her out.

I should.

But I don’t.

I’ve started realizing it’s impossible to regret things that make you happy.

Watching the ceiling, seeing her, I don’t fall back asleep. Instead, I take an early shower. Rub one out. I swear I can still smell her on me. And then I dress in crisp black pants, a plain white tee, and I work on tweaking the galaxy sketch in the living room.

As far as I know, the Wreath brothers are sound asleep in their bedrooms. Oscar might or might not be home, depending on wherever Charlie is located.

My phone rings at 7 a.m.

Still too early to leave for the ballet theatre, so when I see Beckett’s name on the Caller ID, I know something’s up.

I answer the call, but he’s the first to speak.

“You busy?”

“Nah, just sketching.” I shut the sketchbook and slip the pen behind my ear.

“You want to come over?” His voice sounds a bit strained in frustration. Lately, he has a lot to be frustrated about, so I get it.

“Already headed your way.” I’m halfway to my door, radio and gun clipped, and I’m glad for the opportunity to step outside of my thoughts, the ones that keep orbiting two days ago. Luna.

Luna.

I start smiling again.

Beckett says, “Just use your key. I’m in my room.”

“Sure thing.” We hang up, and I exit into the long stretch of hallway, walls painted a deep blood red. The Cobalt brothers live in the apartment right across from security, so a few steps later, and I’m unlocking their door.

Inside, the apartment is quiet but not silent. I hear shuffling in the kitchen and the shut of a cupboard, the rummage of utensils in a drawer.

Carefully, I lock the door behind me and walk farther into the apartment. My footfalls aren’t soft. I’m not trying to sneak inside and scare whoever’s awake. Since Beckett said he’s in his room, I know it can’t be him.

“Charlie?” Eliot calls out in a whisper.

“Not Charlie. Just Donnelly,” I say, announcing myself before I round the corner.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Eliot greets lightly, not shocked to see me. Not when I’ve been welcomed into the Cobalt den for years.

I nod to him. “Morning.”

Eliot is behind the kitchen counter, a box of pancake mix torn open, and a whisk and carton of eggs near the sink.

I notice his damp hair, slicked back with sweat. Track pants ride low on his waist. He’s ripped, and it looks like he just returned from the gym.

Guess he ditched his bodyguard this morning. I never heard Vance enter our apartment, or even leave. It’s been one of several points of contention between Eliot and Charlie ever since Eliot moved in. Hate seeing them fight. Somewhere out there, a baby lion cub is crying every time they do.

But it’s gonna happen. They’re brothers. I know at the end of the day, they’d do anything for each other. They’ve already proven that.

Before I can go, Eliot slows his movements, gradually reaching for the whisk, and the way he steadies his blue eyes on mine, I’m just thinking, did Luna tell you I went down on her?

I go very still.

She said she wasn’t gonna tell her best friends, Eliot or Tom, anything about what happened.

I have a good rapport with Eliot and Tom, despite my ties being bound to Beckett and not them. We’re friendly enough, but if they learned I went down on their best friend, it might not be a good thing. I dunno.

It’s not like I’ve ever been in these weeds before.

I think they don’t know me well enough to be anything other than protective of Luna and more mistrustful of me. The thought of being someone who can’t walk into this apartment without being met with side-eyes and short glances and fuck yous—it’s a bad feeling. It’s not a path I’d choose.

Not without good reason.

I’ve come to a stop at the kitchen, and I jab a thumb behind me. “Beckett called me. I’m hanging out with him before we head out. That okay with you?”

“Yes, and you really don’t need my permission.” He casts a quick glance towards his older brother’s room. “You met the girl that fucked Beckett over, right? Kara?”

That’s what this is about.

My muscles unwind, realizing he knows nothing about me and Luna. “Yeah, I met her.”

I’m the one who gave her the NDA that she broke.

Kara posted her text conversation with Beckett online for the world to see. It blew up and caused all of Beckett’s siblings to go on a social media blackout in solidarity.

They’re the sort of brothers and sisters you dream about. There for you through the thick of it all.

Eliot leaves the whisk in the batter. “Did she seem deceitful? Was there anything that tipped you off?”

Guilt tries to fester. I’ve thought about if there was more I could’ve done to prevent what happened, but I didn’t see it.

I couldn’t.

It wasn’t the first time Beckett had met up with Kara. They’ve casually hooked up plenty of times, and I would’ve never imagined he’d need to be cautious around her. She reassured him constantly whenever he reminded her of privacy and boundaries.

I start shaking my head. “Nothing I could see.”

“What was she like?” Eliot asks. “Snobbish? Materialistic? Did you peg her as a social climber?”

“You don’t want to ask your brother that?”

Eliot pushes his sweaty hair back. “You know my brother. You ask and he barely tells.” He grins. “If only the walls had ears.” He raises his brows at me.

I smirk. “This wall has no ears.”

“I see two.”

“These things?” I motion to my ears. “Hardly work. I hear nothing.”

Eliot grins wider. “You are a good one, my friend.”

He calls Vance Wreath “my friend” and he’s a brand new bodyguard, but I’ll take the friendship title, no matter if he’s handing them out like Bingo cards.

I shrug. “Just doing my job.”

“No, Beckett is lucky to have you. After all that he’s been through, he deserves someone who’d keep their mouth shut. Even though I wish I knew what she was like. Maybe then it’d be easier to spot the people who’d betray you.” He picks his whisk back up.

At this, I go to Beckett’s room and slip inside.

Beckett is in blue sweatpants and a gray tee. What he’ll wear to his morning ballet class and rehearsal before tonight’s performance.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed and holding the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

“I slept like shit.” His voice is calm, despite looking like he’s peeved.

“Me too.” I take a seat backwards on his desk chair and spin around to him.

Beckett exhales deeply, dropping his hand off his face. “You okay?”

I rest my forearms on the top of the chair. “Just…” Luna. “A girl I hooked up with. A friend, or I can’t be sure if we’re even friends yet. Haven’t exactly labeled it.”

He listens and nods, “Yeah. That’s a stage I’m familiar with, unfortunately.”

“What do you call it?”

“Friends-with-consequences.”

“Consequences,” I smirk and flash the rock on hand gesture. “Love that for you.”

He groans, but he’s smiling this tired Beckett smile that he wears most early mornings and late nights. “It’s a pothole.”

I grin more. “I’ll pull you out."

“Aren’t you the one about to fall into it?” Beckett asks.

Am I?

Is Luna a pothole?

“Nah,” I shake my head. “I jump over those things.” I stand up. “She’s not a friend-with-consequences. We’re not hooking up again.”

We’re just gonna be friends.

Beckett watches me carefully push his chair into his desk. I ensure it’s straight and aligned with the edges of the drawers.

“Is she someone I know?” Beckett wonders.

I can’t tell him.

I can’t even tell Farrow and Oscar.

Lying isn’t something I enjoy, so I try to avoid. “You never said why you slept like shit. Is it Kara?”

“No. It’s Beth Anne. She called last night. She has a friend from Vegas who’s graduating ballet school soon. They were a year or so apart in the academy, and she’s asking if I can pull strings and get her into NYBC.”

“Big ask. You gonna do it?”

“You know I don’t have that kind of pull,” Beckett says. “Thanks to Kara, the world knows I’ve had threesomes. I’m on thin ice with the company as it is.”

“Your parents have the pull though. They’re the biggest donors for the ballet. They’ve gotta be able put in a good word.”

Beckett winces. “I’ve spent so long avoiding pulling that card, Donnelly.”

“I know.”

“But it’s Beth Anne.” He puts a hand over his eyes. She’s done him a solid more than once since he’s been in the company.

“Do you know anything about the girl from Vegas?” I ask.

He rises, coming towards me. “Nothing. What if she’s not even good? What if she can’t cut it, and I’ve just vouched for her?”

“Things to keep you up at night.”

Beckett ends up laughing. “You want to swap? I’ll take your friend-with-consequences—”

“Nah, she’s mine,” I cut him off and swerve an arm over his shoulder. “Your brother’s making breakfast.”

“Which one?” Beckett says as we emerge into the kitchen.

Eliot has already plated eggs and pancakes. “The one who painstakingly watched Chef Michael and learned how to cook.” Eliot names the Cobalt’s private chef. “For you, dear brother.” He pushes the plate across the bar. He has another one for me.

Beckett thanks him in French. We hop up on the stools and eat a hearty breakfast. I’m done with mine, but Beckett makes a bowl of cereal. He eats a ton. ‘Cause he burns a ton dancing all day. Some weeks, he’ll even hit the gym between class and rehearsal.

Eliot eats standing up. Plate of eggs in hand, he’s leaning on the oven.

“Where’s Tom?” Beckett asks.

“Asleep.” Just as Eliot says it, the front door opens, and in walks Charlie Keating Cobalt. He’s in a wrinkled white button-down and khakis.

First thing he says is, “Where’s my coat?” He’s speaking directly to Eliot.

Eliot swallows a bite of egg. “Why do you presume I took your fucking coat, brother?”

“You’re on social media wearing my coat.” Charlie flashes his phone to him.

Eliot gasps. “Who is that imposter, pretending to be me? And he’s wearing the ugliest coat I’ve ever seen.”

Beckett laughs.

I grin into a swig of OJ.

Charlie tilts his head. “If it’s not returned, yours will disappear.”

“I’m flattered you’ve finally seen I have better taste than you.” Eliot scoops another chunk of egg. “If you want to borrow my clothes, all you have to do is ask.”

Charlie skims him, head to toe, then looks between me and Beckett. “Was a bodyguard at the gym with him?”

“Not that I know of,” Beckett says. “Was there one?” He’s asking Eliot, then turns to me.

“I don’t keep tabs on Vance,” I admit, not throwing Eliot that far under the bus.

Eliot sends me the shortest glance of appreciation, then motions with his plate to Charlie. “Really, what’s this obsession with me having a chaperone to the gym? It’s one elevator ride down in a secure apartment complex, and I’ve seen you ditch Oscar more than anyone—”

“Say it,” Charlie snaps.

“You’re a hypocrite. Wanting me to be attached to a bodyguard when half the time you’re trying to escape yours.”

“And you’re not me, Eliot. You don’t want to be me, so why are you acting like it?” Charlie slings back. “And just so you know, brother, our sister’s townhouse was just broken into, and we don’t know who the fuck he is. He could know you. He could know Tom. He could know me or Beckett. Security has no leads.”

We do have some leads.

They’re just not good leads.

My Cobalt brethren don't need to know that, but this is one of those times I wish Oscar were around, so we could whisper to one another. Security has its secrets too.

Charlie pockets his phone. “He took nothing from the townhouse. Let that sink in. He wanted access to Jane, to fuck with Jane. You’re Jane’s brother, and so while you’re bench-pressing alone, without security, there could be a fucking pervert watching you. But if that’s your thing, then by all means, continue.”

Charlie doesn’t stay for Eliot to have the last word. He leaves for his bedroom.

Beckett watches his twin brother exit and then swivels back to Eliot. His younger brother slowly places his plate of eggs in the sink, color lost in his face.

“You okay?” Beckett asks calmly.

“No,” Eliot murmurs. His blue eyes meet Beckett’s yellow-green. “Because now I’m worried about Jane.”

Beckett nods, understanding. He steps off the barstool and practically glides over to his brother. Eliot is a few inches taller than Beckett, but Beckett carries himself as the older brother. He puts a hand on Eliot's broad shoulders and whispers to him.

Eliot nods, and then, not long after, Beckett is ready to go.

I rarely drive him to the theatre. Hans is Beckett’s personal driver. He’s behind the wheel of a black Lexus while Beckett and I are in the backseat, bumping across New York’s roads.

I’m scrolling through social media, and Beckett checks his email. When he lets out a heavy sigh, I glance over to him. “Not good?”

“Very bad.” He shuts his eyes tightly. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

The phone thunks on his lap, his hands skating through his hair instead. “This can’t be happening today, right now.” His eyes narrow out onto the street. “Fuck.”

Hans peeks at us from his rearview. “Everything okay, Mr. Cobalt?”

“No.” He exhales a tensed breath, then turns to me. “Leo has been asked to join me at rehearsal.”

I frown. “Wait, I thought they were splitting your performances?" 

Beckett hated when the news came down from higher-ups in the company. They wanted to split performances of Cinderella between Leo and Beckett. Both would play Prince Charming, but on different nights.

It meant Beckett would perform less, but the company liked the idea of ticket resells. People would show up to not only see Leo’s performance but also Beckett’s. The rivalry has been good for sales. Three points in the fine print have made Beckett more at ease about the split.

First, Leo was slated for the 2 p.m. Saturday performance and Beckett received the coveted 8 p.m. slot.

Second, the company said they’d reevaluate the Cinderella performance split at the end of the month. Likely, Beckett will be performing all six nights again. Or maybe Leo will.

Lastly, Beckett hasn’t had to rehearse with Leo during the split. Not until today.

“They’re shooting promo videos. They want both Prince Charmings there,” Beckett explains with a long, agonized blink. “They're going to make us dance the solo back-to-back. Over and over. Fuck."

"He's got nothing on you," I remind Beckett.

He stares out the window. "His double saut de basque is beautiful. He has perfect form."

"Maybe, but you have the better vertical lift." I heard the choreographer talking about it.

Beckett begins to smile, then lets out a heavy sigh. "Why is he so obnoxious?"

I want to say they push each other's buttons. 'Cause they're both jealous of the other's talent. They stoke the flames of their rivalry themselves. The company doesn't even have to manufacture an ounce of drama.

"You gonna survive?" I ask him. "Or do I need to be on standby with paddles?"

"If something gives out, it won't be my heart," Beckett mutters.

It'll be his legs.

"Leo's not even the worst part, you know," I tell him.

Beckett frowns over at me.

I fix my comms earpiece. "We're gonna have to listen to that music over and over again for your solo."

Beckett laughs. "You're right. That's worse."

We both hate the music in Cinderella, particularly all the pieces that Beckett dances to. It's one of the reasons why I'm hoping this show comes to a close soon.

Once we're in the theatre, the day is rolling about as expected. His morning class comes with less tension and fanfare. Leo isn't here yet. I keep my post at the door. Standing. Usually, I'm always on my feet and surveying the space. Sometimes I'll wait outside near the exit, but I like being inside and seeing Beckett dance.

He stretches afterwards. Eats a lunch. Got myself a granola bar today. Comms crackle in my ear. I banter with security. Check in with Oscar. All good things.

And then Beckett’s long day of rehearsal begins before the actual performance tonight.

Leo is already in the studio. Dirty blond-haired, same height and build as Beckett, the dancer stands poised and cocky, knowing his worth as well as Beckett knows his own.

I can respect that, but I'm always gonna be rooting for Beckett. No questions asked.

I remember Beckett reading a review during Swan Lake. "'Valavanis has a smile that radiates inward and compels all of your senses,'" Beckett said and then glared. "His smile is insincere bullshit."

Leo smiles over at the long row of ballet dancers in the company, a smile that seems genuine enough. He has a chiseled jawline and a Greek nose, and his features are more striking as the bright smile pulls his lips.

Beckett largely ignores Leo while I take my spot near the door. The choreographer is next to me, speaking to a cameraman and woman I've met before. Both have signed NDAs. This isn't the first promo footage they've taken.

The mirrored walls enlarge the space, and ballerinas stretch along the bars. Beckett and Leo start keeping to themselves while the other dancers whisper and observe, knowing they're supposed to be the center focus for the promo videos.

"Okay, we're going to begin with Prince Charming solos," the choreographer announces. "Then, Cobalt and Valavanis, you'll do short interviews while Cinderella's Ball is rehearsed in the background. Let's start with Leo."

Beckett falls back against the wall, closer to where I stand. Leo takes front and center, and as the awful music begins, I tune out the sound and try to stay clear on my job.

Protect my guy. Only, I know there's not many threats here. Never has been. So it doesn't hurt to keep my eye on Beckett now and again rather than the door.

While Leo performs an effortless double saut de basque to fourth arabesque, dancers intake a breath, some nearly clap.

Beckett is glaring.

I can practically hear the camera zooming in on Beckett's tightened gaze and clenched jaw. His arms are folded and constricted over his taut chest.

Can't lie, Leo makes it look easy. The solo is less than a minute, but I listen to murmurings in the company enough that I know this variation is difficult and near impossible.

When he finishes, the dancers clap loudly, some whistle. Now it's Beckett's turn.

Leo saunters to the wall, and when they pass, I strain my ears and hear Leo tell him, "Try to keep up, Cobalt."

Beckett has enough time to whisper back, "Try not to come too hard."

Leo laughs into a biting smile, but he sizes Beckett up, head to toe, and then falls back against the wall, taking my friend's spot.

"Kill it, Beckett," Beth Anne cheers from the sidelines.

Other dancers clap and whistle.

Beckett waits for the music to begin, and then he's dancing. Everyone goes silent, roped into the moment, enrapt as Beckett leaps with weightlessness. Gravity can't hold him down.

When he reaches the double saut de basque to fourth arabesque, it feels grander, bigger than Leo's, and the choreographer is grinning.

Leo's jaw twitches. He looks Beckett over, and I'd say he's marginally impressed, but envy is more apparent, the same way Beckett had been.

As the music stops, the dancers let out hoops and hollers for Beckett too. Inside the studio and in front of the choreographer, it seems like healthy competition, but it's not always like that. Some dancers have taken sides.

They switch again and again and again. Beckett does the solo. Then Leo, and their glares remain each time.

Finally, they're done, and the ballerinas begin rehearsing a large group sequence called Cinderella's Ball. Leo and Beckett are ushered near the exit where I stand, and the camerawoman, Nicole Green, beside me begins filming them for the interview.

Neither one says a thing. They just stare straight ahead and act like the other doesn't exist.

"Well, that certainly was a show you both put on," Nicole says. "Do either of you watch each other's performances on stage?"

"No," they both say in unison, and then they exchange a brief, burning glare.

Nicole smiles at the juicy gossip.

It's better entertainment than the music, that's for sure.

"Who would you say has the better technique?"

Leo starts laughing. "That would be me, but he's going to say himself." He waves Beckett on. "Go ahead, Cobalt. Give the people what they want."

"His technique is adequate," Beckett says diplomatically.

"His technique is stale. Lifeless," Leo says. "People sleep at his shows. People stay awake for mine."

"How would you know?" Beckett turns on him. "You never attend mine."

Nicole zooms in on them and catches the tension in Leo's jaw.

"People talk," Leo says.

Beckett gives him a what the fuck face. Leo stares him down, and Nicole widens the shot. I'm close enough to see the screen on her video camera.

She breaks their tense eye staring contest with a question. "Viewers want to know if you're both currently seeing anyone?"

Their heads swing to the camera.

"No," Beckett says calmly.

Leo forces a smile. That one looks fake. "Recently divorced."

Beckett is unsurprised. It's been the talk of the company and whatnot. He's been married to his high school sweetheart.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Nicole says. "Is he still around?"

"She," Leo corrects, his glare returning. This time, on Nicole. "And no."

"Is that question necessary?" Beckett asks, his voice steady but I hear the heat. "It doesn't pertain to ballet."

"It was a follow-up question," Nicole says like that makes it better, and at this, she ignores Beckett and zooms back in on Leo. "What do you think of the recent text message leaks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leo snaps.

"Beckett's texts," she starts.

I step in here. "Stop filming. Or I'll call legal."

She scans my features, seeing I'm serious, but instead of cutting the footage, she starts to ask Leo another question.

He cuts her off, "No comment."

Beckett searches for the choreographer. Flagging him down, he asks, "Are we finished here?"

"Yes, they're done. Wrap it up, Nicole."

And then Leo and Beckett split apart, only giving one another short glares and a few sharp remarks under their breaths. Once rehearsal has ended and Beckett goes to his dressing room, I catch him massaging his quad.

“You want to go to PT?” I ask him. "There's still time. I can call him for you."

Beckett sinks down into the chair at the vanity. "No. I'm fine." He's hardly looking at me. "You can wait outside. I'm just going to call Charlie."

Alright. But it's not alright. As I head to the door, pain cinches the creases of Beckett's eyes. His hand descends down his leg, and I watch him open his drawer.

I don't wait to see what he pulls out. My chest is tight, and I hate that my throat feels swollen. That the words I want to say are stuck somewhere in my body and my head.

All I do is listen to his request. Like a good bodyguard. Like a bad friend.

Thank you so much for reading this month's extra bonus scene! We hope you enjoyed this peek into the Hell's Kitchen apartment, a look at Donnelly's thoughts after that infamous "experiment" with Luna, and finally the appearance of Leo Valavanis, Beckett's rival! All during the Tangled Like Us timeline. Stay tuned for March for more bonuses to come!

Thanks for reading!!

xoxo Krista & Becca

“Donnelly & Beckett Get Ready for Ballet," Copyright © 2023 by K.B. Ritchie