The Fortune Teller

“What is it Oli?” Charlotte asked.

Her worst fears coming true, he was going to tell her that he doesn’t love her. And that he is still in love with Robyn. Charlotte bowed her head, using her hair as a blonde shield, bracing herself for those four words.

‘I don’t love you’.

“I love you.” Oliver said finally.

Charlotte’s mouth fell open with shock. She lifted her head slowly, her eyes meeting Oliver’s. Was he being serious?

“What?” Charlotte spluttered.

No words. Doesn’t he love Robyn? Wait, he loves her? Do I love Oliver? Charlotte asked herself.
She saw the way, his eyes softened, mixture of emotions conveyed in his eyes. Maybe he was being serious. He pulled Charlotte closer to him. She ended up straddling his lap. He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his honest eyes.

Charlotte inhaled sharply, and in a split decision, she pressed her lips onto his. Oliver knitted his hands in her hair, pulling her closer to him. Closeness, the familiar smell of Oliver, all of it, Charlotte was thriving on. She has never wanted it so much, the intimacy, his heartbeat underneath hers, together. Charlotte grinded on Oliver slowly as she moved her lips from his and along his jaw, pressing soft kisses down his neck. She pulled off his shirt before pressing more kisses along his torso, taking him in, in all his tattooed glory.

A soft groan fell out of Oliver’s mouth as he watched Charlotte with such tenderness and an emotion that she could now identify it as, love. Oliver pulled off her shirt, pressing a kiss on her collarbone. Charlotte moaned, the need, it was never there before, never this prominent. She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. All bad thoughts from the past few weeks slipped her mind as she fell into something completely new.

Her lips frantically met Oliver’s again.

Eager kisses full of bliss.

He took off his jeans and she took of hers, he glanced at the couch before gesturing towards the bed.

“I think the bed would be more accommodatin’.” Oliver grinned, almost sheepishly.

Charlotte let out a laugh, jumping into his arms, her legs wrapped round his waist as he walked towards their bedroom. He put her back down on the bed, hovering over her as kissed every part of her body visible from her knees, to her inner thighs, up her naval along her stomach, kissing her breasts, then collarbones, trailing kisses up her jaw, to her lips. Charlotte was in a state of delight.

“Yeh sure?” Oliver questioned, his voice husky with need, desperation and desire.

There was no way she could say no now.

“Yes.” Charlotte said.

Her last coherent words before Oliver took off her bra, then her lacy underwear. She was exposed before he was, and Charlotte was flushing a red. But Oliver didn’t stare with disgust nor did he pause, he ran his hands along her the curve of her hips, to her inner thighs, evoking sensual moans.

Charlotte threw her head back, there was nothing that could ruin this moment.

* * *

Rissa and Rosie knocked just before six, in time for dinner. Charlotte was scantily dressed in just Oliver’s shirt covering her frame, her blonde hair in complete disarray. She knew herself she looked like she had sex, and so it was pretty obvious for both Rissa and Rosie. They squealed with happiness.

“It’s like you two are happier I got laid than Oli.” Charlotte remarked.

“Is that room service?” Oliver called from the bedroom.

“I wish, instead it is two annoying girls that I have to call my friends.” Charlotte replied.

“Excuse me, we are not annoying!” Rissa shouted.

Charlotte could hear Oliver’s laughter from her room. Charlotte rolled her eyes, of course he would find her pain funny. Rosie smiled knowingly at Charlotte.

“We thought we could steal you for the night and go out for lunch but looks like you already have plans.” Rosie waggled her eyebrows.

Charlotte blushed, hanging her head down to hide her embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed babe.” Oliver whispered, his arms snaked round her waist.

Rissa and Rosie erupted into another set of squeals. Partly because Oliver was only clad in boxers and two, for some bizarre reason, they thought this was cute. It wasn’t, it was embarrassing.

“Oli, go. You are making this worse.” Charlotte groaned.

Oliver kissed her neck. “Yeh just don’t want to admit how much of a good fuck I am, Charlie.”

“Oli, fuck off before I tell everyone how much of a bad fuck you are!” Charlotte laughed, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Yeh love me really.” Oliver shouted over his shoulder as he retreated back into the bedroom.

Charlotte smiled dozily as she watched her boyfriend go into the bedroom before turning to look at her two giggly friends.

“Yeah, we will steal you tomorrow night instead, have celebratory drinks when you get the part of Clara!” Rosie winked at Charlotte.

Charlotte groaned, “Don’t put me through anymore embarrassment.” She closed the door on their giggly states.

Charlotte sighed, her eyes half closed. She walked back into the bedroom, with Oliver sat on the bed with his arms wide open. Charlotte threw herself into his embrace, she felt him kiss her head.

“Yeh could’ve went out if yeh wanted.” Oliver mumbled.

“No, I don’t shag and ditch.” Charlotte teased.

Oliver cracked a smirk. He pressed his lips to hers. “I am glad.”

* * *

Her muscles were aching, everywhere was aching and it was all this auditions fault. She practiced her routine from as early as 7 in the morning until 2 at one of the studios that Madame Lavelle owned. It was drilled perfectly into her head. There was no way she could forget it. But now, in the waiting room she slowly started to doubt herself.

The only thing that kept her sane was the cute texts she was getting off Oliver.

Stop fretting Lottie x

I mean it stop x

Gd luck, don’t break a leg cus u r havin a weird nite tonite x

Ps love u x

She already felt her cheeks heating up. They were sat outside the Place de l'Opéra waiting very patiently. Charlotte still couldn’t quite believe that she was here. She was stunned by the beauty. This place was built in 1875, during the Belle Époque, also known as Beautiful Era. Charlotte was grasped by the history in these walls, if she stayed on in sixth form and progressed onto University, there was no doubt about it that she would study History.

“Laurelle, Charlotte.” A voice called out.

Charlotte stopped. Her breathing quickening in slight panic, nerves were jumbling and rumbling around in her stomach, in a more painful nauseas way than butterflies. Maybe like giant moths, frantically hitting and throttling around in her stomach would be a more accurate.

She followed the sound of the voice, she already limbered up. There was a reason why there weren’t any other fellow dancers with her, they tend to keep them in separate rooms then the organizers make sure that no auditions clashed with each other. It was more to do with the fact that they don’t want anyone to know their competition nor distract them with catty comments, which in the world of ballet was one of the biggest problems.

Correction, the biggest problem was to not to mess up your audition.

One breath, two breaths.

Show time.