She wouldn’t worry about whether or not she was any good. She’d try to recapture the joy she remembered from when she and her sisters had danced for their father. She could almost picture him in the front row, his thick wavy black hair gleaming from the greasy tonic he used to keep it in place. His wide grin always beamed with pride when he watched his girls, his princesses. He’d named them each after strong women who knew their worth and made a lasting impression on the world around them. A lot to live up to, perhaps, but when he was healthy, he’d always made Liz believe she could do anything she set her mind to. She needed to remember that, now, when inhibition told her she was going to make a fool of herself. “Ready, ladies?” Alex asked. “Absolutely,” Grace said, rising up on her bare toes to stretch her calves. “We are going to rock.” Or sink like a rock. Liz adjusted the snug bodice of her costume, being careful not to snag any of the hand-sewn sequins that made it shimmer in the stage lights.
