Page 117 of Steel Beauty

Unable to resist, I move to her side, stepping behind her and resting my hands lightly on her waist. “Just relax,” I say against her ear. “Feel the music—it’ll guide you.”

She glances back at me, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Easier said than done.”

Within moments, she’s moving gracefully, her body aligning with mine, every sway and turn perfectly in time. The warmth of her beneath my hands, the rhythm of the drums, and the electric charge between us make the moment feel surreal.

The drums fall silent, and for a moment, the night holds still before my family erupts in cheers and laughter. My mother stands nearby, smiling proudly as she watches Magnolia, who fits, blending into the celebration.

Magnolia turns to me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. And I know this moment is one we’ll both hold on to—something bigger than just tonight.

“There’s one more dance. The Siva Afi. It’s about strength, courage, and honoring tradition. This one’s high-energy—a bit more intense.”

I glance toward the group of cousins and brothers preparing nearby and turn back to her with a grin. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Her brows lift, her smile growing playful. “Should I be nervous?”

“Not at all.” I give her a wink before stepping away.

I join the others, slipping into the traditional costume—a lavalava skirt adorned with intricate Samoan patterns and a band tied across my chest. My arms are bare, showcasing the warrior tattoos that weave over my skin and the faint burn scar on my bicep—a mark from when I was learning the Siva Afi. The crowd stirs as we step into the circle of firelight, the murmurs growing louder with anticipation.

As the dance begins, the flames leap to life, the knives glowing as they slice through the air. The drums thunder in a fierce, steady rhythm, their vibrations pulsing through the night. Magnolia’s eyes widen, her expression shifting to awe as I twirl the flaming blade, tossing it high and catching it with fluid precision. The heat radiates against my skin, every movement deliberate and controlled.

I spin the fire in tight, sharp arcs, sweeping it low to the ground before launching it skyward again. The flames hiss and crackle, illuminating the captivated faces of the crowd. My body moves in perfect sync with the pounding rhythm, each step and turn honoring the legacy of those who came before me.

The firelight casts long shadows across the sand, their shapes rippling and shifting with each movement. Sweat glistens on my skin, the heat and intensity of the performance demanding everything from me. But I find her face in the crowd—Magnolia, her eyes locked on me, her hands pressed to her chest as if she’s holding her breath.

The flames feel alive in my hands, their power coursing through me like a heartbeat, but her gaze is what steadies me. Each toss, each spin, each precise step is for her as much as it’s for the tradition that flows through my veins. As the drums reach their crescendo, I throw the blade high one last time, the fire tracing a brilliant arc against the night sky before I catch it with a final, powerful flourish.

My family erupts into cheers, their voices filling the air as the drums fade. My chest heaves as I step out of the firelight, the echoes of the dance still thrumming through me. Magnolia rises, her eyes shining, her smile radiant, and in that moment, nothing else exists but her.

When the final flame dies out, I make my way back to her. She’s staring at me, equal parts awe and disbelief. I lift my arm, showing her the faint burn scar on my bicep. “This is where I earned this. Fire knife dancing isn’t forgiving when you’re learning.”

Her smirk grows as she looks me up and down. “Well, that was hot. And so is what you’re wearing.”

I raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “How hot?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Nice try. But I’m not starting something we can’t finish—not at your grandparents’ house, practicing… what’s the word again? Fa…”

“Fa’aaloalo.” The word rolls smoothly off my tongue.

Her playful smile widens. “Right. Fa’aaloalo—which means no fooling around.”

I chuckle, pulling her close but keeping enough distance to be respectful. “It doesn’t mean no fooling around at all. It means no fooling around under their roof.”

“Oh, okay, Mr. Technicality.” Magnolia’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “And here I thought my aerial silk dancing was edgy. But no, you had to upstage me with flaming knives.”

I shrug, grinning. “To be fair, the nifo’oti—the blade—is wrapped. It’s mostly for show.Aerial silks, though—what’s that?”

Her face lights up as she explains, her enthusiasm captivating. “It’s where you climb long fabric suspended from the ceiling and use it to perform acrobatics—twists, poses, shapes. It’s graceful, but it takes a lot of strength and control.”

The image of her suspended midair, twisting through silks, holds me captive. “You’re telling me I’ve been missing out on you defying gravity all this time? Now this, Ihaveto see.”

She laughs softly. “It requires a proper setup—a studio, silks, rigging. I can’t just do it anywhere.”

I lean in with a mischievous grin. “I’ll build you a studio.”

Her brow arches, amusement playing at her lips. “Right. And you’ll manage that in three weeks?”

The teasing fades as her words hang in the air, and our smiles falter. Three weeks. The dread of it settles between us, unspoken but heavy.

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