Page 17 of Forbidden Dance
I realize the music he’s playing has three steps per beat. “Is that what you’re playing?”
“No,” he says, leading me by the hand to the center of the room. “It’s Nocturne in B Major by Chopin.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“One of my favorites.”
He steps in close to me and takes my right hand in his. “Left hand just below my shoulder,” he says.
His muscle there is strong. I’ve never touched anything like it. He places his free hand lightly on my shoulder blade. A tingle runs up my spine.
“We’re going to go backwards for you,” he says. “Step back, then to the left, then feet together. Ready?”
I nod, although my mind is racing. Are my hands sweaty? What if I step on him? He’s going to think I’m a terrible dancer. I flirt with the idea of sprinting for the door.
But he counts us in, and something in the squeeze of his hand and the pressure on my back tells me when we’re going to move. We step back, left, and together, and then he pauses.
“See, you’re a natural,” he says. “Let’s do it again with the opposite foot.”
We do the step again, starting with the left. “Perfect,” he says. “Now you know it all. We’ll do them both in a row and keep going.”
He starts us off again, and this time we move around the room. I can’t believe it, but I’m waltzing!
“You’re amazing,” I tell him, and I mean it.
“You learn quickly,” he says. His steps become longer, more exaggerated, and suddenly we’re turning, and I’m keeping up somehow. There’s communication in his touch, in the pressure of his hands, some small clue in his posture and position, and my brain gets it. Take this pivot, lean here, stretch out the step.
The music is intoxicating and the beauty of the dance overwhelms me. I’ve loved ballet these two years for its grace and precision. But this dance in his arms is like a revelation, a miracle. I really do feel like a princess at a ball.
The song comes to an end. I’m so overwhelmed by what we’ve done that I can’t speak. My calves ache from standing on tiptoe, and my arms burn from holding myself in position. But it feels amazing.
“Now you need to just relax into it,” he says. “As you learn a partner, the distance between you decreases.” He takes a step in. We’re no longer a foot apart, as we have been, but almost touching.
“Should I wiggle my sillies out?” I ask, remembering him working with the wheelchair ballerinas yesterday.
His laugh is like water splashing in a fountain, bold and refreshing. “Princess, you are a balm for my jaded soul.”
“You, jaded?” I ask. “It seems like you have the world at your feet.”
“No,” he says. “I have the wolves at my door.”
I had forgotten that he was disgraced, his show suspended. It seems impossible that he could be vile when he acts so charming.
But I don’t have another moment to think about it. Another waltz comes on. His hand grips mine, and then we’re off, sweeping across the floor.
Now that we’re closer together, there are more points of communication between us. His hips, his thighs, his knees, the turn of his shoulders, his chest. We glide across the floor like one person. This waltz is faster, more demanding.
My skirt flutters around my thighs. I spot us in the mirror, spinning and turning, the steps long and beautiful. My hair swings, black as night against my pale blue shoulders. We’re a sight.
“Let’s try a turn,” he says.
Fear stabs me. I know I’m going to ruin this moment with a stumble, but when he releases my shoulder and changes his grip on my hand, I just go. I unfurl like the ribbon stick, like a flower blooming.
His arm lifts high and I turn beneath it, the world spinning. I’m glad for my ballet training, as I know how to work inside the rotation without getting dizzy.
Although I might be anyway. I’ve never drunk alcohol, but I think this must be what it’s like, giddy and lightheaded.
He turns me again, too quickly after the last one, and this time I do lose my footing and crash into him. He laughs and crushes me against his chest. We stop dancing, breathing against each other, his face above mine. But the spinning doesn’t stop just because we’re still. It whirls around us as if we are the center of the world.
