Page 37 of Forbidden Dance
He shakes his head. “No. This car is brand new. I bought it on my way out of town.”
“But your old one had them?”
“Yes. And I didn’t feel confident that they weren’t still turning them on even after the show was suspended. Some of the camera work was done remotely, and footage of me is easy to sell to tabloids and gossip shows.”
“Wow. That’s quite a life.”
“It is no life at all.”
We’re already near the exit that leads to the mission. It’s a beautiful day to go, warm and breezy. And midday during the week with school in session means it should be quiet.
“Do people recognize you around town?” I ask.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he says. “Generally I can walk around fine until somebody does spot me. If they start taking pictures, others figure there must be a reason, and before I know it, I’m mobbed.”
We drive down Southcross. The houses here are large and historic looking with wide flat lawns. The trees grow more numerous. I feel happy about my city, full of pride that I live here, and that Blitz was born here. I aim to have a good time today. Nobody’s giving him a chance anymore. But I will.
We park in the near-empty lot. In the distance, the round-topped church and the stone tower are visible. It’s always breathtaking to see the old buildings after the modern drive on a highway surrounded by cars. I feel settled here, like I’m walking a path that has been paved by people braver than I am.
“I love this view,” he says. “It’s like nowhere else.”
We peer out the window, then seem to simultaneously realize how silly that is when we could be walking around. Within seconds, we’re out of the car and flying down the path toward the mission.
Entering through the stone arch is like walking into another world. The mission grounds are large and surrounded by a stone wall. The modern city is erased, invisible from inside.
“I’ve forgotten how peaceful it is here,” Blitz says. He takes my hand, and I let him. We’ve escaped everything that plagues us in our lives. His Blitz Burns. My overbearing father. We’re not affected by those people right now.
We wander down a path, heading toward the towering church with its round roof. The tiny cross on top seems almost an afterthought. Only a few other people wander the grass, which is still green, even if patchy with dirt.
Instead of aiming for the church doors, though, Blitz leads us up to the long row of double archways, two stories that were supposed to be reconstructed but never were.
We duck inside the roofless enclosure. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, just as breathtaking as the first time I saw it.
But now, with me feeling so happy with Blitz, it’s beyond beauty and into the magical. The light and shadows of a dozen arches cast patterns across the ground.
“Fit for a princess,” Blitz says, and his hand position changes on mine. I recognize it, and without him having to cue me at all, I twirl into him until I rest against his body, chest to chest.
He whirls me out again, and soon we’re waltzing, one-two-three, music not necessary, just the beats of our hearts. My shoes slide along the rough floor, keeping time with him.
Blitz brings me back to him and we cross through one of the archways in big sweeping steps. Then we’re inside again, through the next arch, turning as we go. The light flashes bright and dark, and the stone walls rush past.
He turns me again, and this time when he reels me back, he holds me close, leaning me back on his arm.
I’m breathing hard, staring up into his face. His eyes are on me, happy, light. I wait, expectant, so happy, for his kiss.
When it comes, I feel sparks, honest-to-goodness fireworks all throughout my body. The breeze rushes through the arches and tousles my hair. His lips are warm and seeking.
I open for him, drawing him in. He breathes into me, and it’s like life itself has caught hold of me. I’m so alive, feeling everything. The heaviness and misery fall away. I release his hand and bring my arm up around his neck.
My fingers memorize his skin. The muscles that lead up to his head. The bristle of the short hair behind his ear. I want to know everything, touch it all.
The ground crunches as someone else enters the archways. I hear “Did you know this used to be a convent?”
Then an abrupt stop and a startled “Oh!”
Blitz smiles against my mouth and breaks this kiss. “It doesn’t feel like a convent right now,” he says against my ear.
He stands me upright and we dash away from the tourist couple with their cameras and information book. We run along the path, past the stone water well and the spartan trees. We fly to the farthest corner of the mission, away from anything interesting enough to draw probing eyes.
