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Now, I use her ambition. Her drive.
“Can you do the splits?” I raise one eyebrow, and she cocks her head to the side, biting her lip. Maybe this will be fun, after all.
A few days slip by, and we've taken to training together every morning, sometimes in the afternoon, as well. I find each day that I crave her touch, her body in my hands, bending, twisting, spinning.
She shows off some incredible moves as I show her the steps to my latest work, ad-libbing on my themes. The flourishes she adds have me grinning like an idiot. No other student or dance partner has ever shown such an aptitude or ability. She’s graceful, limber.
Ever since we broke through her presumed stage fright, she’s a phenom on the dance floor. Now, I need to get her to the next level.
“Again! Do it four more times until it’s muscle memory!” I shout, pacing along the full wall mirror, ignoring her growl of frustration. “Now tie it into a leg hold turn…”
“Oh, sure, easy,” Hellena snaps. And then she does it.
“See? You’re a natural.”
“That’s all fine and dandy with just us here. I’m having second thoughts about actually doing this for an audience. It’s a big step.” The angry admission has her clamming up again.
“I thought we were past this, Hellena.”
“One dance while I was buzzed at the Senator’s house doesn’t defeat years of stage fright!”
“What do you call the last week of rehearsals, then?” I can’t keep the smug smile off my face.
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean? What did you do?”
The flick of a switch has the lights on in the next room, faintly illuminating the audience behind the two-way mirror. Most of them are my other dancers, plus the troupes I brought in from across the globe for the ball.
Hellena pales, then immediately flushes bright red. “You. Asshole.”
She's absolutely perfect until the music stops and she opens her mouth. And yet, it sets my blood on fire just as much when we argue.
“Go again!” I shout, clapping off the beat, ignoring her outrage.
“Give me a second, jeez.” Her eyes glance toward the door.
I can’t let her storm out.
“Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you, Tim Bodden called. He said you did an outstanding job on the layout for his proposal. His fiancée was thrilled. Great work.”
“Why, thank you, good sir.” Her tone is sarcastic, but her eyes light up at the compliment. She can’t resist baiting me.
“Could you for once just take the compliment without the attitude?” I snipe back.
“Could you for once just not stomp on my fun?”
“Fine. Your work was exactly as exceptional as expected. In any event, she said yes. The proposal was a success.” Keep her talking…
“It took me all night to set up those damn puzzles, the scavenger hunt. The doves were not happy.”
“I hate working with animals. It’s cruel to them, frankly.”
She gives me that look, the one that only happens when I say something kind or off-center from the image she has of me. “Working with you is always cruel.”
“Couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not wrong, though. From the top! One, two, three, four!” I clap out the count, and she glares at me, falling into position. She crouches, feet crossed, waiting for the beat. A note strikes, and she rises.
