I glanced down at my trembling glass, my reflection bubbling in the untouched champagne. I abandoned it on a passing serving tray.
Why is it so difficult for you to be pleasant?My mother’s voice rang in my subconscious, making me wince at the shrill tone.
It might be clichéd to say I forgot to breathe, but in all honesty, the rush of air in my lungs made me nauseous, and breathing felt all too manual of a process.
Breathe in, hold, exhale.
A gravity weighed on my ankles, my wrists, my heart. Everything was just soheavy. An inescapable sinking.
“Petre.”
I heard Arkady’s voice, but my legs carried me elsewhere, anywhere but there. I no longer had the energy to keep up a facade, a smile, anexterior. I wanted to go home, to curl up in the corner of my living room with my journal. A moth or two to keep me company.
Before I could exit the room, I was grabbed by the waist and swept onto the dance floor. A waltz of many couples twisted around each other like a well-oiled clock, with a cog such as myself being accidentally shuffled in during the exchanging of partners.
Every face on the floor was a blur, as all I could do was remember how he’d looked with someone other than me. I kept my face down, the murmuring of voices and music fading in and out as the room glimmered around me, the peripheral fading, helpless but to focus on the cravat of a stranger.
I was handed off again like a marionette changing hands as one puppeteer swaps with another. It was nice, as all I had to manage were the movements. It was less awkward than wallowing in my own misery by the liquor.
Another change of partners; this one gripped me tighter.
“You won’t make it up the stairs tonight if you keep up such a dance.” Arkady’s voice in my ear, his hand gentle at my waist, but his grip on my hand rather tight as if he was unwilling to hand me away during the next exchange.
“I’m sure I won’t be the only woman who complains of such a thing.”
“Are you jealous?” If he was offended, he didn’t let me know.
“Of course not! We are going our own way, living our own lives.” I stuck my chin in the air, finally looking upon his face. “I understand the arrangement.”
He was so handsome, even when he was angry with me. “You’re drumming up a promiscuous character tonight. Leave the poor champagne to rest. The other guests may have a fighting chance in the race to complete inebriation.”
“Is that what you think of me?” I tipped my head at him and laughed. “It seems to be what everyone else thinks too!”
His brow furrowed, pinching as he looked at me. He glanced around us as if he thought people could hear. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh? It seems you’re the last in Manhattan to know.” I traced my gloved finger up his chest and along his neck, making him flinch at the sudden touches. “Everyone knows what I wore the day you rejected me, on our first night home. The irony is, old men and young women get off on the idea of what I was wearing when I was fucked by the handsome artisan, only for the reality to be much more depressing.” I sighed, tracing my finger over the place I’d bitten him the night before. “You poor thing, stuck with a salacious creature like me.”
Arkady yanked me as we took a sharp turn, then the tune of the dance changed. We stood there still, only briefly. Close enough to hear each other’s breaths, such an intimate moment for a busy occasion. The band tuned up and the new pace was set.
He looked down at me, his thumb smoothing across my knuckles as he held my hand. “Sometimes we have to play a part to get what we want.”
“I don’t want to pretend—”
“You’re a performer, Petronille.” He squeezed my hand, leading me to the floor again. “People will see you exactly howtheywant to, might as well enjoy it in the meantime.”
His words made me straighten my back a bit, allowing him to lead me.
The trill of the band changed, a new dance. Each step matched a note, Arkady circling me, with his hand smoothing around my waist as he did so.
I followed him with my eyes only. I didn’t wish to seem wanting.
Even when I managed to find his gaze snagged on mine, it was different than before. No smugness but a hint of a challenge in his look. From there, we didn’t part.
Our hands touched; I wished my gloves weren’t a barrier. It wasn’t the touch I craved, it was the connection. Since meeting, there’d been nothing but walls, those built by the two of us against each other. It was time for a change.
We neared, and he held me close, properly. I rested my hand in his, relaxing my posture—a relinquishment of any momentary mistrust.
My chest pressed against his. So improper, uncultivated, but it didn’t matter.
