Angela’s expression brightens. “Do you play, Highness?”
The blood leaves my face. Piano was by far my worst subject in school. A sad irony, considering how much I enjoy music. I simply have no talent for playing. But I can’t admit that out loud. “I can play,” I say, addingbadlyto myself to ensure my words hold no lie. Playing badly is still playing.
“I’m not a fan of piano,” Monty says, loud enough for his words to carry across the room. Cosette’s lips tug into a pout. “But if my prospective fiancée thinks she can impress me…”
Stars above, I’ll lose for certain. I cast my gaze around the room, seeking some inspiration for an alternative, something that will sway Monty far from the idea of me playing music for him—
“Dancing,” Thorne says, and my eyes lock on his. There’s a kindness in his gaze. Had he noticed how flustered I grew just now? “Your next game should be dancing. Judge her by how well she moves.”
My muscles uncoil, and my earlier confidence returns. Dancing I can do.
Monty utters an unenthused, “I suppose. Cosette, play us a waltz.”
“No,” Thorne says, tone sharp. He approaches the pianoforte and states the last thing I expect. “I’ll play.”
Cosette’s song cuts off and she relinquishes her spot with clear reluctance. Thorne settles in her place and starts to play. I’m immediately impressed with his skill, for it surpasses that of even Miss Dervins. But that pales in comparison to my next surprise—I recognize the melody. It’s from my favorite ballet. But how…
Oh, right. The dreams. He’s watched me gush about the ballet numerous times. While I struggle to replicate sound during my daydreams, he must have recognized it anyway.
Something warm melts in my chest and with it, my confidence grows even more. I can waltz to this. I know this song, as well as my own heart. My feet would never betray that passion. My only regret is that I don’t have my dancing fan. Taking it out before a dance is a tradition. This time, I’ll have to do without my comforting routine.
Monty sets down his drink and extends his hand, expression thoroughly bored. I place my gloved palm in his ungloved one, and his other hand moves to the middle of my back. His fingertips settle on the skin exposed from the low back of my dress, and I suppress the urge to flinch. We fall into the rhythm of the waltz and move through the parlor. My moves are stiff at first, but soon I feel more at ease, focusing on the melody I adore—
“No, no, no.” Monty releases me and steps back. “This is all wrong.”
Stars, what did I do? Am I a worse dancer than I thought?
Thorne’s playing cuts off and he burns his friend with a glare. “What the stones are you on about? She danced perfectly.”
“That’s just it, Thorny. I couldn’tseehow she danced, nor could I enjoy it. You know I hate dancing.”
His words cut like a knife. He…hates dancing? My future husband is not only a despicable untamed animal buthatesdancing. I don’t think I’ve ever been so crushed.
He waves a hand at Thorne. “Come. Take my place. Angela, you play this time.”
Angela squeals with joy, taking her seat at the pianoforte before Thorne has even risen. He and I exchange a questioning glance.
“You want us,” I say, pointing between me and Thorne, “to dance together.”
Monty folds his arms and gives me a sideways smile. “There’s something you should know about me, Rosey. I like to watch.” With that, he backs away, retrieves his drink, and slumps onto the couch.
Thorne’s shoulders are tense as he approaches me with a stiff bow. “May I have this dance?”
I return it with an equally stiff curtsy. “You may.”
He takes the same hand Monty discarded, his grip firmer, warmer. His other hand softly lands on the naked flesh of my back, sending a shudder up my spine. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the shiver at bay and meet Thorne’s dark eyes. His chin dips in a nearly imperceptible nod, yet another silent exchange between us, a wordless reminder that we’ve done this before. We’ve danced more times than we can count. Why should this be any different just because it isn’t a dream?
“All right, you two,” Monty says between sips of his drink. “Impress me.”
Angela starts a waltz, one I’m not at all familiar with.
Thorne and I begin to dance. He’s an excellent lead, and I trust him to guide me around the room, careful of running into furniture. We make it only halfway around the parlor when Monty calls out, “Pull her closer, Thorny. No man in his right mind would keep that much distance with such a pretty partner.”
“Then perhaps you should have taken your own advice,” Thorne snipes back.
Monty chuckles. “That wouldn’t do. You’re an excellent dancer whereas I am not. My pleasure in this game lies in the fantasy. In watching. Now pull her close so I can imagine myself as you.”
Thorne’s jaw tics at the corners, but he does as his friend suggests, turning me in a graceful spin before gliding me back to him, much of the distance we first maintained now closed. My chest brushes his, and his hand slides lower down my back. This time, I can’t hide the shiver that crawls up my spine. A quiet gasp parts my lips.
