“We’ve known this dance since we were kids!” I squeal, stomping my heel.
“Hmm. True. I don’t care.”
“Well, if he won’t, I will…”
Niklaus looks over my shoulder, glaring at the man’s voice behind me. I drunkenly spin around, coming face-to-face with a six-foot, blond-haired, brown-eyedlooker.
“Ooof.” I grin up at him.
“Oh god,” Niklaus grunts.
The man has a tousled halo of sun-bleached curls, with a flicker of mischief in his caramel eyes. The misleading look of a cathedral angel. He smiles back at me confidently.
“When a man won’t dance with you, it’s because he can’t dance, sweetie. I don’t have any problems in that department,” the blond man says.
I laugh. Unfortunately, not being able to dance isn’t Niklaus’s problem. He’s just a dud.
“Terrible dancer!” I agree, taking the stranger’s hand to dance. “I’d rather have a man to lead me.”
Niklaus scoffs, but humor doesn’t come anywhere near to lightening his gaze.
“I’m Hawthorne.”
“Audrina,” I reply, deciding to stick with my fake name.
As Hawthorne guides me to the beginning of the star-crossed couples dance, I give Niklaus a cute little wave and wink. The clap of heels and shoes stomping to the floor with the first step has me scrambling to get into position, taking the tips of Hawthorne’s fingers and letting him guide me into the synchronized movements of the other dancers.
“If you don’t know the steps, just follow me,” he whispers in my ear.
I smile. “I know them.”
And I get lost in the sweet swaying and stepping and turning to one of my favorite string quartet pieces. Hawthorne pouts as he twirls me to my next partner, giving my fingers a tight squeeze between twirling me away from his hold.
My next partner is an older gentleman, then another, and then the next lets me take a quick swig from his flask.
I inhale the sweet scent of roses and baby powder, catching a soft breeze from the swishing and wafting of ruffled gowns sweeping the floors.
“Come find me later, pretty girl.” The man with the flask twirls me away, and he returns to his wife like the shithead he is.
And as I spin on my tiptoes, careful not to bump into the other women around me, my movements are a little too quick. I land in the arms of my next partner, grunting into his hard chest and subtle aromatic cloud of aquatic wood. The muscles in his arms turn to stone as I’m pulled in close, my stomach pressing against his.
Those downturned, lethal blue eyes are weaponized as they glare down at me. His jaw ticks once, the kind of detailed gesture I wouldn’t have noticed without being this close. And I can’t help but breathe him in again as I inhale sharply. Niklaus Demechnef smells like a distant memory. Cold metal, winter air, and those nervous feelings you get at a great height.
“You—you said no to dancing,” I say exasperatedly.
“You said I was a terrible dancer.” That stare narrows just enough to feel angry and cold, yet it falters—briefly lowering to my lips. The sudden minute detail makes my stomach dip.
“That’s right,” I respond, flickering my eyes down to his lips out of pure curiosity. I’ve never taken much time to notice them. At his five o’ clock shadow. And the tightly coiled masseter muscles in his jaw.
“Hmm.” He nods.
I’d be blind not to notice the way he effortlessly weaves through the many different clusters of dance partners, some easily coordinated, and others fighting their two left feet. Niklaus has been a natural since we were children. Not just with dancing, but everything we do. Much like Krimson, he either adapts quickly to perfection or obsesses over what he’s not good at until he excels past his peers.
I, on the other hand, had to spend years fumbling and conditioning myself to move around my two left feet. Twenty-one years old, and I’m a champion at these balls.
Unfortunately, Niklaus is a fucking prodigy. The man glides on clouds, walks on water, and moves with an unnatural grace to his steps.
Rigid arms tighten around my waist, and his hand drops to my lower back. My skin prickles under his hold, and for some reason, as his long fingers knead against the base of my spine—I feel it in my toes.
