Does she have any idea the effect she has on me?
To her, touching is like breathing. She picks up children, kisses babies, hugs anyone. It’s not that for me. Far from it. Holding hands with her feels special.
But such feelings aren’t helpful. I need to push themaside. Get through tonight just as we have every night before on this tour.
We move forward through the crowd to greet the mayor, families, and stallholders, many of whom are waving small Ledonian and Elkevik flags.
“Remember this is supposed to befun,” Astrid says, her eyes daring me to disagree.
Fun.
Right.
Once we’ve made small talk with everyone, and eaten a meal under the bunting, the official part of the evening is over. The band strikes up a new tune, and immediately Astrid squeezes my arm.
“Let’s dance, Fred.”
“Dance? Here?” I ask, glancing around the busy town square. It’s picturesque, of course, but still. “I only ever dance at balls.”
I only ever dance at balls?Kill me now. Seriously.
“Oh, come on, Fred. Look at how much fun they’re all having.”
Couples have begun dancing to some modern song I don’t recognize, laughing and spinning around to the beat. There’s absolutely no form to their movements, no structure, no elegance.
“I don’t want to look foolish,” I sniff.
She rolls her eyes. “Ofcourseyou’d say that.” She tugs at my arm, pulling closer to the dancers, her body already swaying to the beat.
People cheer us on. I can’t say no, not with the crowd watching our every move, cameras trained on us, waiting to capture usnotin love.
So I do the only thing I can. I let her lead me onto thedance floor.
Automatically, I hold out my hands for her, one for her hand, one ready to settle politely at her waist. It’s the way I’ve been taught since childhood.
She stares at me as though I’ve just tried to waltz into a supermarket. “Oh, come on, Fred. It’s not the 1950s. This is1992. We get to dance however we want.” She pauses. “Have you ever been to a rave?”
I blink at her. “You seriously think I would have been to a rave?”
The fact I even know what a raveisfeels like an accomplishment. To be fair, Francesca told me all about them, how these things can suddenly pop up in a field somewhere and people somehow hear about them and turn up to dance all night long. I’m certainly not going to admit that to Astrid. She already thinks I’m an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud who has no idea how to live. I don’t need to add more fuel to that particular fire.
All she does is smile at me as she begins to move, letting the music wash over her. Her body sways side to side, her arms lift and float, her feet shift lightly on the cobblestones. She closes her eyes, completely unselfconscious, completely free.
My heart stutters.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so beautiful.
She’s the embodiment of light and warmth and ease. She’s everything I am not.
All I can do is stand here, rigid as a Roman column, watching her.
Then, she opens her eyes and looks directly at me, and it makes my breath catch in my throat. “Come on, Fred, you can’t just stand there. You look silly. Like a Roman column or something.”
She can read my mind now?
She takes my hand, moving me from side to side as if I’m nothing more than a life-sized marionette. Then she twirls under my arm, wraps it around herself, and presses her back lightly to my chest before spinning away again.
Around us, the crowd cheers..
