A few more steps, and I’m close enough to catch Fabian’s come-on. “…I’m just saying, if things don’t work out with Antoine, we should grab a drink sometime, you and I.”
The audacity!
“I live in Paris,” he adds. “In my own apartment. What about you?”
Laura’s response is polite but curt. “I’m pretty sure Antoine and I are fine.”
Good girl.
“Hey, no pressure,” he chuckles. “I’m just putting it out there, beautiful.”
That’s enough.
I plant myself beside Laura and wrap my arm around her shoulders—not hard, just enough to stake my claim. Fabian, who’s shorter than me, looks up. It’s rather satisfying to watch his smug expression falter.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask.
“No problem,” he replies quickly as the last vestige of his smile slips.
I stare him in the eye. “Good. Because I’d hate for there to be any misunderstanding.”
He laughs nervously.
But I’m not finished. “Just so we’re clear, Laura’s out of your league.”
He nods.
“And in case you forgot,” I add. “She’s taken.”
I sense her surprised gaze flicking at me. To be honest, I’m equally surprised by my show of possessiveness.
Fabian’s face flushes red. “Of course. I didn’t mean—uh—sorry about that.”
He stumbles backward, mumbling more apologies, and disappears into the crowd.
Laura turns to me, her eyes wide.
“What?” I shrug as I let go of her arm. “I wasn’t going to let that idiot annoy you all night.”
She surveys my face.
Before either of us can say more, Isabelle’s amplified voice cuts through the noise. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time for our Honeymoon Challenge showcase!”
Laura and I move closer to the stage. The crowd cheers. Isabelle reads off the first couple’s names, followed by the announcement of the skill they’ll be demonstrating. The couple we saw on the beach steps forward. The band plays “Summertime,”and the couple sing as a duet.Honestly, not bad!The next couple do a lukewarm cheerleading routine.
Laura adjusts her skirt, her attention already on the performance area. We’re up next.
When Isabelle calls our names, I offer Laura my hand. “Ready?”
She nods. We step forward together.
The music starts. As the upbeat rhythm pulses through the warm night air, the two of us move into the basic half-closed position. My right hand settles on her back, just below her shoulder blade. She leans into it, as if to let me know she trusts me fully to guide the dance. I sense no unnecessary tension.Good.Her left hand finds its place on my shoulder, her touchlight but steady. I anchor my stance, and she mirrors the adjustment, aligning with me.
And then, on my signal, we dance. Laura manages not to step on my feet. Better still, she’s gotten the hang of the Latin body mechanics. She keeps her spine tall, shoulders lowered, the core engaged, and the hips moving in the perfect figure eight pattern. She’s doing great.
I guide her with more and more ease, varying the handholds—and she follows. When I venture into the intermediate side-by-side position, she keeps up. The world narrows to the steps, the music, and the feel of her hands in mine.
Everyone cheers when we nail a particularly flashy turn.
