There’s a moment where I think I haven’t sold her on it. I’m using everything I’ve got, puppy-dog eyes included, and it looks as if she’s going to say no, straight up. Until her expression breaks into a grin. Shantal is beaming at me, and as she takes my hand, walking backwards towards the dance floor, I can’t even compute that something’s changed her mind. All I see is that smile.
‘Oh, you’re gonna tear it up?’ I tease her as she takes a spin on the beat.
‘Well, Darien, if you’re going to know everything else about me, you’d better find out that no one tears it up harder than a girl from Guyana.’
Spoiler alert: she’s very much right.
It has to be the alcohol taking over both of our senses, but before I can register it, my hands are on Shantal’s waist, and I think an Anitta song is playing, and Shantal moves like it’s second nature, tapping my arm as if to say,Just follow me. I do, and we’re completely in sync with every step we take, as Shantal deftly guides herself beneath my arm and I spin her in towards me so her back is right up against my chest, her butt flush against me, her body warm against mine and my hands pressed to her bare skin.
The sun beats down on us, making the sparkly tinsel in Shantal’s hair seem to reflect in the light as she grinds against me, throwing a mischievous smile back my way. I can feel every puff of her breath escape her lips and brush mine.
I take it you like that?her eyes seem to prod me.
A little too much, mine reply.
And I never in my life thought I’d be watching the woman developing simulators for my Formula 1 team absolutely drop it to the floor, but jeez, when Shantal said she’d shake it, she wasn’t lying.
With a laugh, she tugs on the back of my bandana, steering me over to her so I don’t get lost in the crowd in my daze. She adjusts the thin fabric and tucks a stray lock of my hair back under it, her slim fingers lingering on my forehead for just a second longer. Neither of us can look away. Maybe we are daring one another to hang on, I’m not sure. Playing a game – who gives in first? But I don’t think I want it to end.
‘Holyshit!’ Miguel whoops, tugging Henri over so hard he almost somersaults headfirst into Shantal’s empty margarita glass. ‘Can we talk about that, Miss Mangal?’
‘Stop it.’ Shantal elbows Miguel with her free hand, laughing as she hides her face in my shoulder. I hold back a smile as I give Miguel a little nod, and we all head off to get more drinks.
The Carnaval parade is put on at night, when the sun has set and lights come on all down the street route. Floats resplendent with massive props, flashbulbs, sparkles, feathers, and, of course, troupes and troupes of dancers begin to make their way down; from the stands, we are able to see every second of it. There’s wonder in Henri’s eyes as he bounces along to the booming music.
All four of us wrap our arms around each other and cheer and dance like we’ve been doing this for ages. It’s probably because of the incredibly heated dance we shared, and definitely because of the alcohol, but my gaze immediately travels to Shantal. When she’s not stressed, not worried, not upset, there’s a sense of ease about her. She’s donned a bunch of coloured bead necklaces over a Crystal Palace FC hoodie she brought with her, and the smile on her face tells me everything I need to know about how she’s faring. She looks so much more carefree than I’ve ever seen her before.
We eventually take an Uber back to our training quarters, all of us grinning and giggling as we part ways. Shantal gives me a little wave when she slips into her room. That same smile, that same giddiness: it’s in that moment that I realize I may just be in too deep.Waytoo deep.
Chapter Eighteen
Darien
Somehow, Shantal is still able to gorightback to the divisive anti-Darien wall the next morning, as if we didn’t just dance without room for so much as a grain of rice between us. But I know I’m not just imagining it now: we absolutely had a vibe going on all night.
I’m convinced she has an evil twin standing in for her between the hours of eight a.m. and five p.m.
‘Hey, Shantal.’
I approach her as calmly as I can outside the Ring’s conference room, where the entire team is slated to sit for a presentation on our newest car’s stats with seven days until the testing sessions. I even get there early to make sure I can catch her, because I don’t know what she’s had on her mind, but I think I desperately need to debrief.
‘Hi.’ She throws back a huge gulp of coffee as per usual, training her eyes on me for a few seconds before clearing her throat. ‘The meeting isn’t for fifteen minutes.’
‘Well … uh, I actually wanted to talk to you. About last night.’
I think she’s going to choke on her coffee for a minute. Her eyes go momentarily wide. ‘What … oh, the dance?’
‘Yeah,’ I laugh nervously. ‘That. I feel like after something like … that, it’s only fair of me to ask you …’
‘What we are,’ she finishes. I hear it in her voice for a split second; in fact, I even see it on her face. It’s a minuscule hint of the same kind of nerves I have, mirrored in her demeanour. But then, like someone’s flipped a switch, it’s gone. ‘It was just a dance.’ Her tone is casual. She busies herself checking the papers in the file folder she holds. ‘We were drunk. It happens.’
I’m not going to lie, that one definitely stung.
I agree, we were drunk. But I like to think I was sober enough to have sensedsomething. Right?
Her eyes flit back up to me, and this time, they’re full of guilt. It’s like watching a prisoner’s steely exterior crack to reveal a human being desperate for a minute of freedom, a sliver of sunlight. And that, I’m definitely not imagining.
For the next week, I try to avoid thinking about both what I’d seen on Shantal’s face that day, and the fact that the Ring’s destiny being in my hands means this season has to go off without a hitch. I push on with training, to take the moments of laughter and chaos I share with the guys in stride, but the night before pre-season testing, none of it does me any good, and I toss and turn in bed.
