Chapter 6
Maxime
As the girl's lips slightly part, she gasps for air. Her chocolate-brown hair with the light tips falls over her face, but I notice the rosy blush spreading rapidly on her cheeks.
I take the headphones out of my ears and raise my hands. "I apologize, I must have been distracted."
With a graceful gesture, she brushes her hair back and gives me a timid smile. The sunlight filtering through the clouds makes her face look like a painting. Beautiful. "That... uh..."
"You're Aurora," I say in English since her French was quite shaky earlier. I don't know why, but I find myself smiling at that moment.
She lowers her gaze and pretends to be absorbed in a clump of moss sprouting between the stones of the bridge. "And you're Maxime Rousseau."
Interesting. I reach for my phone in my running shorts and pause the music. "How do you know that?" I was added to the selection committee at the academy at the last minute, so my name doesn't appear anywhere in the announcements.
"I googled you. You'll be teaching Latin American dances at the academy next year," she replies in a tone I can't quite place. Her thick lashes flutter, and then she looks directly at me.
What's going on in her expression?
Admiration? Boldness?
I nod, feeling perplexed.
She presses her lips together so tightly that they take on an intense shade of red. "And you get to decide who gets to participate."
Ah, that's what this is about! I should have guessed. After all, David explicitly warned me about the dark side of being a juror. In a flash, I recall the conversation.
Could it be that she planned this collision? Did she want to meet me here to gain an advantage over the others? She already admitted to doing research on me. Maybe she found out that I live near this park?
"The evaluations are confidential. Like everyone else, you'll have to wait," I say quickly, turning to leave. I shouldn't be talking to her at all. She's a candidate, and I'm part of the jury. Regardless of what happens, if anyone finds out about this encounter, it could lead to speculations.
Just as I'm about to put the headphones back in my ears, I feel her hand on my forearm. Warm. And soft. "Wait."
I whirl around to face her, looking into her incredibly attractive face. A fiery determination flares in her eyes. "Three out of four selection rounds are over. Only the mambo is left. And I..."
She stops mid-sentence and nervously presses the nail of her pinky finger into her thumb.
Something about her throws me off balance. I can't pinpoint what it is, but I know it's preventing me from simply walking away as I should. Involuntarily, I step closer.
"What?" I find myself asking.
She exhales forcefully. "So far, I haven't danced well, but that's going to change. I guarantee it!"
I expected many things, but not this. She's not apologizing or making excuses like others would in her situation.
I observe her for a moment. Her expression shows determination, and although I can't be sure, my gut feeling tells me she has the heart of a fighter.
Moreover, I realize she's completely clueless. She doesn't understand she's not the problem at all. I've seen her talent. With the right partner, she could make it to the finals of World Championships, dancing in the biggest shows and grandest galas. However, we won't admit her to the academy. She only has one vote out of five: mine. And after the committee discussions over the past few days, I see no chance of that changing, as much as I dislike it.
I should leave immediately, yet the way she looks at me makes it impossible.
"I see it differently," I say softly, my tone as gentle as the empathy flooding through me.
To my surprise, she vigorously shakes her head. "Then brace yourself."
Once again, I stare at her.
What? Almost any other candidate in her position would burst into tears and beg me to reconsider.
