Chapter 27
Aurora
I feel the gaze of our competitors all over my body. Anxiously, I adjust my tight, glittering dress and check the straps. Last, my hands move down to my belly.
The roundness is so minimal that I can hardly feel it, but I look around nervously. Do the other couples waiting in the darkness beside the dance floor know I'm pregnant? Maybe they can even tell by looking at me?
It doesn't matter, Aurora, I remind myself, breathing shakily. Maxime stands beside me, his gaze fixed forward, his fists clenched. Every single muscle in his body is tense.
We did well in the tournament in Bordeaux, but this is on a whole different level.
This is the French Championship!
The ballroom's grandstand has thirty rows of seats. In the front, prominent politicians and national actors are seated. I recognize the actress fromAmélieamong them. The speaker, who is now preparing the audience for the upcoming jive, is also familiar.
On the opposite side, Madame Durand and Cyrille Perret are caught in the spotlight of the dance floor. The expression on the face of our manager fluctuates between panic and hope, whileour sponsor appears composed and detached. For him, this is not an emotional matter; it's all about business. If we don't deliver, we're out. It's that simple.
Now, of all times, nausea rises inside me. I press my hand against my mouth and swallow hard against the acid rising in my esophagus.
More than usual, I was careful today not to eat anything that could cause me problems. Not too much, nothing spicy, only in small quantities. I also prepared water bottles. If I get dehydrated, dizziness will come quickly, and that cannot happen today.
Maxime steps closer to me. "Are you alright?" he asks, concerned. "You look pale."
I nod, perhaps too emphatically.
He tilts his head. "We don't have to do this if you don't feel well…"
"It's just nerves. Nothing more," I assure.
He seems relieved, and that's a good thing. Nobody benefits from him worrying. We are here to win the championship; dancing is all that matters now.
The jive is the last dance of this qualifying round. After this, the decision will be made about which six couples will compete in the finals. Maxime and I need to be one of them.
We have to be!
So much depends on the next few minutes.
Another wave of nausea overwhelms me.
I breathe heavily through my nose and turn away, taking a few steps to walk. But it doesn't help. On the contrary, now my stomach tightens.
No, no, no. Please not now!
He reaches for my hand. "You look so pale. This isn't…"
"Don't worry, everything is fine." I try to smile.
At that moment, the announcement is made.
"Here we go," I say, leading him onto the dance floor.
This final qualifying round is performed as a group dance. Maxime and I have to stand out among the other nine couples to impress the judges. And that's already tough enough when you have the dance floor all to yourself.
"Let's do it," Maxime whispers as we take our dancing position.
Instead of replying, I nod briefly. On one hand, because of my level of nausea, it's better not to open my mouth, and on the other hand, so that both of us can focus.
The jive is the most demanding dance of all. Its fast and dynamic movements resemble rock 'n' roll. Right now, I can only think of one way to muster enough energy for the next seventy seconds.
