I didn’t get to finish the thought, because Julian was crossing the floor toward me, as the music changed, low drums first, then the slow press of a piano underneath. Luther Vandross’sIf This World Were Mine.
Simone gasped looking at her brother like he’d grown a second head. Taryn set her glass down, speechless as Julian stopped in front of me.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
He swallowed. “Dance with me?”
“You don’t dance, Julian.”
“I know. I’m asking anyway.”
I nodded, put my hand in his, and let him lead me onto the floor.
Luther was half a verse in and some of the room came onto the floor with us. Most of it didn’t; it wasn’t a polite-mingling song. The strings had widened across the ballroom and Luther was singing in that low, warm way that asks you to come closer.
Julian turned to face me. His right hand went to the small of my back, the fabric sliding under his palm. I put my left hand on his shoulder, he took my right hand in his left, and we started to move. I fit against him, my body deciding where it wanted to be a second before his decided where to put it.
The thing I had not let myself know until then rose up: I wanted him. For years I had kept myself alive by not wanting anything, and I had gotten so good at it that I’d mistaken my not-wanting for peace. And now I was standing in the middle of a ballroom, being held by a man who did not dance, wanting him so plainly that the clarity of it frightened me.
“Julian,” I whispered right under his jaw.
“Mm?”
“I didn’t know you could dance.”
“It’s been a while.”
He pulled me closer and my thumb settled at the back of his neck. Cheryl Lynn’s voice came in answering Luther’s, two voices answering each other, offering things neither could afford.
He tilted his face down and I felt him breathe me in.
“What are you wearing?”
I lifted my head off his chest. “My dress?”
“Your perfume.”
“Frédéric MalleCarnal Flower.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I settled back into him, and inhaled where his collar met his neck. “Oud Satin Mood?”
He looked down at me. “You know my cologne.”
“I know a few of yours. You rotate. But you always smell good. Bibliothèque is my favorites I think.”
He just looked at me. “You pay attention.”
“A little bit.”
The song moved into the next verse, and whatever distance had still been between our bodies no longer existed. I let my eyes close for a moment and when I opened them, across the floor, Simone had her hand over her mouth dabbing at her eyes. Aunt Lorraine had a hand pressed to her chest. Half the tables nearest the floor had given up pretending they weren’t watching, and at the bar Tre was leaning back with his arms folded and a smile on his face.
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
