A simple thing. Skin against skin. But it sent an unfamiliar pulse through me. His fingers were warm, soft. My heartbeat quickened, melting with the violins.
“If I’d known you could be tamed by music?—”
“I can’t be tamed.” I kept my gaze fixed on the rise and fall of his chest; his white shirt as crumpled as always.
He leaned closer. “Can’t you?” His breath ghosted across my cheek, before I drew back, swallowing hard. “Good,” he added as if it was only me drowning in the heating air. “Tame is boring.” With that he straightened away. “I’ll count the beats. You try to keep up.”
I could hear him smiling without needing to look up.
I wanted to bite back, but his thumb brushed over the skin of my forearm, and the words froze in me. He began to count—quietly, low—like he was casting a spell. His other hand found the curve of my waist, coaxing me closer, and all of the sudden breathing felt like a skill I had yet to master. My feet glided across the polished floor. His steps wove around mine like silk on stone.
For the first time in my life, I let someone lead me. And it didn’t feel like surrender—it felt like flight. The music gathered us up, pulling me higher. My thoughts scattered, leaving only sensation: his hand, the rhythm, the way we moved together as if the ballroom belonged to us and no one else.
“You are not half bad,” he whispered into my hair.
“You’re not that unpleasant either,” I answered, earning a weirdly sweet smile, a small dimple appearing in the corner of his lips.
For a split second, it was hard to remember he was the same boy who called me poison and threatened me to leave.
He twirled me out, then reeled me back in like a ribbon, his palm shifting to the small of my back just as the final note struck the floor like a dagger. The moment froze, and our eyes met. The softness in his gaze seemed genuine. I trembled backwards, but he was still holding me, his steadying hand resting on my waist. My body was sore. He, on the other hand, looked the same as when we started. His dark green eyes surveyed me.
“What?” I cooled my tone, nervously pushing up the long sleeves of my black turtleneck.
“You smiled,” he said softly.
I needed a moment to process his words, before I could react.
“I did not,” I scoffed, schooling my face to blankness as I wrapped myself in the familiar safety of denial. “I might have grimaced.”
Preston tipped his head with a ferocious grin. “People smile at me all the time, poison. I know what it looks like.” He reached up, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone, featherlight.
I slapped his hand away, my heart roaring, but his grin only deepened, showing the pointed tips of his canines. Wicked things, those teeth.
The door burst open, and the spell shattered. Preston and I flew away like we had been caught in a morally questionable situation. Cecily and Myra twirled in, laughter trailing behind them like perfume.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Preston sighed.
Cecily spun dramatically, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight as they waltzed. “We’re seventeen you know. Not five,” she stuck her tongue out with a playful frown and a half-hidden grin.
Myra stopped for a split second and smiled. “We heard the music.” They moved in unison, their steps blooming circles across the floor.
“We wanted to join,” her twin laughed excitedly, the melody light and sweet. While they danced, I slipped away to one of the enormous windows.
The trees outside stood bare and black against the sky, like broken ribs reaching toward the stars. But the moonlight made them beautiful. Even grief had a way of looking holy in silver.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Preston joined me.
I hesitated, an old memory flashing into my mind. My mum’s arms, her laugh, the chipped linoleum floor of our flat.
“I could ask the same.” I said, instead of answering. “Does every orphanage offer dance and piano lessons?”
Preston snorted, pulling two chairs away from where they lined the walls.
“Our parents died a few years ago.” He sat down in front of the arched window, his eyes fixed on the night-inked land. “They were the ones who taught me.”
I blinked. I hadn’t thought of it like that before. Not in a way that meant he missed someone as well.
“My mum taught me,” I said at last.
