“I’m feeling so triumphant, you could drag me into a waltz and I’d roll with it.”
“You know how to waltz?” he asks, something like excitement opening up his eyes.
“I haven’t watched umpteen seasons of Strictly Come Dancing to not know my Viennese from my American slow or medium.”
“Are you talking about chicken dishes or dances?” Charlie leans in a little closer so I can hear him.
“I’m talking waltzes, you Neanderthal.” I swipe at his chest and for a heartbeat, he looks down at the place my hand touched him.
“I can’t believe you like Strictly,” he says, smiling.
“It’s me and my sister’s thing.”
“What’s your sister’s name. I suppose I should find that out considering I’m going to be meeting her.”
“Aisha.”
“Mina and Aisha, they’re both really pretty names,” Charlie says and I’m a little taken aback by what a nice thing that is to say, especially for a man. And then I swiftly berate myself for making assumptions based on his gender.
“Thanks,” I mumble in response.
Charlie then stands up and bows towards me, one hand behind his back and the other held out. “Would you do me the honour of a dance?”
I blink up at him and then at the busy crowd behind him, the busy crowd where not one person is dancing. “Charlie, they’re playing Kate Bush,” I say as I hear her voice climbing over the dipping and rising notes of Hounds of Love.
“I’m up for the challenge, if you are,” he says maintaining his posture, which is not unlike a Regency gentleman.
“And I thought you’d sobered up,” I mutter, but still I stand.
“Oh, I’m very sober. Sober enough I’m going to try and lead you through a waltz. A slow waltz.”
It’s hard to bite back the smile that grips my lips as I put my hand in his and let him lead me to a small space on the edge of the throng of party guests where a wooden dance floor begins. The music is loud, but so is their chatter and I’m so deeply aware that nobody else is dancing and that the music isn’t even for dancing and yet… Yet, I want to dance. I want to dance with Charlie.
Which is the most shocking thing I’ve felt in years.
But it doesn’t leave me anywhere near as shocked as I am once Charlie assumes the perfect posture to lead me into a waltz and I slot into place in front of him, lifting my hand up to meet his and feeling the pressure of his other palm on my back. I wonder if the surprise is evident on my face as I gaze into his sparkling blue eyes and he winks back at me.
“We’ll just do a box step to start, right?” he asks.
“You actually know how to dance?” My eyes widen.
“Well, you’re about to find out.”
“Charlie, I—” I begin, even though I’m not sure what I want to say.
“Ready?” He interrupts my panic.
“I guess,” I say because I don’t feel ready. I feel like a bag of nerves. I already feel exposed and vulnerable and foolish and we haven’t even started to move yet. But I also feel excited and invigorated and expectant and… alive. I feel alive.
All these feelings expand as Charlie begins to move and sure enough, he does know a waltz box step and we fall into a steady rhythm that is embarrassingly independent of the music, but still, it’s a rhythm we both know, which makes it seem important.
I daren’t move my head and look around the room to see if anyone has noticed us dancing. I’m almost certain if I did, I would lose the rhythm of this step that Charlie is so confidently leading us in. As it happens, staring up into his sea-blue eyes is also not that unpleasant.
“I can’t believe you know how to waltz.”
“You don’t grow up with a theatre agent mother and approximately thirty-eight gay uncles without learning more than a few ballroom dances.”
I chuckle lightly but then stop when I miss a step.
