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I look back at Grandpa before we’re swallowed up in the couples on the dance floor.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Winters says. “Just dance with me.”
This seems like a good idea, especially since as he puts a hand on my waist, lifts my right hand in the air, and we start swaying back and forth, the world starts spinning topsy-turvy again. I grab hold of his lapel at first to try to calm my seesawing stomach before he shakes his head with a gentle laugh. “Sarah, have you ever danced with a man before?”
I’m about to respond that, ‘Of course I have.’ But then I realize that no, the only time I ever danced with anyone like this was at my high school prom. And Jason was most definitely a boy and not a man. He was my first and only real boyfriend—and believe me, one was enough to put me off them for the rest of high school. They spiked the punch at prom too but at least then I knew to be on the lookout for it and only drank from a bottled water I’d brought with me. Jason proceeded to get sloshed and I spent the night pushing off his handsy, drunken advances.
Such fun.
“No, I haven’t.” I shake my head.
“Good.” Mr. Winters grins at me and for a second he looks more wolf than Viking god.
I blink. What does that mean? This man is my Mom’s new husband. We’re dancing a father-daughter dance. What is going on? I’m so confused. The world is so spinny.
Mr. Winters takes my other hand and places it on his broad shoulder. I stumble, which causes me to lean in to his chest.
He smells sooooooooo good. The cool, crisp smell of his cologne mixed with him and God, his chest just radiates heat.
My head feels heavy, so I lay it down. The material of his tuxedo is soft against my cheek.
He laughs and I feel the deep rumble of it through his chest. And his heartbeat. It’s so strong and steady. I like that.
And he’s warm. Did I mention that? He’s really warm.
I yawn. The music feels like it’s coming through water, a background noise to his heartbeat drumming out. Percussion. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—
Back and forth swaying.
“I think it’s time for Cinderella to get to sleep.” I hear the rumbled whisper like I’m in a dream. It’s such a nice dream.
Until the sourness in my stomach twists and turns in on itself.
I grab at my middle with both hands. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Aha,” Mr. Winters says, one hand still on my waist. “That definitely means an end to the ball.”
I blink and look around me, rousing out of my foggy state. Oh God, I feel miserable and I’m in a room of veritable strangers. None of these people are my friends.
The ugly truth?
I don’t have any friends. Lots of acquaintances. No real friends.
I’m alone in the world.
I stumble away from Mr. Winters toward what I hope is the edge of the dance floor.
Uber.
Yeah. That’s what I need.
Get an Uber.
Just need phone.
I reach for my pocket.
Except this dress doesn’t have any pockets. Crap. Stupid dress.
I hate dresses. I never wear them.
How do I get Uber without my phone?
Why do the lights keep spinning? I sway on my feet, still clutching at my stomach as I take another stumbling step forward through the crowd.
“Whoa, Cinderella.” Strong arms come around me from behind.
Warmth. Such lovely warmth at my back. His deep rumbly voice is there again and immediately the anxious stress and confusion I felt just moments ago melts away.
“Where do you think you’re going? Why don’t you let Dominick and I help you get home?”
“But—” I look back. Dominick stands behind his father. They have mirrored looks of concern on their chiseled, handsome faces. I look back and forth between them, struck dumb for a moment. But then I remember my objections.
“The party.” I frown. “It’s for you. Just need my phone. An Uber.” I blink and look up into Mr. Winter’s green eyes. “I’ll be f-fine. I always am.”
His eyebrows draw together at that. Immediately I want to shrink away. He looks upset by what I said. Have I disappointed him somehow?
Of course you have, Sarah. You’ve just gotten embarrassingly drunk at the man’s wedding and no doubt you’re making a huge scene right now.
I glance around to see who’s watching us. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking to the floor, completely horrified. Oh God, I really am my mother’s daughter.
“Stop it.” A large hand comes underneath my chin and gently urges my face up. Even in my muddled state, the point of connection where Mr. Winters touches me lights me up inside. “No more of that nonsense. Now, we’re going to get you home safe and sound.”
Dominick nods where he stands beside his father, his face resolute. “I’ve got her purse and wrap. We’re good to go.”
