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Gosh, had Galen been flirting with her or coming on to her? Had he thought she was doing it back at him?
Yikes.
‘Galen?’ she said, and when he glanced over, she corrected her earlier response to his single status. ‘Notlike me!’
To his credit, Galen gave her a very nice smile. ‘Pity.’
Roula almost laughed. Gosh, he’d certainly been barking up the wrong tree with her. And now, very politely, he’d stopped barking.
Not that he had been really, but... Well, there were no more undercurrents, no stolen looks—just the last moments of a gorgeous wedding.
And of course Roula had work the next day...
‘I’m going to head off,’ she whispered to Leo.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Leo said as she attempted to depart discreetly. ‘Stay and hear my speech at least...’
‘Leo, no.’ Galen was assertive, but he combined it with humour as he stood and averted disaster—because Leo was less than discreet. ‘You arenotstealing my thunder—I give the best man speeches.’
To everyone’s relief he took to the microphone and his speech was very concise.
‘Mary and Costa:ee ora ee kale!’ Galen offered his best wishes for perhaps the twentieth time that day. ‘The time is good,’ he said, and then he added, ‘Now we dance.’
Oh, they danced!
Well, not Galen. He remained seated and Roula wondered if she could slip away. Mary and Costa were draped around each other as Leo, deprived of the microphone, played DJ, and the others joined them.
‘Come on, you two!’ they urged, begging them to join in, and he looked over to Roula.
‘We’re killjoys,’ Roula said.
‘I always am.’ Galen nodded. ‘I hate dancing—I find it pointless.’
Roula found that she was smiling, and they shared an eye-roll as they were summoned again.
‘Shall we?’ he offered.
Whatever the silent conversation they’d briefly engaged in had meant had long since been dropped, and for old times’ sake she smiled. ‘One dance,’ Roula said, ‘then I’m really going to go...’
He held one of her hands up, as if they were in a half-formal dance, and felt her fingers cold beneath his. The other was light on her bare upper arm.
It was a polite dance.
Galenwaspolite.
Always.
At least out of the bedroom...
But he only played with the very willing, and Roula had made it clear that she wasn’t, so he’d ended the game back at the table.
His grip did not tighten, and nor did he touch her hair, which was uncoiling down her back. It was a dance with a long-ago friend.
Pointless.
Two people standing fully dressed and moving, but going nowhere.
And this was a particularly wooden dance—or rather one with a porcelain figurine. For she was rigid in his arms and held herself back from him.
