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“Oh.” Luca steps forward.
“One hand on the small of my back, the other hand clasped with mine.”
Luca does as directed.
“Now she might move her arms like this.” Val links her hands behind Luca’s neck. “This is great, but I feel like you can be just as intimate with your hands linked.” She moves closer, tucking her hand back in his. “Great, now that we’ve got the position, let’s work on the footwork.”
For twenty minutes, we play the song over and over while she shows my cousin how to do the box step. I’m surprised how long it takes Luca to learn such a basic step. Val stops him once he has the step down. Mauro and Cristian are still in the basement with us, looking bored.
“Great job getting the step down, but you need to be the one to lead her. Take control. Here, watch me and Dom,” Val says.
Mauro looks up from his phone. “Dom knows how to dance?”
“Well, I taught him.” Val sheepishly looks at me.
I place the phone on the table and take Luca’s place.
“Can’t wait to see this.” Luca joins his brothers on the couch.
Oh, now everyone can put their phones away.
Val easily steps into my space like that night she taught me almost two decades ago. My hand slides around her hip to her lower back, and she raises her arm to wrap around my neck with our entwined hands tucked between us.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Thank God I had her last night, because if we did this before we slept together, I’d probably have a raging hard-on and make a fool of myself in front of my cousins. I never realized what a turn-on dancing is. And I’m not talking about grinding my dick against her ass at a club.
“You have to maintain control, Luca,” Val continues teaching as I circle us around the small basement. “Dom is leading me…”
I whirl her and the song ends. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran starts next. The lyrics sink in as I hold her, and her directions to Luca fade into the background as I soak in the feeling of having her in my arms again. The lyrics hit home—not knowing she was the one because we were kids when we first fell for each other.
When I first met Val, she was all metal braces and long legs. I was boney and hairy. But over the years, we’ve emerged from our adolescent cocoons as beautiful creatures. Valentina especially. Her teeth are straight and white, her long legs slender and graceful. I’m not sure if the lyrics are speaking to her too, but she leans her head on my shoulder, her fingers running up the back of my head.
Is this all for show? I don’t even care. I can’t afford to care. It’s hard to admit it, but that summer in the Hamptons when we split, I was a fucking mess, destroyed by mourning the death of something that was never fully realized. I’ll never tell her that though. Because it doesn’t matter. I’ll never allow myself to be in that position again.
