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“Actually, I would,” I say.
A chaotic mix of instruments starts playing. No, not playing. Warming up. Each musician individually tuning his instrument, filling the air with a clash of rhythm. The solar lights around us dim even lower, and then the band starts to play. It’s nothing like what I expect to hear. The song is vibrant, alive. The notes dip and bounce and a few couples make their way to the small space in front of the stage. Once they’re there, they become as alive as the music. One waves her hands in front of her, kicking her feet out behind her. Her partner watches for a moment and then joins in. Another woman spins away from her lover, her skirt fanning around her. In Arras, we only had slow songs. Elegant, carefully timed waltzes or quiet songs to sway to. Nothing like this.
“Want to try it?” Erik asks.
“I’m not sure I’m that rhythmically gifted,” I admit.
We watch for a few more minutes, and then Erik slides out of the booth and offers his hand to me. I bite my lip, pondering the likelihood that I’ll wind up splayed on the dance floor on my butt. But Erik leans forward and says, “I won’t let you fall.”
I put my hand in his and he pulls me from the booth. He keeps his eyes on me. He doesn’t close his hand over mine, but I feel something weighty in his gaze. It never leaves me. When we get to the floor, his fingers close around my hand and he throws me out with great force. I’m not wearing anything that can fan out or impress anyone, but I’m sort of thankful. At least in pants and boots I can stay on my feet. Erik grins at me, and I narrow my eyes, but then I giggle. I can’t help it. I feel his hand tug on mine and before I know it I roll back into him. My other hand meets his waiting palm without a thought and when we touch everything is electric. Full of life. I pull out of his embrace and spin under his arms. Then I attempt to mimic the woman who’s kicking up her heels.
I fail.
We both spend more time laughing than dancing, but I feel light, like I’m full of air. Like I don’t have a care in the world. For a moment, I’m truly happy.
Then the vibrance of the music fades down into a soft rhythm. A woman steps forward and begins to sing. Her voice is low and hoarse, but it’s beautiful. She sings of love, of belonging, of loss. My heart gives a thump in my chest. I can relate to this song.
Erik pulls me back to him, and I let my head drop to his shoulder. His arms curve around my back and we sway softly. Neither of us speaks. I think of the night back in Arras when we waltzed in the garden. How his hand felt on the bare skin of my back. The moonlight painting his hair silver.
“Are you feeling okay?” Erik asks softly.
I blush. “Yes. It’s warm in here.”
“It is and we were really, uh, dancing a minute ago. Do you want to sit?”
I shake my head. It’s okay to dance. It’s okay to linger in this moment because of the music and the mood. I won’t have any excuses once we sit back down.
Erik’s hand rests on my shoulder and I curl my arms a bit more tightly around his neck. I know we’re both feeling the same thing. I can sense it from him, like the low humming energy of a solar panel. It comes off him in waves—the things we can’t say to each other.
Something’s changed between us, but it’s not until I look up at his face that I understand. I see the curve of his jaw with its trace of stubble. The way his nose bends slightly to the left—not enough to be called crooked but not perfect. For a moment I wish we were in the moonlight so his hair would be silver and his eyes would be gray, and when he looks at me, I see what I feel reflected back. We don’t say anything, and I pull away from him, escaping with excuses of needing the powder room.
But I can’t escape this for long.
TWENTY-NINE
I STUMBLE INTO THE POWDER ROOM AND splash water on my neck. The mirror reflects a girl with flushed cheeks and tumbling chignon. I pin up my loose hair, but the redness stays on my cheeks.
“Remember who you are,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror. My fingers trace the techprint on my wrist.
No matter what has changed, I can’t do this to Jost. I won’t do it to him. It’s not who I am.
I smooth down my glossy tunic and tug my boots up a bit. The club is warmer when I leave the powder room. More people have found their way inside despite it being well past curfew. A group of men watch me as I cross the dance floor to our booth. They don’t bother hiding their stares, and I realize with a sinking feeling that they’re clad in pressed slacks and vests with rolled-up sleeves and gold pocket watches. The only other person here dressed as smartly as they are is Erik. On Earth only one group of people has access to such stylish clothing and expensive accessories: Sunrunners. Even if they’re here for their own pleasure, they’ve noticed me. I’m not supposed to be off the estate grounds let alone running around in bars.
I slip into the high-backed booth, grateful for the anonymity of the pocked red vinyl sides. “We’ve been spotted.”
“Oh yeah?” Erik pops his head over the booth and lets out a low whistle.
“How long until this gets back to Dante?” I wonder out loud.
A tumbler of clear liquor slams down on our table and I look up to find the answer to my question.
“That was even faster than I imagined,” Erik mutters.
“So I say to myself, ‘I’m going to check on Adelice. Talk it out, because I’m mature and responsible and so is she,’ and do you know what I found?” Dante asks as he plops onto the bench across from us.
“I bet you’re going to tell us,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. I’m not the least bit sorry for leaving the estate.
“Do you actively look for trouble?” Dante asks. “Or are you stupid?”
