“Bon appétit,” I heard someone saying, and raised my eyes.
It was a miracle I didn’t spit out the food I was chewing. The last seat at the table was now occupied. By my ex, whom I used to practice dancing with. Fuck me, I thought, can it get any worse than this?
My brother watched me from over his plate, smirking ironically, unable to hide his amusement. Fortunately, Massimo didn’t notice, or at least I thought so. Lucky he couldn’t understand a word.
Piotr took his seat and started nibbling at his food, keeping his eyes on me. And my appetite was gone, just like that. Disgusted, I pushed away the half-eaten pumpkin soup, grabbing Massimo’s thigh under the table. He softly caressed my hand, shooting a glance my way, reading me like an open book. I knew there would come a time when I would have to introduce him to my ex. Sooner rather than later.
Piotr had been a part of my life that I really wanted to forget. We had met when I was sixteen. It all started with the dancing, and ended up as a relationship, as it often does. At first, he was my instructor, then my partner, and in the end—my tormentor. He had been twenty-five, and all the girls loved him—charming, handsome, fit, confident, and a dancer to boot. Regretfully, he also had his demons, and the greatest of those was cocaine. At first, I hadn’t seen it as harmful, at least until his addiction started to take its toll on me too. When he was doped, he never thought about me. The only thing that counted was himself. At the time, I was seventeen and I worshipped him with all my heart. I had no idea what a real relationship should look like, of how a woman should be treated. Of course, I wouldn’t have lasted five full years in a totally pathological relationship—when Piotr was sober, he would do anything for me, and always apologized profusely for acting like he had when under the influence of the drug. He was the reason I had escaped, moving to Warsaw. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to free myself from him otherwise. His voice shook me out of my reverie.
“Red, if I remember correctly?” asked Piotr, leaning over the table with a bottle of wine.
His green eyes stared at me hypnotically, his full lips stretching into a subtle smile. He hadn’t lost his magnetism, that was certain. A prominent jaw and a clean-shaven head didn’t really match with the image of a typical dancer, but they made him all the more intriguing. He had grown more muscular, heavier, through the years.
I sipped from my glass and narrowed my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed through clenched teeth, sporting a fake smile so the other guests, especially that one I cared for the most, didn’t notice anything suspicious.
“Maria invited me. Well, her husband did, to be precise. I’ve been helping them with their first dance, and we grew to be pals. Besides, I met them before, at your parents’ anniversary party, years ago. Remember?”
I was fuming, wondering how my cousin could do that to me, when Massimo’s hand slid up my back.
“Can you speak in English?” he asked, and I saw he was growing agitated. “I can’t stand not understanding anything.”
I grimaced slightly and closed my eyes, wanting to die.
“I’m not feeling too good,” I said instead, pushing myself to my feet and walking away, Massimo hot on my heels.
We crossed the hall and went out to the garden, heading toward the stables.
“Do you ride?” I asked, trying to take his mind off me.
“Who was that man, Laura? You grew tense as soon as he showed up.”
Massimo stopped and fixed me with his stare, keeping his hands in his pockets.
“My former dance partner. You didn’t answer me. Do you ride?” I repeated, not slowing down.
“Only a dance partner?”
“Jesus, Massimo, why do you care? He wasn’t just my dance partner, but I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t ask you about all your exes.”
“So you were together? How long?”
I took a deep breath, trying to overcome my irritation.
“Several years. I would like to remind you, I wasn’t exactly a virgin when you met me. No matter how much you try to change that, those are the facts. You don’t have a time machine to change it, so just stop thinking about it and don’t make me think about it, either.”
Furious, I returned to the building. The first dance was over, and the guests were crowding the dance floor. As I passed the door, my cousin grabbed the microphone.
“Our first dance wouldn’t be possible without our amazing instructor, who is with us today. Piotr, please, come here. Show yourself,” she said. “It’s also a happy coincidence that his dance partner of many years and my own cousin, Laura, is here with us, too.”
I swear I was going to faint hearing that. What was she thinking?
“It would be our pleasure to watch you two dance.”
The room exploded with cheers, and Piotr grabbed me by the hand, pulling me to the dance floor. I’m going to throw up, I thought, plodding behind him.
“Enrique Iglesias, ‘Bailamos,’ please,” Piotr called out to the DJ. “Salsa, honeybuns…” he whispered into my ear, and lifted his brows, tossing his jacket to a random chair with a satisfied smirk.
I took my position by his side, thanking God he hadn’t chosen tango. When we used to be together, our tangos always ended up in bed.
The first sounds of the guitar flew from the speakers, and I turned my head to the entrance, noticing Massimo, standing with his back to the door, eyes blazing with fury. I also saw my brother leaning to his ear, saying something. I had no idea if he was trying to explain why Piotr and I were now occupying the center of the dance floor, or whether they were just talking. It didn’t change a thing—Massimo’s glare was wild with rage. I pulled away from Piotr and ran to the Man in Black, kissing him passionately, wanting him to know that I was only his. Then, with a wide smile on my face, spurred on by applause, I went back to my dance partner. The DJ started over and I assumed my position again. Those were the longest three minutes in my life, and the most exhausting dance I had ever experienced. When we finally bowed, the cheers and applause were deafening. Maria ran up to me, hugging both Piotr and me, while my mother graciously accepted congratulations from dozens of guests. I slowly withdrew toward Massimo.
His expression was impassive, utterly emotionless.
“I couldn’t say no, honey. It’s my family,” I stammered, trying to placate him. “And it was only a dance.”
Massimo stood immobile, saying nothing, before turning around and leaving. I wanted to go after him, but heard my mother’s voice behind me.
“Laura, dear, I see your training hasn’t been in vain. You were absolutely brilliant back there.”
I spun on my heel and Mom fell into my arms, kissing me and stroking my hair. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, close to tears.
“Oh, Mommy, it’s all thanks to you.”
We stood in each other’s arms until I remembered Massimo’s reaction.
“Has something happened, darling?” Mom asked, seeing the change of my expression.
“Massimo is a bit jealous,” I whispered. “He wasn’t too happy seeing me dance with my ex.”
“Remember, Laura, you can’t allow him to act like he owns you. He has to understand you’re not his property.”