Andrew slides an arm around my waist and holds out his hand, whispering beneath his breath, “Thank goodness you’re the right height. We would have had to call off the wedding.”
I bite back a grin as I place my hand in his. “Thank goodness.”
“You do look beautiful, by the way,” he murmurs, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me keenly aware of how close we are and how good he smells—like spicy cologne and sweet, smoky tea. “I should have mentioned that this morning at breakfast.”
The mention of breakfast is enough to shore up my flagging enthusiasm for revenge. He’s handsome and charming, but he’s also gross and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.
As the first strains of a popular Gallantian waltz swell from the speakers and Andrew’s arm tightens around me, I whisper, “Thank you,” and step forward as he guides me to step back, planting my kitten heel squarely in the middle of his instep, making his eyes widen pain.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” I cry, my hands flying to cover my mouth as he flinches and bends sharply at the waist, lifting the wounded foot into the air. “I forgot which way to go first.”
“It’s all right,” he grunts, waving me off with a smile, though I know his foot must be throbbing. “I’m rusty, too. We’ll get the hang of it.”
“You will be beautiful on the floor. There is no doubt,” Madame Beatrice insists, putting a hand on each of our shoulders and smooshing us back together. “Now try again. Back with the right, Princess, and let your big, strong partner guide you from there. In life, we women have so much responsibility, yes? Always so much on our minds and in our hearts and so much thinking and doing and busy, busy, busy. So on the dance floor, we let the men be in charge.” She leans in, adding in a faux whisper Andrew can absolutely hear, “They can’t cause too much trouble while they are dancing. This is a safe place to let them think they are the boss.”
“Got it.” I smile and nod, hating to disappoint this feisty elf. But if she knew what was going on, I’m sure Beatrice would support my plan.
She clearly understands how frustrating the male of the species can be.
As she restarts the music, Andrew counts down, “And three, two, one,” before he steps forward and I step back. This time I let him whirl me around a few times before I deliberately trip over my own foot and fall to the floor, kicking his shin on my way down.
He curses and limps in a circle with his eyes squeezed shut before collecting himself enough to ask, “Are you all right, Lizzy?”
“Yes, so sorry!” I say, making a note to thank Zan for the self-defense lessons. Who knew learning how to take a fall would come in so useful in real life?
“No apologies necessary,” Andrew says, reaching a hand down to where I’m still sprawled on the floor
“No, really, I’m so sorry.” I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “I swear, I know how to dance.”
“Of course you do.” Beatrice fluffs my skirt back into shape and gives my shoulder an encouraging pat. “This time, you will soar. What is this they say? The third time, she is charming!”
She crosses back to the speakers, and I give Andrew an encouraging nod. “I’ve got it now.”
But I don’t have it.
Because I’m actively refusing to have it.
This time, I manage to stumble so spectacularly that I take Andrew down with me.
He gasps in surprise as he pitches forward, but he somehow manages to spin us in the air as we fall so that his shoulder takes the brunt of the impact. I land straddling his waist, my skirt tangled around my knees, my conscience cringing.
“Are you okay?” I ask. I don’t want to hurt him—just make him rethink the wisdom of continuing to eat like a two-year-old in my presence.
“So good.” He winces as we unwind ourselves. “Do you think it might be the shoes? Should you try it without them?”
“But I have to dance in these shoes.” I take his arm as he stands, deciding it’s time to show my cards. “And I’ll get it right, I promise. I’ve been dancing almost as long as I’ve been feeding myself.”
His eyes narrow as he gathers me back into his arms. “Really?”
“Started lessons at five,” I say with my most innocent smile. “I’m usually pretty good at this. I don’t know why I suddenly have two left feet.”
He makes a non-committal sound but continues to study me like a contagious virus under a microscope as the music starts again, and we move seamlessly into the first steps of the dance. “Perhaps, it’s my fault.”
“No, you’re a lovely lead,” I assure him while Beatrice cheers from near the speakers, “That’s it! Perfect start! Now keep your chins up, shoulders back.”
“Maybe we’re moving too fast,” he says. “Should we slow the music down?”
“No, it’s not too fast.” I hold his gaze as he guides me across the floor, thoughts of our kiss dancing through my head.
But they’re doing something much sexier than a waltz.
A salsa, maybe. Or a tango. Or the bump and grind from that 80s movie I loved to watch in Chamomile’s room with her laptop under the covers so no one could see how wide my eyes got when Johnny and Baby started humping on the dance floor.
“Sometimes, it’s good to go slow,” Andrew adds in a husky voice. “I want you to feel comfortable.”
But I’m already too comfortable with my sister’s future husband, and far better off stepping on him than dancing with him.
“Thank you,” I murmur, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He leads me into a turn and a short promenade, but when he draws me back into the waltz, I take an extra step and score another direct toe-hit.
He flinches but doesn’t pull away, simply tightens his grip around my upper back, pinning my chest to his as he lifts me off the floor. I suck in a shaky breath, the unexpected closeness making my blood rush as he continues to spin with my feet several inches off the ground.
“No, Andrew!” Beatrice shouts with an exasperated sigh. “This will never work, darling. You look like you’re dancing with a mannequin.”
“We can start a new trend,” Andrew calls back to her, his eyes boring into mine as he adds in a softer voice, “What about you? Don’t you like this better?”
Oh, I like it.
I like it so much that, if things were different between us, I’d wrap my legs around his waist and go full Johnny and Baby on him. But they aren’t different, and I need to put some distance between us before I do something stupid like thread my fingers into his hair and make out with his beautiful face.
So when Beatrice cries, “This is a partnership, Andrew, not a dictatorship. You must learn to work together,” I nod in agreement and push at his shoulder.
“She’s right,” I say. “We can do this.”
“I’m not so sure.” He stops dancing but continues to keep me dangling in the air, pinned against him with one arm. “You might not have enough energy for dancing. You didn’t eat much this morning.”
I hold his gaze. “No, I didn’t. For some reason, I didn’t have much of an appetite.”