It was finally time for the second dance.
Thank goodness, I thought. There was no way it could be worse than the first.
Right?
Rhys seemed relieved as well—or at least, he wasn’t gritting his teeth as much as he had been a moment ago. His frustration might’ve been funny, but again, it was clear that he was trying and just couldn’t get it. That made me want him to succeed that much more.
Mr. Patachoui and Ms. Weaver stepped forward again.
“For our second piece, we’ll be performing a traditional waltz,” the man said. “It’s one hundred percent elegance, perfect for a king and queen. The position we’re standing in now is called closed hold. Try it with your partner.”
Although I’d never done it before, I recognized the pose immediately. I’d watched way too many Regency-era movies not to. Scenes from Bridgerton ran rampant through my mind.
Elegant, Mr. Patachoui had said.
Romantic, my mind whispered.
My prince stepped toward me, and I felt myself freeze.
“Cupcake?” Rhys asked. “You good with this?”
Was I? I wondered. It struck me now that throughout the couple’s dance we hadn’t had any skin-to-skin contact. There was a certain safety in that. This was different.
With a thick swallow, I gave him a nod.
“Sure,” I said, cursing my voice as it squeaked a bit. “I’m awesome. Are you good? You look good.”
Rhys’s lips tilted up on one side, and my eyes widened as I realized what I’d just said.
“I meant you look ready,” I said quickly, wanting to die.
“I got what you meant.” He lifted a brow. After another beat, he said, “Are you going to put your hand on my shoulder or what?”
I scoffed. “Of course. I was just about to do that.”
It was clear Rhys was laughing internally. His eyes dared me to make the first move. In what seemed to be slow motion, I watched my hand rise and then rest gently on his shoulder. In answer, his hand moved to my waist.
My breath hitched.
It was pathetic, but no other person had ever touched me like this. I was aware of every one of his fingers and the slight warmth that went from his hand to my body. Speaking of, I was aware of that, too: my body. I’d never been more intensely aware of my curves.
I’d always loved the slight dip of my waist, the roundness of my hips. It made me feel womanly. But now, as Rhys touched me, I wondered what he thought—and was afraid that I might not like the answer. Before I could overthink it, Rhys locked his other hand with mine and brought it up to the side, completing the starting pose.
Mr. Patachoui’s voice filtered through the haze in my mind.
“There are three steps to the waltz. The gentlemen step forward as the ladies step back,” he said, doing just that with Ms. Weaver. “That’s followed by a step to the side and step together. Then we go back with the opposite foot, side, together, always using a nice rise and fall motion. Once you feel comfortable, you’ll try a quarter turn. Try to stay on beat, and remember, it’s about elegance. Okay, kids, and…one, two, three. One, two, three.”
I met Rhys’s eyes and found him already staring at me.
“Three steps.” He shrugged. “Sounds easy enough.”
His breath didn’t seem elevated. He was acting completely normal. I forced myself to match his cool.
“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty simple.”
Rhys’s brows lowered. “But I think…”
I’d almost succeeded in getting my heart rate back to normal when I felt a pressure at my waist. Rhys’s hand tightened as he drew me closer, keeping his eyes on my face.
“There,” he said. “That’s better.”
I was glad he thought so. My cheeks were flaming, my heart once again going haywire.
“You good?”
I nodded, and we began the waltz. Even with my weird reaction, Rhys did much better with the second dance. Granted, it wasn’t a lot to remember, and he was still stiff. But I thought we were doing all right.
Until Mr. Patachoui came over.
As he stopped near us, he watched only a few moments before shaking his head.
“No, no, no,” he said. “The steps are correct, but it’s too robotic. You need more ease, more grace. Young man, you need to lower those shoulders and relax. Enjoy your partner.”
Rhys muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch.
“Smooth out those steps,” Mr. Patachoui said. “Think of gliding across the floor. The waltz is art. Make it beautiful.”
After a minute, he left.
Rhys and I used the rest of the time to try to perfect our “art.” Even though his steps were somewhat clumsy, and he kept whispering the counts aloud, I couldn’t help but like Rhys better. He hadn’t given up. He hadn’t stomped off or thrown a temper tantrum (like one of the juniors on the Court did). Rhys was right, he wasn’t the best dancer, but the fact that he tried anyway endeared him to me.
The way his touch lit me up helped, too.
But I couldn’t forget how evasive he’d been this morning. What was he hiding? And who was the real Rhys? My charmingly awkward dance partner…or the rude jerk who came out at the most random of times? I wasn’t sure.
“Oh, you all did so well!” Ms. Weaver said, addressing the group and pulling me from my thoughts. “I know for several of you this was out of your comfort zones”—was I imagining it or did her eyes move to Rhys as she said that?—“but you pushed through. The numbers you learned today will be performed at the Homecoming dance, so please practice. And don’t forget to thank Mr. Patachoui for his excellent instruction!”
We’d been dismissed and were headed to the door like everyone else, but before Rhys and I could walk by him, the dance teacher stopped us.
“You two,” Mr. Patachoui said, looking from me to Rhys. He seemed to be sucking on his teeth. “It needs work.”
“Thank you for teaching us,” I said.
“A lot of work,” he repeated. “You, young lady, move very well. But your partner…” He shook his head. “It’s rough, but I actually believe you have potential. I like this pairing.”
Rhys nodded. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” Mr. Patachoui shooed us away. “Keep working.”
As we walked outside, I stopped and turned to Rhys.
“Well, we did it,” I said. “And see? You didn’t do so bad.”
“No need to sugarcoat it,” Rhys said. “I’m very competitive, Cupcake. I know I was the worst one in there.”
I shook my head. “No, the worst was that kid who walked away and quit, leaving his partner stranded. Even Mr. Patachoui said we have potential.”
Rhys didn’t agree or disagree. I wanted to ask him something but wasn’t sure if I should. Anxiety rose in my chest. He’d probably turn me down, but I decided to push forward anyway.
“Do you want to get together sometime and practice?” I said.
Rhys frowned. “Honestly? I’d rather be sacked by Michael Strahan.”
“Who?”
“Strahan,” he said. “He’s a former pro football player, defensive end for the New York Giants, holds the record for most sacks in a season. Come on, Cupcake. You have to know who Michael Strahan is.”
I scrunched my brows in thought, then shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t. It’s not really that surprising, since I’ve never been to a game.”
“Never been to a Giants game or…?”
I bit my lip instead of answering.
Rhys got the message loud and clear. “Wait, really?” he said, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.
“Nope,” I said. “I’ve never seen a football game. But it’s not a big deal. You’ve never seen Dirty Dancing, which is just cuckoo. So…”
Rhys just kept looking at me like I was the cuckoo one.
“So dance practice,” I said to get us back on track. “If we spend some time on the routines, it might make us both more comfortable. How about Mondays after school?”
“Can’t,” he said. “I have football every day except Tuesday.”
“Hmm, that’s when I usually film videos for my vlog. How about this Friday?”
Rhys blinked. “We have our first game this Friday.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” I said.
“You know,” he said, a glint in his eye, “there are posters all over school. And they mention it every day in the morning announcements.”
“Guess I just forgot.”
Rhys shook his head, but he was smiling.
“Saturday then?” I asked. “How’s that sound?”
“I can do Saturday.”
I smiled, thinking we’d finally found a day that worked.
“But,” he added, “only if you come to the game on Friday night.”
“Why? I’m going to the Homecoming one in a few weeks anyway.”
“If I have to dance and embarrass myself in front of you, you at least have to give me a chance to redeem myself on the field.” Rhys began walking backward. “That’s the deal, Cupcake. You come see me play Friday. I come to your house to practice on Saturday. Take it or leave it.”
I thought about how Mom might react to having Rhys over and winced.
“Can we meet at your house?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “So, it’s a deal? I’ll see you at the game?”
I nodded. “Yeah okay. I’ll be there.”
Rhys grinned. “See you then, Cupcake.”
On the drive home, I couldn’t stop seeing that grin. I tried not to overthink it. Despite what Rhys Castle said, he wasn’t mine. And I wasn’t his.
Still…it took a couple hours of stress baking to get him off my mind.
