Call of Water (Madame Tan's Freakshow #1) - Marina Simcoe Page 0,4

softly. “This is just...swaying to the beat.”

“Sure, it’s dancing.” He winked at me. “Dancing one-o’-one, for the complete beginners like yourself.”

I followed the movement of his body, side to side, until I no longer had to think about it. After a few moments, it felt as if Zeph, me, and the music—all became one, moving in sync.

“Okay,” I said tentatively. “I can do that.”

“Well then. If you have mastered the ‘swaying to the beat’ part, let’s add some steps, shall we?” He led me through a few basic steps, probably a waltz if I had to guess, talking me through them as he demonstrated.

Bending my head down, I watched his feet deftly move along the dance floor and tried to match his steps. The trick was not to plant my ballet flats on top of his polished dress shoes.

“Eyes on me,” Zeph commanded. Letting go of my waist for a moment, he lifted my head with his hand under my chin until my gaze met his. “Just like that. Let your feet do the work without your close supervision.”

“I don’t think I can trust them,” I laughed.

“Just try.”

Miraculously, my feet did end up figuring it out all on their own, with only minor initial tripping over themselves. Which was a good thing, because staring into Zeph’s eyes was more enjoyable than watching his feet.

Zeph’s long, thick eyelashes were of rich chocolate-brown, considerably darker than his nearly white, blond hair. The combination was unusual and extremely appealing. His eyes seemed to always hide a smile, just like his mouth. The sunny twinkle bounced in his gaze, brightening his entire face.

Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The wave of their shimmering blue swept me along, carrying me off with the music into the dance.

I blinked, dropping my gaze down to break the spell and catch my breath.

“Up,” he commanded, softly but firmly. “Eye contact is part of the dance. A very important one, too.”

Tentatively, I cast a glance at him from under my eyelashes. “What if I trip and fall?”

“I’ll catch you.” His voice dipped with the promise, the low vibrating note brushing pleasurably along the bare skin of my arms. “But you won’t trip. You’re doing great.”

He led me around the floor once more before the singer finished her song. Something faster with a Latin beat started playing.

“One more?” Excitement sparked anew in Zeph’s eyes.

“Um, I think I’ll need a break.” I laughed. “I still can’t believe you actually got me to dance!”

His grin stretched wider. “I knew you’d like it.”

Oh, I liked it. I’d never had a chance to learn to dance in any shape or form. Having Zeph for a partner should’ve been intimidating. He moved through the music like a fish in water, as if he’d been born dancing. At the same time somehow, he had managed to put me at ease.

“A glass of Champagne?” He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave me, and I liked that way too much.

“Sure.”

Instead of the table I was sharing with Fleur where my seat was still taken, Zeph led me to the bar. He stood with his back to the stage, so that facing him, I could still watch the show.

“What’s your name?” He asked when the bartender poured us two flutes of Moët & Chandon.

I hadn’t even told him my name yet!

I felt like slapping myself. But then again, he’d never asked until now, and I wasn’t sure when would’ve been a good time to introduce myself earlier.

“I’m Ivy.”

“Ivy?” he repeated, as if tasting my name along with a sip of his Champagne. “It’s beautiful. Where are you from? America?”

“Canada.”

“Is it your first time in Paris?” He tilted his head again, and this time I found the gesture simply adorable. “Your French is incredibly good, by the way.”

“Thank you, I’ve been studying it since kindergarten. I’ve been to Paris quite a few times. My friend lives here. She is, um...” I searched the room for Fleur again. She was no longer at our table. “There.” I spotted her in the middle of the dance floor with the same dark-haired man who was talking to her earlier. “She is dancing.”

“So, you have another week here, then?” Zeph peered at me over the rim of his glass. His sunny expression dimmed as he waited for me to reply.

“Eight more days.”

“Good.” As if released from restraints, his smile beamed bright again. Although, it wasn’t clear what exactly he was smiling about. That I was leaving the country soon? Or that