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