The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,13

my intense stare always falling back on her.

She was definitely flirting with me—how could I resist the most beautiful woman in the world?

She wore a yellow-fringed dress that was open on the side, revealing her perfectly toned body—a far cry from the conservative black dresses she used to compete in when we were teens. She had always been so self-conscious about her body back then, though I had always thought she was perfect.

I sat at a round table and surveyed the crowd. Never had I thought I’d be back at a dancing competition, sitting amongst the spectators, pretending that I hadn’t once been part of the show. How could I never have realized how gaudy this whole scene was? Both female and male dancers committed immigration fraud and married people they didn’t love just to stay in America. Older women paid tens of thousands of dollars for costumes and lessons to compete with younger professional male dancers, who doubled as gigolos. To think of how much good that money could do for injured Marines and their struggling families… The whole dance world made me sick.

This time it would be different. Instead of heartache and broken toes, I planned to leave the season with enough money to change the life of my friend’s family.

After another swig of my beer, I relaxed in my seat. It was showtime.

Time to watch Selena dance for me.

“From California, Couple 201—Jared Brooks and Viktoria Volkova Brooks.”

I choked on my beer. Benny and Karen’s son was Benny’s latest wife’s partner? Vika was Jared’s stepmom, for God’s sake. It was worse than any daytime soap opera my mother had forced me to watch. These types of incestuous couplings were one of the many reasons I had left this world without looking back many years ago. Not even my love of Selena had made me want to stay.

But here I was, back again.

“From New York, Couple 216—Ricardo Mancini and Elizabeth Young,” the announcer said, and then called three more couples to the floor.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s put those hands together for our Closed Professional International Latin Championship Finalists. Congratulations, competitors. And places for your first dance. The Cha-Cha-Cha. Music, please.”

The beat of a cha-cha song filled the room, and Selena brightened. She swirled her hips, flashing her thighs. Dima’s jaw went firm; his back straightened like a pole. He gave her a fierce, animalistic look, grabbed her hand, and glided into their routine.

Selena started with a simple cha-cha lock, into fan, as she flirted with the audience. She embraced Dima and draped her arms around his neck, then ran her hands slowly up and down his chest as she did lightning-fast swivels. Dima threw her down into a deep split while caressing her legs.

I had been away from ballroom for so many years, but I could still appreciate how sharp and connected Dima and Selena were. Every inch of their bodies, every step of their feet, every flick of their toes, and every arm movement were perfectly in sync.

Dima pushed Selena into another deep split and then lifted her up to his lips. My own breathing got shallow, quick. She was so alive, on fire, in her element. Maybe she had been right many years ago, choosing dancing over me. Watching her out there, seducing the judges, dancing as if on air—it was clear she belonged on the dance floor.

I was glad I left the lights behind. Joining the Marines was the best choice I had ever made. I didn’t want this life, the lifestyle of the famous.

And she’d made it clear she didn’t want mine.

I studied Selena’s face, looking for where the performance stopped, and the real feelings for Dima began. When the song was over, she pushed Dima’s face away. But maybe that was just part of the choreography.

I clenched my fist—why did I even care whether Selena and Dima were in a relationship or if their affection was just an act for the cameras?

Seeing Selena compete took my thoughts back to my childhood. My parents were ballroom champions, and I had grown up on the competition circuit. They had forced me to dance, and I had never really enjoyed it. As a kid, it was exciting, traveling around the world like vagabonds. But deep down, I’d always wanted something stable. The kind of life I had imagined the other kids had. Boring, predictable. Normal. Play little league, join Boy Scouts, try out for the football team.

When the kids at school discovered that, instead of spending my