“What are we doing here?”
“My summer students are having a bunch of recitals next month. They always sneak into the auditorium on weekends to practice. I wanted us to watch a few pieces together.”
“They sneak in? You’re not upset about that?”
“Not at all. I’m glad they’re taking advantage of the space. I used to do the same thing at my high school.”
“Will they be able to see us?”
“No. They can’t see through the private boxes.”
“Okay,” she moved the armrest that was between us and laid her head on my chest.
Minutes later, the stage began to glow—first yellow, then red, then purple. A spotlight shifted to center stage and a ballerina held fourth position until the music began to play.
The piano riffs of John Mayer’s “Dreaming with a Broken Heart” filled the auditorium, and the ballerina gracefully danced around the boundaries of the spotlight, leaping across it, twisting and twirling her body to the notes. Her form and control were excellent.
When she was done, several of her classmates cheered from below: “Go Ashley!” “Yeah!” “Good job!”
“That was so pretty,” Melody whispered. “She did such a great job.”
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Liar,” I held her close. “Do you want to watch a few more?”
She didn’t answer. The lights had begun to change again.
We sat and watched six more dances—three ballet routines, two hip-hop interpretations, and one contemporary group dance. We only had an hour before I needed to reclaim my parking spot so I stood up and reached for her hand.
“We’re leaving?” she looked sad.
“I want to show you something else.”
I hit the lights and locked the door. “This is my private dance studio.”
“It’s very nice,” she yawned.
“It’s more than nice. This is state of the art. Wait ‘til you feel how smooth the floor is under your feet. The way the music bounces off the walls is remarkable.”
“You brought me down here to dance?”
Something like that…
I walked over to the sound system and scrolled down the computer’s screen. “Which song was it?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“When we were in St. Bart’s you said you knew all the moves to a song in Dirty Dancing. Which song was it?”
She looked surprised. She lowered her gaze to the floor and sighed, “Time of My Life.”
“I thought so,” I found the song and hit play. “Do you still remember the steps?”
“Maybe…”
“Let’s find out,” I grabbed her waist and the song began.
“Now, I’ve had the time of my life…”
She turned away from me and slowly moved her hand down my neck.
“And I owe it all to you…”
She twisted out of my embrace, tapping her feet against the floor, and twirled back into my arms, matching me step for step.
“Now with passion in our eyes, there’s no way we could disguise it secretly…”
She smiled at me as she tossed her head back and gracefully lifted her leg. I couldn’t believe how good of a dancer she was.
“You’re the one thing I can’t get enough of…So I’ll tell you something, this could be love because—”
I stopped dancing and kissed her, pulling her down to the floor, rolling her on top of me.
She seemed to be more alert now. She was running her fingers through my hair and pressing herself against me.
I slid her slip over her head and she gasped. “Here? What if someone sees us? What if—”
“I’m the only one with a key.”
I cooked breakfast when we returned to her apartment: Crepes, oatmeal, hand-squeezed orange juice, and ham slices.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. In between making love, unpacking her boxes, and watching movies, we sat on her balcony and talked.
It was those types of moments when I truly envied non-celebrities. They could sit on their balcony without hoping that a photographer wasn’t hiding in the bushes below. They could walk down the street without second guessing their outfit. They could spend all day inside because they wanted to, not because they had to.
“What are you thinking about?” Melody rubbed my arm.
“You. Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
“I was supposed to do some reading, but I can catch up on that Monday. I have to visit your wedding venue at five though,” she looked down at her hands.
“Why?”
“I am writing about your wedding remember? My boss wants me to get familiar with the space beforehand.”
“Mind if I stay tonight? I could go with you.”
Let me stay…
“I don’t mind.”
“Great,” I pulled out my phone. “Hey Joan? I’m staying at Miss Carter’s until tomorrow. Could you have the driver pick us up tomorrow around four? We’ll need to go to the wedding venue…Okay, thanks. Now, where were we?”
“Talking about your wedding?” she sounded disappointed.
“No, I think we were going back to your bedroom.”
Chapter 23
Melody