by Price, Sarah
She didn’t respond, but simply waited for him to speak.
“We must prepare for the tour,” he said. “I am booked with appointments, mi querida, for the next few weeks. Mornings working on video productions and afternoons overseeing choreography. Geoffrey also has scheduled some interviews and meetings with sponsors.”
She felt deflated. His new manager certainly hadn’t wasted any time in overbooking Alejandro. Gone were the days of being alone with her husband. She had always known that she had to share him with the rest of the world. Knowing something and welcoming it, however, were two very different things.
“Shall I get ready to go, then?” she asked.
When he shook his head, she felt a moment of panic. He drummed his fingers on the side of the table as he said, “Dali will be here shortly to review your schedule.”
Dali? Schedule? Now Amanda was confused. “I’m . . . I’m going with you, ja?”
He shook his head, still serious as he spoke. “Not today, Amanda. You must prepare for the tour.”
“Prepare?” This was news, indeed. What on earth did she need to prepare for?
“Sí, prepare,” he affirmed. “Let’s start with your clothing. You will have appointments with our new stylist, Jeremy. He will organize your outfits.”
Outfits? she thought. “I have a closetful of clothing.”
He chuckled, amused at her statement. “Amanda, you are going on tour. You cannot wear the same clothing you have worn before.”
“Why ever not?” She frowned. More clothing? It seemed so wasteful to her. “You do.”
He laughed and said something in Spanish before switching back to English. “You still haven’t realized that the fans and the media will be watching you as well as me. They will scrutinize your outfits. And while I am happy to step aside for the photographers to focus on you, I am certainly not going to have you critiqued at every stop.” He reached for his coffee mug and closed his eyes as he drank. “Jeremy will take care of everything. He has our itinerary and will organize your wardrobe.”
“Oh.” The word came out like a soft puff of air. She wanted to ask why this was so important; it hadn’t been when she traveled with him before. And as far as being scrutinized by anyone, that was of little importance to her. Yet clearly it was to Alejandro. “I see,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“And there is more, Amanda.”
Whenever he called her Amanda in that tone, eyes leveled at her and his face betraying no emotion, she knew that he was getting ready to talk seriously about something that she most likely would not care for. Undoubtedly, it was business related. Patiently, she waited for him to continue speaking.
“You’ll be taking dance lessons so that you can work with the choreographer.”
“The . . . what?” This time, she almost choked on her words. Her voice was high-pitched, almost a squeak. She leaned forward and stared at him with wide eyes. Was he serious or was he teasing her? She knew what a choreographer was from their previous travels. The backup dancers were constantly working with Alejandro’s choreographer, incorporating new moves into the show performances. But Amanda had no idea why she would need to work with him. After all, she wasn’t a dancer and had no intentions of becoming one! “Whatever for, Alejandro?”
He rubbed his hands together, an indication that he was hesitant to answer her question. She hadn’t seen him nervous very often, so she knew that, whatever it was that he needed to tell her, he anticipated her reaction would not be a positive one. “The tour, Princesa,” he responded, his voice smooth and soft. “You will come onto the stage for a song . . . your song.”
Her mouth dropped as she stared at him. Surprising him during his opening performance in Kansas was one thing, but now he wanted her to actually become a part of his show? “I . . . I am speechless,” she managed to say.
Placing his elbows on his knees, he leaned over and took her hands in his. His thumbs caressed her skin as he stared into her face, studying her reaction. If he noticed that she tried to avoid eye contact, he made no indication of it. Instead, he gave her that half-smile: the one that always made her pulse quicken.
“You are so beautiful when you are speechless!” He lifted her hands and pressed them to his lips. “I like it when you are speechless.”
She felt the color rise to her cheeks and looked away.
“And that silence,” he said, gesturing with a great flourish, “will be important when you work with Stedman. You will need to listen to him and work hard. We don’t have much time.”
Amanda tried to compose herself even as she felt aware that he still held her hands, the warmth of his skin setting hers on fire. The way that he looked at her, with those blue eyes so intense and powerful, unnerved her. Whatever he asked of her, she would do. Even if that meant dancing onstage.
“Who is Stedman?” she asked, trying to focus on the discussion and not the energy that she felt radiating from him.
“Stedman is your new dance instructor.” He glanced at his phone, and she knew that he was checking the time. “¡Ay, mi madre!” He stood up, distracted from their conversation. “Dali will tell you more when she arrives. In the meantime, mi Princesa, I have an appointment and must leave you.” He shoved the phone into his front pocket and gazed down at her, sitting on the lounge chair. “With all regrets, Amanda. I would like nothing more than to stay here with you.” His gaze roamed down her body, the approving glow in his eyes causing her to blush for a second time that morning. “Remember your sunblock,” he added with a light touch to her shoulders. “I’d prefer to return home this evening and enjoy your golden skin, not a little red lobster, sí?”
Without waiting for an answer, he leaned down, brushed his lips against hers, and touched her arm before he turned back toward the house.
She watched him as he walked away and realized that she had been holding her breath. Since their return to Miami, he had been catching up on his sleep and withholding his affections. Now, with the feel of his touch lingering on her skin, she realized how much she missed his tender and soft kisses in the privacy of their room at night. She shut her eyes, too aware that her love for him was equally matched by his power over her. He overwhelmed her with his sensual gestures, his glances, and, most of all, his self-control.
Yet now that he had left, a different emotion invaded her. Loneliness. It felt as if each second apart from Alejandro left her feeling increasingly hollow inside. Now that he was gone for the rest of the day, she was, once again, surrounded by quiet. Growing up, she’d found quiet moments to be few and far between. If it wasn’t the noise of the cows or horses, it was something else; there was always a horse and buggy passing by or a person stopping at the farm for a visit. Besides, despite theirs being an unusually small Amish family, someone was always at home, whether it was Anna or Aaron, her mamm or her daed.
Amanda was becoming increasingly aware that living in Alejandro’s world included an element of isolation—often lengthy. While she didn’t know anyone else in Miami, based on what she had seen the few times she had accompanied Alejandro into the city center at night, Amanda wasn’t certain she wanted to make friends in this city. Everywhere they had visited was full of fast-speaking men and faster-acting women. Miami was a far cry from Lititz, Pennsylvania, and in moments like these, when she was left alone with nothing to do, Amanda missed her family more than ever.
Determined to make the best of things in her husband’s absence, she stood up and collected her belongings before walking across the patio toward the open doors. Even with Señora Perez and Rodriego in the condo, it still felt empty. Amanda and Alejandro had been together for so many weeks that knowing he was gone created an empty feeling inside her that she couldn’t ignore. But she knew that sitting around and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t make her feel any better.
Since Alejandro had mentioned that Dali would be stopping by to review a
schedule, Amanda hurried up the stairs toward their room. She wanted to be showered and dressed when her assistant arrived. Perhaps she could even persuade Dali to stay for lunch. Her company would be a welcome diversion in what Amanda envisioned would be a long day spent waiting for Alejandro’s return.
An hour later, Amanda sat at the kitchen table writing a letter to her sister. She preferred to sit in the kitchen so that she could hear Señora Perez as she went about her duties. No matter what task the older woman undertook, she always seemed to be passing through the kitchen. With Alejandro and Amanda back in Miami, there was certainly more work for her to do.
“Amanda!”
She started at the sound. Turning around, Amanda saw Dali standing in the doorway behind her, her dark hair pulled back and her youthful face staring at her. She always seemed so organized and calm, quietly managing everything in Amanda’s new life. Today, however, Dali did not look pleased. There was a tense look around her dark eyes.
Amanda gave a nervous laugh and put her hand over her heart. “Oh help, Dali! You gave me quite a fright!”
Even more frightening was the look of irritation on Dali’s face. “You aren’t ready to leave?”
Amanda set down her pen. “Ready to leave? For what?”
Dali pressed her lips together and reached into her attaché case for her black leather planner. “Your day is packed, my dear. We’re meeting with Jeremy to discuss your wardrobe for the tour, we have an appointment with an interview coach . . . and not a day too soon!” She looked up at Amanda. “You know you have two interviews next week, yes?”
“No.”
Another look of irritation crossed Dali’s face, and she shook her head. “And did he tell you about the dancing lessons?”
“That he did tell me, ja.” Amanda nodded and tried to swallow her feelings of annoyance about this news. Interview coach? Interviews? Alejandro knew that she had little to no desire to speak to the press or meet with reporters. “What type of interviews, Dali? And who set them up?”
Dali peered over the rim of her glasses at Amanda. “Why, I did,” she responded. “That’s what my job is . . . organizing your schedule. And with the tour starting in just a few weeks, we haven’t much time, Amanda. So let’s get going, my dear.” She shut her planner and glanced at the time display on her phone. “We only have until three o’clock to spend with Jeremy. And the interview coach was difficult to book on such short notice. We dare not be late.”
Amanda understood none of this. There was an unnecessary sense of urgency to Dali’s clipped words and anxious behavior. Whatever was going on, Amanda knew that it was something that she’d have to address with Alejandro. As his wife, she had agreed to travel with him on tour, but she had never agreed to be an integral part of the tour. Between the fashion designer, interview coach, and dance instructor, it was clear that Alejandro had different expectations than she did regarding her role in his professional life.
Chapter Five
“Come on, Amanda,” Stedman said, clapping his hands. He took a deep breath as he walked around her, and the way he watched her with his dark eyes was not unlike the gaze of a hawk staring at its upcoming dinner. With his dark skin that glistened with sweat and his black clothing, he reminded Amanda of a bird of prey. Even his black hair, slicked back as if still wet, contributed to that image.
If she suspected it when she first met him the previous week, now she knew for certain she didn’t care for him, especially when he scowled and added, “Let’s get this right! Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. And keep your head looking away from him.”
“There is no him!” she responded.
He rolled his eyes. “Just pretend, Amanda.”
The problem was, Amanda didn’t understand most of what Stedman wanted from her. When he barked a command, she didn’t know what to do. He used words that meant nothing to her: chassé, glissade, promenade. It was as if he expected her to know how to do these things and understand his commands.
But she didn’t and when she asked questions, he merely gave her a look that showed a mixture of impatience and irritation at her ignorance.
Today, Stedman wanted her to dance as if she was with Alejandro, but he wasn’t there. Instead, she faced a mirror, her arms held up in “position,” whatever that meant. That was part of the problem: Stedman repeatedly insisted that she look at her own reflection, pointing out that her feet were not pointed in the line of direction or that she wasn’t stepping toe to heel.
She had no idea what he meant and also couldn’t stare at herself in the mirror. Seeing her reflection with her arms lifted or pushing her knees forward as he tried to teach her the mambo moves made her want to cry, but she had always been taught that crying was for kinner. Adults didn’t cry over silly things such as feeling overwhelmed, anxious, or self-conscious.
Amanda had been taught to turn to God, pray for strength, and trust in his decisions for her life. Still, she found it hard to believe that his decisions for her included dancing lessons with Stedman.
“I can’t do this,” she said, dropping her arms and turning away from the mirror.
“Can’t or won’t?”
His dark hair, usually slicked back, hung over his eyes, thick curls that hid any sort of emotion on his face when he was displeased with someone’s performance. But when he was pleased, he would smile, his face lighting up as he reached to brush back those curls so that he could watch his partner without anything blocking his vision.
Unfortunately, smiling was not something he had done often during the past five days.
Five days and far too many hours, she thought.
“I don’t want to,” Amanda replied, dropping her hands to her sides and facing him straight on. “I am very uncomfortable with this, Stedman.”
“I see that.”
From the start, she’d hated the dance lessons. Even more so, she didn’t care for Stedman’s flippant attitude, constant interruptions, and invasive hands that kept repositioning her hips and shoulders. He wanted her to look up at the mirror-lined walls while he was constantly pointing out what she was doing wrong, and never what she did right. Just the manner in which he talked to her made Amanda want to run from the room and never return.
“Amanda,” he said, making an effort to sound patient. “You have to learn these basic moves.” He walked over and stood before her, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes studied her face. He was taller than her, but lean of build, and he always wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt with no collar. If there was something nice she could say about Stedman, it was that he had a real passion for dance. “This is a tour. A megamillion-dollar investment. Viper hired me to teach you to dance.”
She looked down at her feet, ashamed of her reaction. This was for Alejandro, after all. The upcoming tour meant a lot to him and not just for financial reasons. “I know that.”
“Good!” Stedman clapped his hands and smiled. “Then let’s get your body moving a bit more, shall we? And remember, Amanda, that when you are onstage, everything needs to be bigger than you think.” He demonstrated by extending his left arm to the side, a slow and deliberate movement. “Reach to the sides, but don’t let your shoulders lift. Keep them down and back. Proper posture is essential . . .”
“I don’t even understand what that means,” she mumbled.
He rolled his eyes and reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. He pressed down. “Relax,” he snapped. “It’s all about the lines, Amanda. Keep your shoulders down and create a clean line here.” As if to demonstrate his point, he ran his hand up her back. “Pretend an imaginary thread is running up your spine to your neck and out the top of your head. It’s a line.”
She pressed her lips together, hating his hands on her body.
“Much better!”
“I don’t even know what I did,” she said, annoyed at his forced praise.
&nb
sp; He ignored her. “Muscle memory, Amanda. That’s what will happen when you do this enough times.”
Her eyes flickered toward the clock. When would Dali walk through the door to save her?
“I saw that,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “You still have another thirty minutes. Let’s go.”
When the door finally opened and Dali slipped inside, Amanda wanted to run to her. But she couldn’t have, even if she’d tried. Her legs ached from trying to keep up with Stedman.
“Practice over the weekend,” he told her. “Remember that the music, the lyrics, and the actual dance are only part of a performance. It’s your presence that they want to see. We’re just completing the package.”
Ignoring him, Amanda hurried off the dance floor.
“And work on your posture!” he called after her. “Elongate your spine! And keep those shoulders down!”
Amanda gave him a look that said exactly what she was feeling. She sat down and removed the special dance shoes that he’d made her wear for her lesson.
When he made a disapproving noise, Amanda shoved the dance shoes into their black drawstring bag and grabbed her sandals. She couldn’t leave fast enough, and she made a mental note to speak to Alejandro about the situation over the weekend. If she had anything to say about it, she would not be returning, that was for sure and certain.
“Please, I want to go home,” she said to Dali as she followed her assistant toward the door. “I simply cannot stand all of these appointments!”
Abruptly, Dali stopped and turned around, pausing to smooth back Amanda’s hair and hand her a pair of sunglasses.
“What’s this?” Amanda asked, staring at the glasses.
“There are people outside.”
Dali said this as if she was answering a question about the weather or something else that couldn’t be any less important. Amanda frowned. “People?”
Dali glanced at her phone, checking the time. “Media.” That one word needed no further explanation. In fact, Amanda had been pleased that no one had discovered where she was during the previous week. The respite from the fans and paparazzi had been refreshing. Apparently, that was over. “Just keep moving, smile, and keep your eyes on my back. Chin up. You photograph better that way.”
