Eyes on Me

by Rachel Harris

  I could’ve studied. Dad wouldn’t have known behind that thick oak door of his, and I wouldn’t have had to spend a good part of the morning reorganizing my crammed bookshelves. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe it was premature guilt over my plan to throw today’s lesson. Whenever I’d thought about picking up a textbook, my hands shook and my stomach would cramp. I figured it wouldn’t kill me to honor one of his wishes. At least until he left town again.

  The reception desk was tall and imposing, despite the man with the smooth brown skin and easy smile chatting on the phone. As we came to a stop in front of him, and I set my folded hands on the cool marble surface, he caught my eye and winked. I glanced down at my choice of tee, wondering if perhaps it was a tad overkill. Dad certainly hadn’t been amused.

  Hanging up the phone, he pushed to his feet and said, “Welcome to Ilusiòn. How can I help you?”

  Dad held out his hand. “I’m Steven Bailey. We’re here for my daughter’s first private lesson.”

  First and hopefully last. I snagged a red and white striped peppermint from the bowl on the counter, then popped it in my mouth as I surveyed the room, searching for a secondary private space where the other students wouldn’t watch me fall on my face. Bistro tables lined the dance floor in groups, allowing further observation. Twinkle lights wrapped a black-painted column near the monster stereo system, and a high, industrial-looking ceiling illuminated the space in bright light. From what I could see, that was it. In other words, there’d be no hiding here.

  A flashback of yesterday’s stairwell disaster flittered through my mind. The true beauty of today’s plan was, spectator or not, I wouldn’t even have to do anything to stink up the place. I was a natural. With that thought, my Don’t Follow in my Footsteps, I Run into Walls T-shirt was really a simple public service announcement.

  “Okay, my darlings!” A loud voice broke through my musings.

  At the center of the dance floor stood a slender woman dressed in black from the tips of her heels to the buttons on her silk blouse. Her dark hair was cut short in a pixie style, accenting high cheekbones, a swanlike neck, and eyes that sparkled with an intensity bordering on magnetic. In short, she was striking.

  “From here, you’re going to go back with the left,” she explained, demonstrating the step. Her warm, musical accent sounded central European, and I found myself inexplicably drawing closer to the dance floor, wanting to hear more. “Replace your weight onto the right, and then you’re going to do half a turn to the right, going side with the left.”

  I was lost just hearing the directions, but I couldn’t deny I was captivated.

  My gaze swung to the students, curious to see if they could replicate the step. I smiled as a cute older couple executed it flawlessly, thinking for just a second that maybe I could do this after all. I moved on to observe the couple beside them…and the blood drained from my face.

  Oh, holy crap.

  Cameron Montgomery. I blinked, but she was still there. Even worse, she wasn’t alone. Ashley Thompson stood to her right. As if being my rival for valedictorian wasn’t bad enough, now Cameron, of all people, was here to witness my shame…and of course, she was awesome. I groaned, watching her execute a pattern of fancy footwork. Her presence was just too strange a coincidence to be anything less than a sign. Clearly, the universe hated me.

  My heart palpitated. This wasn’t happening. Ilusiòn was supposed to have retirees trapped in the 1940s, like the cute old couple, or housewives with too much time on their hands. People my own age weren’t supposed to be here, especially not ones I’d ever have to see again. Or rivals already looking for signs of weakness.

  The walls started closing in, and as my vision tunneled, I leaned my back against the tall cherry-wood desk, letting the chill of the marble top ground me in the here and now as a familiar prickle traveled up my spine. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing.

  The mild anxiety attacks had started after Mom was diagnosed. I couldn’t handle seeing her in pain. Then, after she’d died and I became the girl everyone stared at and pitied, well, they decided to stick around. For the first few months, I fell into a deep, dark hole, and I hadn’t cared much about anyone or anything. All I could see was grief. It wasn’t until the second semester of freshman year that I’d fought my way back out, kicking and screaming, and threw myself into school, focusing on all the promises I’d made my mom for the future. Ever since then, I’d worked hard to deal with my anxiety, not letting it win, and after a year and a half with no more attacks, I was able to wean off medication and handle any minor flare-ups on my own. One way I’d done that was by keeping a low profile.

  Essentially, the opposite of being in the spotlight—or taking a dance class surrounded by a bunch of strangers and one major rival, like I was now.

  Breaths leveled, I opened my eyes and immediately searched for the closest door, spotting it about six yards away. That was doable. Now for an exit strategy. Feigning illness was always an option, but after my recent hospital stay it wouldn’t be cool. Plus, Dad wouldn’t buy it anyway. He was expecting me to bolt.

  Maybe I could hide in the bathroom, or say I was having ladies’ issues?

  “Ah yes, here you are, Mr. Bailey,” the man behind the counter said as I unsteadily pushed to my feet, ready to run. “It’s been quite a while since your last lesson. Will you and your wife be returning as well?”

  My head snapped forward, all sense of self-preservation abandoned.

  What did he just say?

  My father winced.

  “No,” he said quietly. Shakily. “Just Lily this time.”

  The sharp pain in my chest gave way to an aching sadness, and my body swayed with the sudden shift of emotion. My system wasn’t built for this level of adrenaline.

  I shook my head in confusion. My dad didn’t dance. Ever. Weddings were the bane of his existence because Mom had always tried to drag him out onto the floor. He’d become a master at hiding in bathrooms, waiting in buffet lines, and talking with obscure relatives, all to escape the horror of dancing…and now I discovered he’d taken actual lessons?

  Dad looked at me and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “We started coming here after…” He swallowed hard and pressed his lips together. “After your mom was diagnosed.”

  A memory clicked into place. “Date night,” I whispered.

  He nodded, and it felt as if I’d been sucker punched.

  For six months, from the time right after Mom was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer until she got too weak to do much of anything, my parents snuck away for twice-a-week date nights. I never knew where they went—I’d been too wrapped up in my own misery and grateful to hide out at Sydney’s to ask—but it had always been Mom’s dream to dance like the actresses in her favorite musicals. Of course, Dad had made that happen. He’d have given her the world if he could.

  “Is this why…?” I glanced at the floor in a daze then raised my head as the pieces came together. “But you said this relieved stress.”

  Clearing his throat, Dad blinked, and the hint of stark grief vanished. “It does.”

  A combination of love and pain squeezed my throat. This was why Dad wanted this so much. He wasn’t punishing me for trying to get into a good school, which was how it had honestly felt. He was trying to take care of me the best way he knew how. By giving me back a piece of my mother.

  I couldn’t throw the lesson. Not anymore. It would disrespect Mom’s memory. I didn’t need to have seen her dance here to know she’d loved every second. In fact, looking around now, the entire room appeared to glow brighter, as if I was seeing it with new eyes. Her eyes.

  “Steven!” The dazzling instructor had spotted us and was striding across the floor with a smile that could’ve lighted up Manhattan. The lithe way she moved exuded confidence and grace even as her feet ate up the ground. “It’s so good to see you!”

  I had a half second to realize what was happening before she’d swooped me into a hu
g. “Hello, love, I am Viktória.” A clean, fresh scent lingered in the air as she turned to embrace my father. Dad accepted it with one arm, looking only slightly uncomfortable, and when she pulled back again, she clasped my hand, staring straight into my eyes. “Isa was one of my dearest students. She had so much potential. I was very sad to hear of her passing.”

  I smiled stiffly and tried not to fidget under her warm gaze. I never knew how to respond when people offered their sympathy.

  “Usually, I only teach the advanced classes while Marcus instructs our new students,” Viktória explained, nodding toward the man who’d greeted us. Marcus pushed to his feet. “But I’d very much like to lead your first lesson, if that is all right with you.”

  The spirit dancing in her green eyes was infectious, and I doubted it mattered who led my lesson. I was going to suck regardless. I nodded nervously and bit my lip, already counting the minutes until the lesson would end.

  Marcus took over leading the group practicing the hammerlock turn with hair drape finish…whatever that meant…and as I very purposefully ignored looking—hoping against hope that Cameron and Ashley hadn’t spotted me, despite their teacher’s enthusiastic greeting—Viktória surveyed my appearance, biting back a grin at my tee before frowning at my shoes. I lifted a purple Converse in confusion.

  “I couldn’t find Isabella’s shoes,” Dad murmured in apology.

  “Not a problem.” Waving her hand in the air, she marched toward a display case lined with CDs, DVDs, books, and, on the bottom two shelves, shoes. Dread curled my stomach. Her dainty hand slid across a row in contemplation before stopping in front of a pair of tan pumps. “Size ten, right?”

  My mouth tumbled open. How had she guessed that just looking at me? Viktória must’ve taken my stunned fish-face as confirmation, because the next thing I knew, she’d snatched up the pair and was presenting them with a flourish.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

  “I insist,” she replied, wiggling the potential death traps until I accepted them. “Sneakers make it almost impossible to dance. Your feet cannot slide properly, and you could get hurt. No, these shoes have a suede bottom, so they glide.”

  To illustrate, Viktória glided across the floor in her own shiny heels, executing a dazzling pattern of steps I found impressive and intimidating. I hugged the shoes to my chest.

  “Come, put these on and then we can get started!”

  Unable to tell the perky woman no, I let her lead me to the black leather sofa to change. This was such a bad idea. On so many levels. As I tugged off my Converse, Viktória explained that going forward, my lessons would be in the morning. Apparently, Dad had had a business call this morning, and she’d rearranged the schedule to accommodate him.

  I shook my head. I was beyond used to work coming before me, but this time it stung. Because of that stupid phone call, unless some magical secondary private room was hiding somewhere, I’d soon have two girls from school watching me fail, in heels no less.

  I pushed down the flutter of anxiety threatening to rise.

  Once I was buckled and back on my feet, Viktória turned to my dad and asked, “Steven, would you like to be Lily’s partner today? It has been a few years, but the steps will come right back. The body is a marvelous thing.”

  Dad glanced at me. It’d be hella awkward for sure. We barely spoke anymore, much less shared any sort of physical contact. But part of me wondered what it’d be like, dancing with my father. Maybe if we did something together that Mom had loved so much, it could lead to talking about her more, too. Or even growing closer ourselves.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m just here to watch. My dancing shoes are too rusty, I’m afraid, and I leave soon on business. It’d be best if Lily starts as she intends to go on.”

  In other words, without him.

  Hiding the hurt behind a smile was easy by this point.

  “Guess it’s just me.”

  Viktória nodded. “Not a problem.” Then her eyes lit with excitement. “Actually, it would be good, just this once, for you to feel and see the movement from both sides. But do not worry, I have the perfect partner for you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get him and then we can begin!”

  She disappeared behind a closed door in a rush of excited energy, presumably to scrounge up the poor guy doomed to be my partner, and I threw my head back with a groan.

  Mom, if you’re watching, please help me not make too big an idiot of myself. And while you’re at it, if you can, maybe find a way for this to not be completely awful?

  The air-conditioning kicked on, and a chill danced down my arms. The door Viktória had vanished behind opened again, and I took a fortifying breath, prepared to meet my new partner with as much grace and dignity as I could.

  That went right out the damn window when Stone Torres waltzed into the room.

  Chapter Four

  Stone

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  “You? You’re the perfect dance partner?” Lily Bailey, the redhead from yesterday, made a choking sound in her throat. She threw her head back and glared at the tall black ceiling. “You’re so not funny right now.”

  I raised my eyes and glanced at the exposed beams. Who was she talking to? A spider?

  “You two know each other?” Ma looked between us, and I shrugged a shoulder. I guessed you could call passing each other in the halls for years and our run-in in the stairwell yesterday knowing each other. Her smile stretched wider. “Wonderful! This will be even better than I expected.”

  Eyes glowing, she ushered us toward the open end of the dance floor. I didn’t want to rain on my mother’s parade, especially when she was in teacher mode, but I had a hunch this wouldn’t be her easiest lesson. More likely than not, I’d be spending the next hour as more of a stepping stone than a dance partner, but that had to be more productive than trying to get my suddenly tight-lipped sister to spill whatever was bothering her. Besides, my steel toes could take it. Centers weighed almost twice this girl, and they did more damage on a Friday night than she ever could. And it sure as hell beat being stuck in the group class with Cameron.

  “Since when are quarterbacks fluent in ballroom?” Lily hissed quietly, glancing at Ma before shooting me a suspicious look like I somehow skulked around dance studios, preying on innocent girls for nefarious reasons.

  Was this girl always strung this tight? Unable to stop myself from teasing her, I leaned in and asked, “Oh, you didn’t know?” Her gaze shot to mine. “Football players have all the moves.”

  The cheesy line, coupled with the waggled eyebrows, produced the desired effect—Lily rolled her eyes and huffed, a bit of the starch leaving her rigid shoulders as she picked up the pace behind my mom. I fell back a step, letting her walk ahead of me, and smiled at the ground.

  As we neared the other side of the room, I felt eyes tracking us. Cameron and Ashley had no doubt been watching ever since I stepped foot out of Ma’s office, but I refused to acknowledge them. I did, however, feel bad for this poor girl. First the embarrassing scene yesterday, then the extraordinary bad luck of being my dance partner on a day Cameron had shown up. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t make a scene, but then again, I also once believed she’d never cheat.

  Once Ma had us standing a few feet apart and facing each other, she explained her approach to teaching. “We will take it easy for this lesson. First, we’ll learn the steps, then we’ll add the music, later we’ll worry about the technique. Okay?” Lily nodded, fiddling with her glasses, and Ma gestured to her shirt. “And don’t worry. No one will be following you here. It is your partner’s job to do the leading.”

  I could hear the feminist dissertation undoubtedly running through Lily’s head as I dropped my gaze to read the words printed on her black tee: Don’t Follow in My Footsteps, I Run into Walls. I smirked at the high probability of that but wisely kept my comments to myself.

  “So, Lily, your parents liked the smooth dances, like the waltz and foxtrot. But my younger
students tend to prefer the rhythmic styles, like cha-cha, rumba, and salsa.” Ma shimmied her shoulders with a playful grin. “The choice is yours. What would you like to learn? Would you like to try a waltz, or would you rather one of the rhythmic styles? Say, the salsa?”

  Lily’s big blue eyes widened behind her lenses. “Um, honestly? I have zero rhythm. Like, think of your favorite dancer, subtract every ounce of talent they have…take a little more, and then you’ll have me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then again, I can also barely walk smoothly, much less dance, so…sure. Let’s go with option two. What can it hurt?”

  I snorted. I swear, I’d tried to hold it in. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and Ma clearly needed every student she could get. But I kept seeing Connor Davis’s face as she clocked him upside the head yesterday trying to catch her balance.

  Her gaze jerked to mine, and I grinned, hoping she was at the point where we could laugh about it. “You sure you’re not tempting fate asking that?”

  Lily’s eyes narrowed. I guessed she wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet.

  Ma frowned at me before turning to her student. “None of this nonsense about not having rhythm,” she scolded with a tsking sound. “Everyone has rhythm. You just haven’t had the right teacher yet.” She shot her a wink. “That is where I come in. You just focus on the steps.”

  The heavy bass of a salsa beat kicked on for the group lesson, and my body naturally shifted with the rhythm. Ma had me dancing since I could walk. Everyone in my family danced, on both sides of the genealogical tree, and the groove of the music was in my blood. As much a part of me as my need to protect those I cared about.

  As Shakira sang about climbing the Andes, I bobbed my head, eager to release some of the tension of the day. When the music flowed, and I lost myself in the movement, the weight of expectations floated away.

  “We’ll start with the two-handed salsa basic,” Ma declared and came to stand beside Lily. “The footwork is the most important part. To begin, you step back on your right foot, rock with your left, and then, step together. Good! Now switch feet. Come forward with your left…rock…then together. Not so big of steps. Think delicate and sexy. Okay, now back, together. Forward and together. Excellent!”