For a second, the memories were overwhelming. Dad working the grill while Mom flitted among the neighbors, making sure everyone was comfortable. Replace the Latin beat with classic rock, and a similar scene once played out in my own backyard—but that felt like forever ago. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and whisked away the vision.
Today was not a day to be sad. Today was a day of new beginnings.
With that in mind, I relaxed my shoulders and wiped my free hand on my denim skirt. I’d found it in the back of my closet and paired it with a cute white top Sydney had forced me to buy last year. I’d had to take the tags off, but luckily it still fit. I was hoping the outfit said, “nice girl totally worthy of your incredible son.”
Admittedly, I was expecting a lot.
“Strange, right?”
Before my eyes, two drinks materialized—a water bottle dripping with condensation and an equally cold can of Sprite. The drinks were attached to Chase’s hands, and as he wiggled them in offering, I smiled awkwardly and took the bottle, shivering as a drop of icy water slid down my wrist.
Chase nodded, sliding the cake box from my hand and setting it on a chair. Then he turned back to people watch beside me.
“Uh, what’s strange?” I asked, sneaking a look at him. After my heart-to-heart with Angéla, I wasn’t sure how I should act around Stone’s best friend anymore. Not that I’d known how to act around him before our talk, either. Chase and I belonged to two different worlds.
“Them,” he answered, lifting the Sprite toward the general backyard. “If I hadn’t grown up with the twins, I’d swear this was all for show.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but my house isn’t like this. My family’s closer to the Kardashians than the Bradys, minus the reality show and with more passive-aggression.”
“Ah.” I nodded with understanding, uncapping my water bottle. “Yeah, this isn’t my life, either.”
Not anymore.
He slid me a tight-lipped grin and tapped his drink against mine. We both took a sip. I found it interesting he’d used a pop culture reference to explain his family’s dynamic, which was something Angéla would’ve done.
“Are you the family disappointment, too?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. He pointed to himself. “See, my parents think I’m a screw-up, though it doesn’t help I plan to major in sports broadcasting.” He wiggled his fingers, like the profession was equal to satanic worship, then said in a snide, booming voice I assumed represented his dad, “Every self-respecting Winters goes to medical school.”
He took another sip and turned back to watch the dancing. I watched him.
“Chase, why are you telling me this?” He shot me a guarded look, and I said, “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just…we don’t know each other very well. Why tell me something so personal?”
Caution softened into a small smile. “We’re not that different, you and me. We’re both outsiders with our faces pressed against the glass, wanting in, and these people”—he waved his drink toward the picture-perfect family—“they’re good. Every single one of them. They don’t judge or expect anything. Once you’re in, you’re in.” Chase dropped his gaze to the hand fidgeting at my side. “You don’t need to be nervous here. You’re already accepted.”
My hand stilled, and he shot me a wink. After taking another sip of his soda, he walked away whistling, and I released a shaky breath. “Okay, don’t be nervous. Just be yourself. Except, maybe not so klutzy.”
I sighed at the unlikelihood of that, grabbed my cake box, and waltzed into the yard. Angéla was the first to spot me. “Girl, it’s about time you got your butt here. I’m freaking starving!”
And just like that, my nerves flittered away.
Mrs. Viktória swept me up in a welcoming yet slightly awkward hug, considering I was still holding the cake, and Mr. Mike appeared behind her shoulder to whisk it away with a grin. When he returned, he introduced me to his mom, who insisted I call her Abuela.
“Everyone does,” she announced, pulling me into a warm, floral-scented embrace.
Other than Angéla, and I assumed Chase, I wasn’t sure if anyone knew I was now Stone’s girlfriend or if they simply saw me as Angéla’s friend or even an overeager student. I had a hunch that to them, the title didn’t matter. I was welcome here. Period, end of story. And standing in the middle of this group of enthusiastic, loving people, I felt exactly as Chase had said I would—accepted. There was no room for anxious flare-ups or nervous energy. At least not the familiar, dreaded kind. There was a whole other kind of nervous, excited energy still running through my veins, though.
Dark chocolate eyes were watching me. I’d lost track of Stone when his family surrounded me, but I felt him close. It made my belly cramp and my pulse skip a beat.
When his grandmother stepped back, I discreetly searched the yard. My breath caught when I found him. A few feet away, he was standing with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and a look on his face that said he wanted me in his arms every bit as much as I wanted to be there.
Holy Hades, the boy was hot.
Wearing camo-printed cargo shorts, a black V-neck tee, and black leather flip-flops revealing the tops of his feet and long, slender toes, he made me want to pour the bottle of ice-cold water over my head. Never once had I found toes sexy before, but after getting a glimpse of Stone’s…yep, they totally were.
Mrs. Viktória clapped. “All right, my darlings, make a plate!”
After swallowing the excess saliva in my mouth—and trying not to swallow my tongue in the process—I followed Angéla to the pop-up table loaded with food. It almost looked as mouthwatering as Stone.
Again, I felt his eyes tracking my every step, and when a shadow fell over my arm, followed by the intoxicating scent of Ivory soap mixed with wintergreen, I grinned in anticipation.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, snagging my pinkie finger with his as he stopped beside me.
A jolt of excitement traveled up my arm and pinged low in my belly.
“So do you,” I whispered back, then promptly blushed. “I mean, manly. Er, sexy. Hot?”
Behind me, Angéla snickered, and the warm blush deepened into a forest fire.
Curse you, pale skin!
“You look nice, too,” I finally muttered, closing my eyes and hiding my face against his rock-hard arm. I could just stay here for the rest of the day. No need to make eye contact or say anything else ridiculous. This was safer.
Stone’s body shook with silent laughter, and he pressed a quick kiss to my head. “My favorite was sexy,” he admitted, and I playfully slugged him in the ribs. He hunched over, pretending it had hurt, and I rolled my eyes, focusing back on the table.
We each filled our plates to overflowing with deliciousness, then everyone took a seat around the large table. I kicked off my sandals and tucked in with gusto.
Everything was incredible. The salsa was spicy, the meat tender, the barbecue sauce sweet and tangy. Of course, it didn’t take long before I dropped some of it on my cute white top—this was me, after all—but Mrs. Viktória brought out club soda, which helped with the stain. It also left me with a wet boob. Sigh.
Throughout the meal, I kept sneaking glances at Chase and Angéla. They were a puzzle. He never stopped trying to engage her in conversation, asking questions and making comments, but she, sticking to her sleepover vow, always kept her responses short. The flashes of hurt on Chase’s face were unmistakable, and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy, especially after the surprising pep talk he’d given me earlier. Then I’d remember Angéla’s face Friday night, and I was confused.
All in all, wet boob and confusion aside, the meal was amazing. Seated next to Stone, with his left hand drawing tiny circles on my knee, the kiss of the sun against my skin, and the prickle of grass on my bare feet, I felt like I was in the middle of one of Angéla’s rom-coms. Even dancing at the studio yesterday had felt different. Being in
Stone’s arms and seeing the smile he seemed to reserve just for me had made me feel special, even though I’d been half asleep from our late night of stolen kisses. And most likely resembled an extra from The Walking Dead.
It wasn’t just him, either. The lesson itself meant more now that I understood the studio’s history and its troubles. Stone wasn’t alone in his worry; I needed Ilusiòn to stay open. Not only because I cared about his family, but because it was a connection to Mom.
It was halfway through my second helping of rice when Angéla, evidently, had enough.
“Ugh, I can’t take it anymore! Can we please talk about Homecoming?”
Mrs. Viktória pursed her lips in confusion. “What do you mean, loves?”
“Ágoston asked Lily to the dance last night,” she announced to the table at large, “and he refused to tell me the whole story. I’m sorry, I tried to be patient, but you guys know I suck at that.”
One by one, almost as if they’d planned it, the entire group turned to me. Varying shades of interest colored their faces, and my own, which had only just returned to its near-Casper-like quality, instantly flamed. Stone shifted beside me, and Angéla made a puppy dog face.
“Please, Lily? I got to see the before when I snuck into the garage and found him working on it, and later, after I hounded him, he confirmed you said yes. But I need to know the middle.” In an instant, her imploring look transformed into a grin, and she turned to her mom. “The way he asked her was so cute.”
Stone looked affronted. “It wasn’t cute. It was romantic,” he grumbled, and a flash of insecurity hit his face. I covered the hand on my knee and squeezed. As he looked at me, the uncertainty slowly faded from his eyes, and he sighed. “You can tell them if you want.”
I searched his face, and when he nodded with a small smile, a huge grin took over mine. The whole thing had been magical, and I hadn’t gotten to squeal about it with anyone yet.
I set my napkin on the table, suddenly eager to spill.
“Okay, so last night, I was studying for statistics when I got a text,” I explained, fighting back a laugh at Angéla’s animated expression. She set her elbows on the table and leaned in. “It said, ‘knock, knock,’ which I thought was kind of odd, especially when he didn’t say anything after I replied, ‘who’s there?’ So, I went to the front door. When I opened it”—I glanced at Stone—“he was standing there with gold spray-painted fingers, holding a homemade Snitch and a sign that said, ‘I’m Seeking a homecoming date…and I think you’re a Keeper. P.S. Long Live Gryffindor.’”
I fell back in my seat with a dreamy smile, and matching ones lit up the faces of his sister, mother, and grandmother. As the women collectively awwed, proving how romantic it had been, and his dad nodded with pride, I heard a faint snort come from Stone’s other side.
Under the table, away from Abuela’s keen eyes, my man flipped off his best friend, and Chase laughed, putting his hand on Stone’s shoulder. “I’m teasing, dude. The first trick to women is knowing your audience, and clearly, you nailed that. Awesome job.”
Angéla made a face, and I quickly corrected, “More like excellent job.”
Despite my bluster about school dances, I’d been downright giddy. I still was. Stone’s invite hadn’t been public like Sydney’s or Angéla’s, and the entire school wasn’t gossiping about it, but I liked this better. The moment had been just between us, private and perfect—especially since it had ended with another earth-shattering kiss.
I squirmed in my seat, and Stone smirked like he knew where my thoughts had gone. “Homecoming is a milestone high school experience,” he teased, leaning over to kiss my cheek. Against my ear, he whispered, “I can’t wait to see you in a dress.”
Hell’s bells. Would it have been considered rude if I’d dumped the entire ice chest over my head?
A short while later, my feet were still barely touching the floor. I was traipsing through the house on my way back from the bathroom, gliding my fingertips across the cool countertop in the kitchen, when I noticed a large photo album on the island. I leaned in, curious, and gasped.
A young Viktória stared back at me. She couldn’t have been older than twelve, and she stood proud and beautiful in a jaw-dropping costume next to an enormous trophy. Just looking at the fierce expression on her face, it was obvious she was born to dance.
Entranced, I tugged the book closer, flipping the page to see more.
“That was back in Hungary,” a voice said from behind me, and I winced at being caught snooping. Mrs. Viktória put her slender arm around me. “This was my first big competition. I had been in others, but this one was against some of the best dancers I had ever seen. It was the first time I let myself believe I had a future in dance.”
She turned another page and pointed at a large family standing in front of a water fountain. A mom and dad were surrounded by one, two, three…six children. Wow.
“When I first started dancing,” she said with a small smile, “I did it for all the wrong reasons. My parents pushed me into it, then I wanted to stand out from my siblings. But eventually, I found myself and what I was meant to do.” She looked at me. “Now, I dance for me and no one else.”
My hand shook on the counter. She couldn’t have possibly known what those words meant, or that I’d been searching for where I fit in the world and what I was meant to do. But her green eyes stared into mine like she was conveying some sort of message.
“You know, I, too, lost my mother young,” she said, her intense eyes warming. My breath caught. “Dancing helped me deal with the pain of her passing. I danced my heartache. I danced my anger. I found peace in the movement.”
I lowered my head, and the old photos blurred with unshed tears. Mrs. Viktória gently smoothed her hand down my hair. “Ah, Lily. You remind me so much of myself when I was younger.”
I sniffed with a nod. “We both lost our moms.”
“It is more than that,” she said softly, resting her head against me. “I see myself in the way you dance.”
I couldn’t help but scoff, which turned into a blubbery, snotty mess, since I was already fighting tears. Mrs. Viktória handed me a napkin, and as I wiped my face, I flipped back to the photo of her standing next to a trophy almost as tall as she was.
“Look at you,” I argued. “Even when you were a kid you were winning awards. I’m lucky if I don’t trample your son’s feet. How can you possibly see yourself in me?”
She smoothed a hand over my hair again, meeting my eyes with a gentle smile. “You show promise,” she told me. “Especially when you stop fighting and just dance.”
Her green-eyed gaze sharpened with an astute expression. Then, with a comforting squeeze of my shoulders, she walked back outside.
I swallowed hard and returned to the album.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been told I got in my own way. My intensity, my drive, tended to overcomplicate things. During my second dance lesson, both Stone and Marcus had told me I was too in my head, and yesterday, I’d even tried to stay in the moment. I’d been moderately successful. There were a few times when I’d started thinking about the steps to come and my feet had gotten jumbled in the present, but luckily, those moments were growing fewer and further between.
Whenever I had turned off the world, though, something truly amazing happened.
I’d lost myself in the music. For those short moments, there’d been no worrying about Harvard or Early Action. No thinking about Cameron or our race for valedictorian. Even my dad had fled my mind. My entire life had shrunk down to the beat of the music and the steady pressure of Stone’s hand guiding me.
A young girl with green eyes stared back from the album, and I realized that for the last three weeks, I’d done exactly what she had. I’d taken lessons for my dad, I’d put in effort for my mom, and I’d continued dancing for Stone. Not once had I considered doing it for me. Mrs. Viktória was right, I had been fighting it, scared of really trying and then failing, terrified of letti
ng go. There was comfort in control. Because of that, though, I’d never fully committed.
Looking into the elated eyes of that young girl, I made us both a promise.
For the rest of the dare, I was all in. From now on, I was dancing for me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stone
A flash of lightning streaked the sky, followed by a decisive crack. As a loud boom rent the air, I slammed the kitchen door closed and set the last of the covered plates on the counter. I shook my wet head like a dog, sprinkling Lily with rain, and she shrieked before throwing her head back in surprised, delighted laughter.
It was quickly becoming my favorite sound.
“Holy crap,” she said, sliding a hand down her wet arm and flinging off the collected water. “That storm came out of nowhere.”
“That’s what we get for not checking the weather before a barbecue,” I said, grabbing the roll of paper towels. I tore off a section and handed it to her, then ripped off more to dry myself. “At least we got to eat before the downpour.”
And man, did we eat. I was stuffed full of beef, refried beans with chorizo, Abuela’s chiles rellenos, and arroz verde. I couldn’t fit one more bite in my stomach, and believe me, I’d tried before the skies opened. Chucking the crumpled towels in the trash, I took Lily’s hand and said, “Let’s go find the others.”
Abuela had snuck off to take a nap about an hour ago, and my parents had brought in most of the other dishes shortly after. Even Chase and Angéla had disappeared. Only Lily and I had lingered outside, talking about anything and everything, not noticing the clouds moving overhead until it was too late. In hindsight—nah, I’d do it all over again, even with the storm.
We found the others in the living room, my parents on one sofa, and Angéla and Chase stationed on either end of the other. Individual servings of Lily’s chocolate cake were on each of their laps, and as I led her to the large cushion between my best friend and sister, a chorus of contented sighs reached my ears. My stomach perked up.
Eyes on Me Page 19
