But today, that grin didn’t disgust her as it had previously. Today she was happy to see him, if not a little suspicious.
“Ivan, what a coincidence to see you here again!”
“It is not a coincidence, my dear. This is where I choose to take my afternoon drink. I’m almost a regular.” He looked calmer today than he had previously, and he sat down beside her smoothly, rolling his orange liqueur around in its glass.
“So you liked the show, I understand.”
“Very much so.”
“And you liked the dance?”
“The dance was beautiful.”
“Yes, I could imagine you dancing too.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you like to dance, Donna?”
Taken aback by the question, she said, “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Well, think about it, because I want to do you a favor.”
Again, Donna found herself unable to think of a reply. She seemed to find herself often in that state around Ivan.
“I know of a very good dance school. It’s family run, and you can go for free.” He was doing his best to look convincing, but there was something about Ivan that always made every offer seem like a contract—except you never got to learn what exactly you were signing up for or were signing away.
“That’s very kind, but I’m not a very good dancer.”
He laughed too loudly. “Nonsense. I saw you at the show, watching the dance. You have some passion for it, I can tell.”
He got out a pad of paper and a pencil. He wrote down an address for her with a time and date.
“You should go.” He finished off the dregs of his glass and got up to leave. “Just tell them Ivan sent you.”
Chapter 8
Clutching the same piece of paper a few days later, Donna found herself walking back up to the gypsy encampment on the hill.
She had her eyes peeled for a glimpse of Antonio, but just as they had been on her first visit, all of the little cave windows and doors were shut up in the midday heat.
The paper said number 21 and the time read twelve o’clock. She was late, but she was hoping that wouldn’t matter.
She had decided to go to one class. Ivan had been right; the passion of the dance had moved her, and the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d wanted to try it herself.
She had only ever been to dance class in the States as a very little girl, and she had been so scared of the strict ballet teacher that she had had nightmares. After that, her mother had stopped taking her.
She wondered what kind of woman this teacher would be, and who the other students might be—tourists, women from the town, or other women from the gypsy community?
At the entrance to cave 21, Donna took a deep breath before stepping through the open door.
The room was similar to the other cave—painted white and almost bare. There were three other girls in flamenco dance shoes standing on the flat wooden boards which had been pulled across the stone floor.
The girls looked up in surprise to see someone new joining them. They looked darker than the Spanish women in the village, and Donna figured they were most likely gypsy girls.
She felt out of place again but they smiled and seemed friendly enough, focusing on stretching and their warm-ups, tapping their feet in preparation for the music that would soon be playing. The teacher had his back to them, his dark curly hair in a ponytail, his long neck bent as he looked down at his hands, fiddling with a stereo.
Donna gasped, her heart beating at 100 miles an hour, but not from the walk or the heat.
It was him! It was Antonio.
He turned around and stopped what he had been in the middle of saying as he saw her, a spark of recognition and the unexpected hint of a blush spreading across his face.
“Hello,” Donna said helplessly.
He turned bright red as his expression changed from one of delighted surprise to one of … anger? Donna couldn’t quite read what emotions she was seeing in his face.
Ignoring her, Antonio turned quickly to the other girls and began speaking in fast, incomprehensible Spanish.
He began giving directions, still speaking Spanish, and Donna tried to follow along, not understanding his reluctance to speak to her in English, even for a second. But she was determined to keep up, so she followed the girls’ steps as best she could.
Halfway through the class, Antonio finally approached her and spoke quietly and seriously in English, without any of the warmth of their previous encounter.
“The lessons are in Spanish. I’m not sure how much you will be able to do.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I can just copy your movements,” she replied with a sweet smile, though she bristled at his words.
Finally, he looked her in the eye, only for a split second, but she caught something like a flash of anger, a similar expression to those she’d glimpsed from his uncle.
Maybe he doesn’t really recognize me. Maybe he thinks I’m a tourist who has wandered in.
He showed the class some rudimentary footsteps and Donna focused on the technique, ignoring her hurt and confused feelings and the growing urge to run away.
Antonio continued on to the basic flamenco arm movements, taking each girl’s arm, curving it into shape with his own. Every now and then he’d grab their wrists, moving them a millimeter here, a millimeter there, until they were perfect.
It was Donna’s turn, and her heart was bursting at the thought of him touching her.
But he stopped, a meter or so away from her, and observed her arm position thoughtfully.
“Good. That will do for now. You have the basic shape,” he said sternly and in plain English, keeping a firm distance.
The lesson continued in the same manner. While he kicked the other girls’ feet around, guided their arms, straightened their backs, he avoided any physical contact with Donna.
After the lesson she gathered her dignity and approached him. “How much is the lesson?”
He didn’t turn around straightaway, but continued talking to one of the other girls. She stood waiting, and just when she thought he hadn’t heard her, or that she was being completely ignored, he turned and said, “Ivan sent you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he invited me here.”
“Then it is free.”
“But I want to pay.” Donna held up her wallet.
Looking mildly amused, Antonio pushed her hand down.
“You can pay if you ever come back. Next time, you pay. How about that?”
“And if I wanted to come again? How much is it?”
“Let’s say ten euros a week,” he replied, his eyes narrowing at her.
“That’s not very much.”
“Well, for a poor gypsy like me it is enough.” Donna thought she detected a hint of bitterness in that statement.
“And when is the next lesson?” she asked stubbornly, ignoring his previous comment.
He sighed deeply, showing a disinterest in the subject. “I teach every other day, at midday, always.”
With that she left the studio and began walking down the hill.
One of the other students, a striking girl with pointed features and striking green eyes fell into step with Donna. “You are American?” the girl asked.
Donna nodded.
“Welcome to my village. You are so beautiful.” She looked at Donna as if she was a specimen at the zoo. “Beautiful red hair.” She leaned over and touched Donna’s hair.
“And now you will learn our dance! It is very nice.” Struggling with her English, the girl looked at Donna, her green eyes friendly. “Will you come again?”
“I don’t think the teacher likes me very much.”
“What?” she giggled. “No, you were much better than everyone else in the class! I think he was impressed. We were all impressed.”
They walked down the hill in thoughtful silence, exhausted by the class, and Donna too overwhelmed to do much talking.
“Do you like to go again?
Antonio is a strange man, but he is a good teacher. Respected in the village.” The girl gestured around, encompassing the whole village in her movement. “He does so much to help us.”
Baffled but determined, Donna said firmly, “Yes, I would like to go again. I enjoyed it a lot.”
Chapter 9
“Why can’t we just have the stage at the back of the garden? I don’t want to get married on a stage just so your father can televise the whole thing! Donna, will you please tell José he is being a stupid pig-head about this!”
“You mean he’s being pigheaded,” Donna corrected with a small smile. Maria and José had gotten in the habit of speaking in English around Donna, and she had to say she was impressed with Maria’s improvements, even if she might stumble on some expressions every now and then.
Donna had to admit she was more impressed by Maria every day. Now that she had learned that her feelings for José had been no more than a little crush, Donna was able to see just what a good match the gorgeous and kind woman was for her friend.
“Yes—a pig-head! This is my wedding, José, not your father’s. Mine!”
It had become apparent to Donna that José’s dad was using the marriage as an opportunity to canvas his position as deputy mayor of the city. The sashes on the chairs, the color theme, they were the colors of his party. And the entire town was to be invited to the after-party.
José and Maria hadn’t even been consulted on that before the invitations had been sent.
It was putting pressure on the normally happy couple, and Donna could definitely empathize with their frustration.
José, mid-argument, looked worn down. “You want to go for a walk, Donna?”
The question felt more like a plea, so Donna dutifully followed him outside.
It took quite a bit of time to calm José down, and it was somewhat like old times again, just the two of them.
The whole episode, though, had Donna feeling a little guilty. She had been going to dance lessons every other day, and she knew she’d been distant even when she was around, her mind off wandering somewhere else.
She had become so engaged in learning flamenco and with her growing passion for Antonio that she wondered how she’d ever arrived in Spain ready to declare some undying teenage crush for José.
She had been attending lessons for a couple weeks, and despite her teacher’s apparent bitter irritation at her every step, she enjoyed the dance.
She practiced hard every day, only blowing off extra practice now and again to spend the day with Maria and José, either on the beach or rambling around the countryside.
She’d gotten used to Antonio’s new manner quickly. He acted as if she was a bomb that might go off at the slightest touch, and he avoided contact at every turn.
However impersonal he acted, however impenetrable his manner with her, she could also see that the dancer in him was intrigued and wanted to help her get better.
Despite his best intentions, his instincts would kick in and he’d work her hard enough to see just how good this little American girl could get. He begrudgingly told her that hadn’t had a student this naturally talented before.
She had stopped looking at him with those big, questioning eyes, and they had settled into a comfortable coolness. They had developed a kind of sardonic rapport, allowing humor to sweeten the bitterness that now yawned between them.
However much he chided and scolded, she continued coming to the lessons he taught every day.
Outside of class, she thought of him constantly. Despite herself, her dreams were full of hot longing, imagining him as he had been the first night she’d met him. But in the class, she was as cool as a cucumber.
One morning he was teaching a lesson on the style of Braceo. It was a difficult style because it required the dancer to move their arms continuously into the next step.
Donna had almost gotten it. While her classmates were still struggling miserably, she was almost there, but not quite.
Antonio, frustrated, began speaking to her in English for once, ignoring the other girls who were floundering about like trees in an elementary school play.
“No, Donna, just a little further forward—no, not like that. Come on …”
“I’m trying! I don’t understand what you want me to do,” she said, defending herself against his frustration.
“Oh Dios …” Antonio grumbled one last time.
Against his better judgment, he walked up behind Donna and grabbed her arms tightly. He’d done a good job of convincing himself that the connection he’d felt with her that first night was just a fluke, but his body’s intense reaction to finally touching her again proved that he’d been kidding himself. Lust ignited inside him.
He grew hard as they touched and he involuntarily breathed in the scent of her lovely bare neck. She responded to his touch in a way that was hard to misinterpret as well, her nipples pebbling against her shirt. He held her arms in place for just a second too long.
After weeks of carefully building up a cool veneer, it had finally shattered. Antonio’s cheeks flared red as he finally tore his eyes away from her.
The class continued as if nothing had happened, the other girls completely oblivious to what had just occurred.
The class was unusually packed with students, but Antonio was paying closer attention to Donna, acting a little different. He was harder on her than he had ever been.
“Head up, Donna.” It was one of his favored directions, one of many. And when his shouted commands didn’t prove satisfactory, he started twisting her arm into positions roughly, lifting her chin with his hands, and clapping out the rhythms with a great force.
He touched and prodded her more than he had ever done before, until Donna became a little embarrassed to be manhandled like that in front of the other girls.
After a grueling lesson the class was dismissed and the students began to get dressed and leave. Donna had already taken off her dance shoes when she heard him call her name.
“Donna, you stay behind, please.”
It was a command, not a question.
He made a vague show of critiquing her technique until the last of the students had left.
“I’m sorry if I did anything or said anything to upset you,” he apologized, though there was no contrition in his face or tone.
“Not any more than usual.” She watched him approach her, feeling on edge at this change between them.
“You know, you have an instinct for the line, for the rhythm. More than these other girls.”
Donna was standing against the back wall of the cave and he continued to advance toward her as they spoke.
“Thank you,” Donna replied, but she could feel his entire body shaking. “Are you all right? Did you drink too much coffee? ”
“No, it is not caffeine,” he said, leaning forward to rest his hand just above her shoulder, pinning her against the wall. “Es solo pasión,” he whispered.
The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 20
