Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Paso Doble and Other Disasters

Author's Note:

Both Niklas/Klaus and Yolanda will appear in the next story in the series, tentatively titled Every Bookshop Needs a Cat. Everything will be explained in it: Niklas' backstory including the car crash, and Yolanda's past and her unusual history with the deaths of the loved ones. For now, they have to appear in this story to play their part in Rhys and Viola's romance.

Hope you enjoy this chapter - and stay for the next story!

Love,

Katya xx

***

She would have been rather proud of how well she handled the evening - had she not felt so wretched inside. An odd thought bothered her: that she was lying to the Holyoakes - to the lovely Fiona smiling to her, to Will who threw her a cheeky look when she stepped back inside, to John who'd give her an occasional wink when they passed each other during yet another Golden ticket dance, to Clem who kept gushing between dances about how lovely the evening was and what a great job Viola had done - and especially to Nana, who'd arrived in the middle of the evening. She was sitting in the corner in one of the armchairs that had been brought in for those who didn't dance - mostly the matrons of the county - and those who needed a break.

One of the last dances of the evening was paso doble, which she wasn't particularly fond of, for its dramatics and pretentious separations.

Her hand lay into Niklas Bjornsson' large palm, and he firmly closed his fingers around hers.

"I apologise for stomping on your feet," he said after the first step.

"You haven't stepped on my feet just yet," she grumbled back. She'd had very little energy for civility left. "And you're forgiven in advance," she said, while he grinned slyly and murmured, "The night's young."

There was no need for such forgiveness, he was an excellent dancer. He wasn't even on an amateur level, but he'd clearly had training. His steps - the 'stabs' as they were called - were sharp and precise, and the movements of his arms and torso, when he forcefully turned her, changing her direction just as the dance required, were just the right amount of rough.

"So, Niklas," she asked, during the eight steps, "what brought you back to Fleckney?"

"Blackmail," he answered, and spun her, catching her hand again, and pulling her back to him.

"Lovely," she commented in a flat tone. "And here, to the Dance?"

"Same," he said, leading her around him.

"Lovely," she repeated.

They went through a few turns and a separation. Thankfully, he made none of the preposterous hand movements, simply keeping his back straight. It would've been hard not to admire his physique - but Viola had known him for too long to be able to forget what a tosser he was.

"And is this going to be a permanent move?" she asked.

"We don't have to make small talk, Viola," he said lazily. "Neither of us is enjoying this. But you have your social obligations to the Holyoakes, and I promised my Uncle I'd dance at least once."

He pushed her away, spinning her, and then caught her looped arm, and jerked her back, just a tad too forcefully. Viola considered said foot stomping but he muttered an apology and she realised he'd been distracted for a second.

"Who's the woman with the purple hair?" he asked her, leading her in a chasse cape.

"She's none of your concern," Viola answered sharply, and he threw her a sardonic look. "She's my best friend, Yolanda Roel," Viola said grudgingly. "And I wouldn't go anywhere near her, if you value your life."