Winter Hearts

We Agreed

Siana had danced the tsifteteli almost all of her life, at family and community gatherings whenever she was in Greece, as well as for events where she was paid to help hype up the crowd along with other dancers. She did it with a smile, often types making it celebratory, even though depending on who was dancing it, it could range from being very sedate to being very salacious.

But when she heard the band leader announce the song they were going to sing, she got scared.

She had always danced for herself, or for the crowd. She had never danced for Someone.

And now she had someone to dance for - him - and it felt like it was going too fast.

When her aunts and relatives saw her balking, they practically barricaded her way off the floor, with their arms, with their looks.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Now you have someone to dance for and you want to sit down? Psshh!" hissed someone, she didn't know who.

"A dancer with that body and you want to sit this one out? Makes me so mad!" "This is what this song is for."

"The sweetest time of your life, don't waste it."

Siana smiled at them, shaking her head. She felt grateful that they were looking out for her, teasing her. But this was something a little bigger than she had ever dealt with.

It was something very private and precious to her which she would be putting out there, even though she had danced these moves many times, on display for all to see.

She knew she could just see it as a performance, as another stage - just like Leo would be able to see it just as a performance or stage. He and the boys would surely understand that there was a personal side of oneself that didn't appear during a performance. that maybe, what she was about to dance for all to see, didn't mean anything more than a few moves designed to stir up some sort of appreciation for the performance.

Only thing was, she didn't see this as a performance. It was something that would give a bodily expression to the real feelings she was having for a real person - and whether he understood that would colour the way he reacted.

He might not see it as an honest expression, but just for show, for the evening's celebration, to be a part of the family's party. She would feel vulnerable putting herself out there if he didn't receive her message for what it was.

But then she couldn't do it without being honest. She couldn't just do it for show - it suddenly felt that doing so would made a mockery of the ecstatic, heady feeling of infatuation, of head-over-heeliness, of desire, that she felt for him.

The music started, and with the first emphatic notes from the singer, a shiver ran through her, raising the hairs on her neck and arms. It felt as if something was decided, and she couldn't help but go along with it.

The song was a traditional folk song, seemingly innocent, but actually rife with the sexual tension between two people in a conservative world. It only had a few lines of lyrics which repeated back and forth, almost like a nursery rhyme - but coupled with the yearning, plaintive vocal style and melody, it became a song about the urgent ardour of two lovers in their physical courtship.

The song was called Sala Sala. Sala was the Greek word for living room, but could also mean a cafe-type setting where people mingled. It sounded like it was talking about marriage, but it also had other sexual connotations, and these all served to make Siana's body charge up with a rising heat.

In the living room, we talked it out

You will take me and I will take you, we agreed.

You will take me and I will take you, we agreed.

In the living room, we talked it out.

Siana closed her eyes, letting her body move. She was in the throng of the crowd, she knew she was hidden from everyone but those on stage. The words, they seemed to be such intimate whisperings between two people disguising their intentions with normal conversation.

The singer's voice was guttural, almost growling and husky as he sang, and when he finished the last sentence, he yelped, letting go of the passions that had stirred up, as the bouzoukia took over again with that highly recognisable opening riff. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the women around her, who were in their own world. Some acknowledged her, some ignored her, all of them were intent on the feelings that were coming up for them, memories of being loved, or wishes to be loved.

Men and women alike were whistling and making catcalls from the tables, all of them adoring the display on the dance floor. She heard someone exhale "aaaachh!" out loud, and it sounded like the pain of a beautiful agony that hurts the soul, but that you would never willingly let go of.

She imagined Leo, unawares, watching them all without realising what significance this moment had for her.

You have all but said it out loud, Siana, she thought. He has already seen you do worse anyway, what would it matter for him to see you wiggle your butt on the dance floor now?

Because it's not just dancing, she thought. It's a wish. It's a call.

Come and have me. Come and take me.

At that moment, she found him, his pale face shrouded by that familiar glower. His eyes had already found her, and they glinted in the darkness as their gazes locked.

In that instant, she could have sobbed from the need she felt for him. She felt as if her body was not hers, but his, and the feeling took her so suddenly she pulled back, frightened. It was overpowering, and it felt like it was a deep and dark part of her soul and body which could never be filled.

She sensed rather than saw her father sitting next to him, and felt like she couldn't continue with the dancing. She couldn't have that showing in her face for all to see.

Though she knew Leo had seen it.

It was all too raw, too intense. She turned, but not before she saw him respond to her, not before she saw in his face a reflection of what she felt: desire, vulnerability and fear.

She continued dancing, but under cover of the crowd. She looked outward, focusing on the others around her, letting herself enjoy the dance, all the while dreading facing everyone once the music stopped. She felt hot, her cheeks burning. She edged out towards the tables, wanting to get out of the thick of things.

The singer began the last verse, and the crowd surged, some of the men joining in as well.

Never black, never white, never red

If you asked me for my heart, I would give it to you

If you asked me for my heart, I would give it to you

Never black, never white, never red

She felt the sound of the guitars wash over her, the words taking her by surprise.

They urged her, they called out to her.

She had only ever entertained the idea that she could be with him for a while. But he had asked for more, and she had agreed, not really knowing how it would all work out.

But now, with desire like a fire in her body that had been stoked into flames, she felt the seduction of love calling to her, asking her to let go, to let it wash over her like the warm sea, and pull her into oblivion.

She looked up, and found him again, this time he was standing, had moved back away from the table to be alone. He watched her with an intensity she found mesmerising. She couldn't break eye contact, his gaze was searching, hungry, black with want.

She heard the words singing in her head, and in her heart, she answered the call, returning his look with her own yearning gaze.

If you asked me for my heart, I would give it to you.