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Chapter 18

Le Pantalon.

I always thought that's such a funny name for a dance. Trousers. Who names a dance after a pair of pants? Frenchmen.

He's holding my hand in his. Well, I'm not even sure you can call this hand holding, since I've placed my palm gently in his, but he's barely touching me. His thumb is glazing over the top of my hand. This dance doesn't involve a lot of touching, it's reserved, it allows us to breathe because there's a lot of space between our bodies, but my dance instructor always said that's where the beauty lies - in the art of barely touching your partner. Apparently, self control is the best aphrodisiac there is.

The music starts playing. It doesn't fit into this winter atmosphere, nor does it fit into our town. It's royally cheerful in a way our country could never be simply because it was never structured that way. Still, it's made of bits and pieces of every other country out there, so everything is ours, while nothing actually is.

I recognize my dance instructor by the speakers. She'll be leading us through the dance, as always. She looks older than I remember her, since she has obviously stopped dyeing her hair and allowed the time to take its toll on her. Her thick, white hair is tied into a bun, and she's dressed in all black. She's the only woman in this town who never looked like she could fall asleep on a pile of hay, with her strict facial lines and regal posture.

She doesn't seem to see me and even if she did, I highly doubt she would recognize me. Just like I don't recognize the pair across from us. They're young, probably the kids I used to see around school but never learned their names. I wonder do they recognize me?

Stefan circles around me and bows to me. I almost chuckle when I see him in front of me - he's so not dressed properly for this dance! But his face is a mask of seriousness, hardened by concentration. It's not that he's bad at dancing - Stefan's not bad at anything - he simply doesn't like it, because it puts him on the spot. And he hates being in the center of attention.

I bow back to him, a soft smile playing on my lips.

He comes back to my side and we exchange sides with the pair across from us twice until we're back in our initial spot. He puts his hand on the small of my back, the tips of his fingers pressing lightly against my dress and even though he's not touching my skin at all, my spine is on flames. The fire is slowly melting my bones, turning them into ash, tickling me from the inside.

He takes the tips of my fingers into his hand, and I press them against the center of his palm and, I swear, I can hear his heart beat as wildly as a stampede. He twirls me around my axis and I have a feeling it takes me longer to make a full circle than it does planet Earth.

We press our palms against one another and start moving in a circle, all while looking each other in the eyes. My stomach is twirling in the direction opposite of my movements. I feel like I'm going to puke. My skin is hot, my palm sweating while pressed against his.

He smiles at me at the most inconvenient time. He smiles at me in that way of his - innocently, shyly. The corners of his lips move upwards just a few millimeters, enough for my breath to catch in my throat, so he looks down, as if he's ashamed of my reaction, and licks his upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

I'm falling apart. I feel like..

I feel like I can't breathe. He's so far away from me, but at the same time so incredibly close, but then again, not close enough. What I feel for him is a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

I can feel him letting go of me and I move towards the female dancer across from me, who meets me in the middle, and I cross on the other side where her partner greets me. We repeat the move until I'm by Stefan's side again.