Chapter 9
NINE
Vaeda
The studio hums with anticipation, the energy crackling as the four dancers warm up.
It’s one of those Saturday mornings where everything feels amplified.
The light spilling through the windows is almost too bright, the polished floor reflects too much, and the music, though soft, feels intrusive.
My clipboard rests on the small desk by the mirror, but my focus isn’t on the notes. It’s on Mateo and Yvonne.
They stand close together, their heads bent as they speak in hushed tones.
Yvonne laughs at something he says, her hand lightly brushing his arm.
Mateo smiles in return, his usually serious face softening in a way that makes my chest tighten.
They start stretching, their movements fluid and synchronized, their camaraderie easy and obvious.
I glance at Greyson, who’s adjusting the playlist on his phone, oblivious to my growing irritation. This isn’t about jealousy, I tell myself. It’s about professionalism. About focus. Yet when Yvonne playfully nudges Mateo, and he responds with a low chuckle, I feel a sharp pang of envy.
“Alright,” I call out, my voice cutting through the room like a whip. “Let’s get started. Show us your routines. Yvonne and Mateo, you’re up first.”
Adam and Kari sit against the wall, their casual demeanors replaced with honed concentration.
Yvonne and Mateo get into position, their Rumba starting with a smooth opening.
Yvonne’s movements are captivating, every step sensual, and Mateo matches her pace, his form strong and deliberate.
But my eyes are drawn to the way his hand rests on her back, the subtle way her fingers linger on the space between his shoulder and neck.
As the music swells, their connection intensifies, their bodies moving as one. The rhythm is hypnotic, the tension between them palpable. By the time they reach the final pose with Yvonne arching gracefully as Mateo supports her, I’m gripping my clipboard so tightly my knuckles ache.
Greyson claps, his enthusiasm genuine. “Excellent work. You’ve made a lot of progress.”
I force myself to nod. “Good control but, Mateo, you’re still holding back. Your movements need to come from a deeper place.”
He meets my gaze, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not just about the steps,” I say, walking toward him. “It’s about the feeling, the emotion behind them. Let me show you.”
Yvonne steps back, her features masked as I take her place. I stand close to Mateo, his presence magnetic in a way that unsettles me.
“Hand on my back,” I instruct, my voice steady despite the flutter inside my chest. He complies, his touch firm but careful. I place my hand on his shoulder, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck. “Now, follow my lead.”
The music begins, a slow and sultry melody that seems to echo in the charged silence of the room. I guide him through the opening steps, our bodies moving in sync.
“Relax,” I murmur, my eyes locked on his. “Feel the music.”
He nods slightly, his grip adjusting as we glide across the floor. The magnetism between us builds with every step, every turn. When I spin away and back into his hold, his hand catches me effortlessly, his firm hold making my breath hitch.
“Better,” I whisper softly, though my voice is barely audible over the music.
We move through the sequence, the rhythm dictating our every motion.
He becomes more fluid, his body reading mine like an open book.
I move, he moves. I breathe, he inhales.
When we reach the dip, his arm supports me with a confidence that sends a shiver down my spine.
Our faces are inches apart, his breath warm against my skin, our eyes locked in a moment that feels endless.
The music fades, leaving only the sound of our labored breathing. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, the charged silence wrapping around us like a cocoon.
“Vaeda,” Greyson’s voice breaks the spell, accompanied by a sharp clap.
I step back quickly, my cheeks flushing as reality crashes in. Mateo straightens, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger on mine for a moment longer than necessary. I turn away, desperate to regain my composure.
“You’re still a bit too stiff for the Rumba,” I say, my words brisk as I address him. “You need to loosen up, to become one with the rhythm. I suggest taking another class. Something outside your comfort zone. Hip-hop, maybe.”
Mateo raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Hip-hop?”
“It’ll help you find a connection from your heart to the music,” I explain, my tone firm. “You need to feel the rhythm in your body, not just your feet.”
He nods slowly, though I can see the doubt in his eyes. Yvonne steps forward, her expression tight as she glances between us.
“Should we do it again, or are we done?” she asks, her voice sharper than usual.
“Yes, you’re done.” I nod, smoothing my moist palms down the sides of my thighs. “Kari and Adam, you’re up next.”
As Yvonne and Mateo switch places with Adam and Kari, I catch Yvonne glaring at me, her eyes dark with anger.
I ignore it, focusing instead on the notes Greyson is jotting down.
The energy in the room is thick, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve crossed a line, not just with Yvonne, but with myself.
I lean against the mirrored wall, clipboard back in hand, my pen hovering over a blank line as Greyson begins fiddling with the sound system, his brows furrowed in concentration.
Mateo and Yvonne are stretching near the far corner, their quiet chatter punctuated by the occasional laugh.
The sound of her voice is grating on my nerves, something akin to nails on a chalkboard.
Kari and Adam stand in the center of the room, their postures straight, their minds focused.
They’ve been refining this Viennese Waltz for days, and today is the moment to see if their work has paid off.
Kari’s light blonde hair is swept into a tight bun, and her sky-blue practice dress flows gracefully around her ankles.
Adam’s black shirt is simple, but it emphasizes his clean lines and lean muscles.
“Ready when you are,” I say, motioning to Greyson. He nods and presses a button, the lush, sweeping strains of a waltz filling the air.
Kari and Adam take their starting positions, their hands meeting with a practiced elegance. The first few notes act as a cue, and they step into motion, gliding across the floor with a grace that immediately draws the room’s attention.
Their movements are mesmerizing. Kari’s frame is impeccable, her head tilted just enough to catch the light on her delicate profile.
Adam’s hold is steady, his steps confident as he leads her through the sweeping rotations and gentle rises and falls of the waltz.
Their synchronicity is almost hypnotic, a seamless interplay of strength and softness.
The music crescendos, and Adam guides Kari into a reverse turn, her skirt flaring in a perfect arc.
For a brief moment, it’s as if they’re floating, their feet barely brushing the ground.
My breath catches at the sight because this is what dance is supposed to feel like: weightless, timeless, transcendent.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Mateo watching intently. His arms are crossed, but his expression betrays a mixture of admiration and frustration. Yvonne, standing beside him, nudges his arm and whispers something, but his gaze remains fixed on the dancers.
“Beautiful,” Greyson murmurs under his breath, his eyes shining with pride as he watches Kari and Adam move through the more intricate steps of the routine. “They’ve really stepped up.”
I nod, scribbling a note on my clipboard. “Kari’s technique is flawless. She’s carrying the emotion of the dance perfectly.” My eyes flick to Adam. “But he’s all technique. His moves are perfect, but the passion isn’t breaking through.”
As if sensing the critique, Adam suddenly takes a risk, adding a subtle flourish to his movement as he leads Kari into a dramatic pivot. It’s bold, unexpected, and exactly what was missing. Their connection seems to deepen, their energy crackling as the music swells toward its climax.
By the time they reach the final pose with Kari dipped low, one leg extended gracefully as Adam holds her securely, the room is silent and captivated. The last note fades, and for a moment, no one moves. Then Greyson claps, the sound breaking the spell.
“Well done!” he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine approval. “That was exceptional.”
Kari straightens, her cheeks flushed and her breathing quick. Adam releases her with a small smile, his own face damp with exertion. They exchange a glance that speaks of triumph, their hard work finally paying off.
I step forward, my heels clicking softly against the floor. “Much improved,” I say, letting my gaze linger on Adam. “That risk you took with the pivot? That’s what I’ve been waiting to see. More of that and you’ll take this routine to another level.”
Adam nods, his expression serious. “Thank you. We’ll keep working on it.”
“You should,” I stress, my words filled with encouragement. “This is the kind of dancing that gets remembered.”
As Kari and Adam move to the side to catch their breath, I glance at Mateo again.
He’s still watching, his brows furrowed as if dissecting every moment of their performance.
I make a mental note to address his focus later, but for now, I let the moment live on, the echoes of the Viennese Waltz still resonating in the studio.
MATEO