Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Vaeda
Saturday morning arrives far too early. The sky is barely lit, the streets of Paris painted in soft grays and pinks as the city slowly stirs awake.
My ankle is stiff and sore, a throb pulsing deep in the joint as I stretch it from beneath the duvet.
I shower slowly, letting the hot water work out some of the pain in my body, but it does little for the ache curling behind my ribs.
Today is the final day and the most crucial. It’s the ballroom final, the last chance for Yvonne and Mateo to prove themselves, for all of us to prove that Fusion Core deserves to be here.
I dress in black slacks and a cropped, fitted blazer, my blouse silk and deep emerald. Understated but elegant. Although no amount of tailoring can pull me together completely. Not when I’m unraveling from the inside out.
When I arrive at the venue, the hair and makeup suite is already buzzing. Curling irons hiss, and hair spray clouds the air. Stylists move like dancers themselves, weaving around the competitors, sculpting sleek buns and smoky eyes.
I step further into the room and instantly wish I hadn’t.
Mateo and Yvonne are seated beside each other at the far end of the room.
His eyes are crinkled at the corners, laughing at something she’s just said.
Her fingers reach up to adjust a curl at the base of his neck, lingering there longer than necessary, and my pulse stutters.
I can’t breathe. The air in the room feels thinner, laced with perfume and powder and jealousy.
I turn slowly, being careful with my ankle as my heel clicks against the marble floor.
I went without the crutch today, as I spent most of the day yesterday without it.
It’s more of a hindrance than a help, and it would’ve made my escape cumbersome.
Pushing out of the suite, my heart thundering inside my chest, I walk briskly into the corridor, head down, willing the sting behind my eyes to vanish.
I can’t let them see me like this. I can’t let him see me like this.
But I don’t make it far.
A hand grabs my wrist, spinning me fast. I gasp, barely catching my footing before I’m pressed to the cool plaster wall. Mateo’s body cages mine in, his breath hot against my cheek, and his eyes burning.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, but my voice is shaky.
He doesn’t answer. He just crushes his mouth to mine, and I melt.
I try not to. I try to be strong, but the second his lips touch mine, it’s like striking a match to gasoline. Heat floods every nerve, and my fingers fist the lapels of his jacket as he kisses me like he’s been starving. Like he needs me more than oxygen.
When he finally pulls away, his breath is ragged, his voice low and wrecked. “I dreamed of you last night.” My heart stutters. “And when we win this thing,” he says, his forehead resting against mine. “I want to celebrate with you. Alone.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not when the walls I’ve tried so hard to rebuild are falling again, one whisper at a time.
His hands slide down my arms before he lets go, retreating just enough to look at me.
His gaze is saturated with a mixture of hope and hunger, or maybe it’s just love in its most dangerous form.
Then he’s gone, footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving me pressed to the wall, breathless and shaken.
I look up and down the corridor and release a breath. No one is here, and I’m lucky it’s so early. We’re becoming increasingly reckless, and there’s going to come a point where we explode and incinerate everyone around us.
The ballroom is electric.
It thrums with anticipation, every seat filled, and every breath held. Camera flashes go off like strobe lights, illuminating the gleaming floor and the final number about to unfold. The grand finals. The showstopper. Our Paso Doble.
I stand just off to the side near Greyson and Grace, my arms folded, though not for warmth.
My ankle is already screaming, yet my entire focus is on Mateo and Yvonne entering the floor.
He wears a midnight black suit, open at the collar, his hair slicked back, eyes fierce and sharp as a blade.
She’s in crimson red, the kind of color that eats light and demands attention, but no matter how dazzling she looks, it’s him I can’t take my eyes off of.
He’s no longer the hesitant student who first walked into my studio.
He’s a force. The music crashes into the room like a wave, and they begin.
Their Paso is similar to a battle. Every movement is calculated, and every beat devoured.
He drives forward. She yields, then strikes.
They’re fire and resistance, command and defiance.
The crowd gasps when he drops her into a knee sweep and pulls her back up in one fluid motion, and I nearly forget to breathe.
They twist, charge, circle each other like predators, and when they hit that final pose with his hand gripping her wrist and her back arched in surrender, I feel every part of my body tighten.
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, then the ballroom erupts with applause like thunder. Judges stand as cheers ripple through the walls of the venue. Even Greyson whistles beside me, his face alight with pride.
I forget everything. The pain, the rules, and the distance I’ve tried so hard to keep.
I drop my weight onto my feet, the sharp lance of pain from my ankle ignored. My heart is doing double time as I move without thinking, slipping around the judges’ table, ignoring Grace’s gasp behind me. All I know is I need to reach him.
Mateo turns just as I break through the dancers and coaches gathered at the edge. Our eyes lock as I run the last steps and throw my arms around him. He catches me midair, laughing, arms wrapped tight as he lifts me clean off the ground and spins me once, twice.
“You were unreal,” I whisper, my lips near his ear. “Absolutely, impossibly unreal.”
He doesn’t set me down right away. Instead, he breathes me in and pulls back to look at me. “We did it,” he says, voice rough, eyes glittering. “I danced that for you.”
I bury my face into his neck, the adrenaline, pride, and forbidden joy all crashing at once. People are watching and cameras are everywhere, but none of it matters. For this one moment, there’s only us, and I don’t care who sees.
MATEO
My pulse pounds in my ears, adrenaline and disbelief colliding as Vaeda’s arms remain wrapped around my neck.
She came willingly, her laughter ringing in my ears, and the bright sparkle of excitement shining in her eyes.
For once, there’s no hesitation between us, no careful restraint or guarded glances.
Just Vaeda in my arms, joy illuminating her entire face.
The world around us fades into a blur of color and noise. All that exists is this moment, her heartbeat against my chest, her breath warm against my neck.
“You did it,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, sending shivers racing down my spine.
“We did it,” I correct her, smiling as I set her down gently, careful to steady her as she winces slightly from the pain in her ankle.
She smiles through it, eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary. I wish I could capture that look, hold on to it forever.
Yvonne joins us, practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes are alight with triumph and cheeks flushed from exertion. “That was incredible, Mateo!”
“You both were extraordinary,” Vaeda says genuinely, nodding at Yvonne before her gaze drifts back to mine. Pride shines there, bright and pure. It feels like redemption, not just professionally, but personally.
Greyson approaches with Grace at his side. Both are grinning from ear to ear, and Grace’s proud smile feels like forgiveness after a year of silence and pain. Her eyes are misty when she embraces me, murmuring into my ear, “I knew you’d find your way back.”
The overhead speakers crackle softly, and we instinctively quiet, anticipation gripping us.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dancers, please gather at the edge of the floor. The judges’ final scores and placements for the International Ballroom and Latin Championship Adult Division will now be announced.”
The murmur of excitement builds like an electric current throughout the ballroom. My heart speeds up, nerves tangling in my gut. Vaeda reaches out subtly, her fingertips brushing mine. A silent support. A secret strength.
Yvonne’s hand grips mine tightly on the other side, her breath quick and uneven. “Whatever happens, I’m glad you are my partner,” she rasps.
“Me too.” My voice trembles, thick with sincerity.
The announcer begins calling the placements, starting from tenth place, slowly building up tension in the air. Every couple’s name is met with cheers and applause, each step closer making my breath hitch.
“Third place… representing Académie de Pas Dorés from France… Antoine Leclerc and Elise Martin!”
My heart thuds painfully inside my chest as the French couple bows gracefully to thunderous applause.
“Second place… representing Studio Ritmo Ardente from Italy… Lorenzo Ricci and Sofia Conti!”
The roar of the crowd swells, deafening in my ears as the elegant couple steps forward, receiving their medals.
Yvonne squeezes my hand tightly, her knuckles white. Vaeda’s eyes lock with mine again, her breath shallow, her pulse visibly racing in her throat.
“And first place, your champions for this year’s International Ballroom and Latin Championship Adult Division, representing Fusion Core Dance Studio from New York, United States…”
Time seems to stop as blood pounds fiercely in my ears. My entire body is a taut wire, ready to snap.
“Mateo Sanchez and Yvonne Cardenas!”
The words explode through the ballroom, echoing like thunder. A roar erupts around us, the entire audience rising to their feet as confetti bursts overhead, glittering down around us in shimmering waves of silver and gold.
Yvonne screams in joy, leaping into my arms, tears streaming down her face.
I spin her, laughter mingling with disbelief as applause crashes around us.
Grace cheers loudly, tears streaking her face, and Greyson beams like a proud father, but it’s Vaeda who draws my eye again, her gaze fixed on me, her lips parted slightly.
Tears glisten along her lashes, pride and relief radiating from her in palpable waves.
This victory is ours. Ours as dancers, as survivors, as people pulled together by something greater than any of us.
The official approaches with medals gleaming, and my hands tremble as I bow my head, feeling the cool weight of gold drape around my neck. Yvonne receives hers, her joy infectious as photographers flash their cameras, capturing every euphoric moment.
I turn to Vaeda, heart hammering, and she moves toward me, stepping deliberately despite her pain. Her hands cup my cheeks, and she whispers softly, “I always believed in you.”
My arms wrap around her once more, holding her close, drowning in the victory, in the moment, in the certainty that this feeling—this redemption, this joy—is everything I’ve fought for.
Everything I risked losing. Everything I refuse to let go of ever again.
The grand ballroom sparkles with an elegance reserved for winners, sunlight streaming through massive windows, gilded frames glistening, and chandeliers scattering fragments of light across the marble floor.
Every moment feels surreal, wrapped in the undeniable sweetness of triumph.
Laughter and voices hum warmly around me, punctuated by the rhythmic flash of cameras capturing memories that will last forever.
Grace squeezes my hand, her eyes shimmering with tears of pride as we step in front of the photographer. She leans into me, her arm comfortably wrapped around my waist, and for the first time in over a year, my heart feels whole.
“Smile!” the photographer calls, the bright flash illuminating the pure joy etched on our faces.
“I’m so proud of you,” Grace murmurs, turning to hug me tightly once more. Her embrace holds forgiveness, understanding, and the hope of a healed bond.
Pulling out my phone, my fingers tremble slightly as I tap on my parents’ contact. Within seconds, their smiling faces fill the screen, and my mother’s tearful laughter brings warmth to my chest.
“You were incredible, Mateo!” she exclaims, her voice choked with emotion. My father, usually stoic and composed, grins widely, his eyes glistening suspiciously. “Greyson sent us all the videos.”
“We’re proud of you,” my father says, clearing his throat, his voice roughened by unspoken emotion. “You did it.”
My chest tightens at his words, feeling the weight of their forgiveness, their pride. “Thank you for believing in me again. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
“Of course you would,” my father insists gently. “We just needed to learn how to believe again.”
My mother touches the screen as if reaching for me. “Enjoy your day, Mateo. You deserve this moment.”
“I love you both,” I say softly, the truth of it profound and powerful. They smile warmly, sending kisses through the phone before ending the call, leaving me filled with deep contentment.
Turning, I find Greyson and Vaeda standing nearby, quietly sharing their own proud smiles. Stepping toward them, gratitude floods me. They are the reason I am here today. Their guidance, their patience, and their willingness to take a risk on me changed everything.
“Greyson,” I start, emotion catching briefly in my throat. He meets my gaze, eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. “I can’t thank you enough for believing in me. For fighting to give me a place when I had nowhere else to turn.”
Greyson doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward and pulling me into a firm, supportive hug. “You’ve earned every bit of this success, Mateo. Never doubt that.”
When he steps back, Vaeda remains, eyes soft with unspoken emotion. Her posture is perfect and poised, but I can sense the vulnerability beneath her careful composure. My heart races as I step closer, our gazes locking.
“Vaeda,” I rasp, my voice thick with sincerity. “None of this would have been possible without you. You didn’t just teach me how to dance again, you reminded me how to live.”
She inhales sharply, her cheeks coloring gently, eyes glistening as my words settle between us. Before she can respond, before propriety and rules can intervene, I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her cheek.
Her skin is warm beneath my lips, her breath hitching softly. When I pull away, her eyes are wide, vulnerable, and filled with a beautiful complexity I ache to unravel.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding her gaze a beat longer before stepping back.
The moment hangs delicately between us, filled with meaning and promise, before voices around us interrupt, drawing us back into the joyful chaos of celebration.