Chapter 6
Six
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been our pleasure to perform for you at Club Babalou. We hope we made tonight a memorable one for all of you. Regrettably, our evening has come to an end, but not before we play one final song.”
The band picks up their instruments and begins playing “Cuban Pete,” one of the signature songs from I Love Lucy. From my perch by the dessert table, I drum my fingers against the surface, humming along to the catchy melody.
“Are you done dancing?” Amanda asks, sneaking up to my left.
“It looks that way. I don’t have a partner,” I admit, continuing to watch the happy couples on the dance floor, swaying closely to one another.
A small surge of jealousy flows through my veins, but my sitting out the last dance is my own fault.
I’ve turned down the last few people who’ve asked me.
“Maybe it’s for the best. I’ve danced with about twenty different blokes, and talking to them has mentally exhausted me.
I like dancing, but I’m all talked out. I am not used to having so many people around me. ”
“That’s the excuse, but my question is do you want to dance?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I wouldn’t mind it. I like this song.”
“Cool beans, because I see someone I know is quiet who you can dance with.” Tugging on my hand, she yanks me toward the adjoining table, where Arthur is standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
He sees us approaching and immediately stiffens, standing like a soldier at attention. “Hey, Arthur,” Amanda says.
“Ma’am.”
“Ali is looking for a partner, and seeing as you’re free, she’d love to have you take her out onto the dance floor.” She places my hand in his. “Problem solved. Now to go find Clara. She’s been sitting too long. One dance won’t kill her.” Amanda practically skips away from us.
“Um, sorry about that.” I quickly tug my hand away. “I had no idea she was going to ask you. You don’t have to dance with me. It’s not in your job description.”
“Technically speaking, it isn’t. Unless it’s something you ask me to do.” He extends his hand back to me. My gaze travels up the length of his arm to his face. “Are you requesting a dance?”
My throat goes dry. I do want to dance. And not with any of the partners I’ve had tonight. I want it to be with someone who all I have to do is dance with. Not speak to. Arthur ticks all those boxes. “Yes.” My voice is an octave higher than normal. “I am.”
He nods and takes my hand in his. It’s warm, and the tips of his fingers are calloused. He hesitates before placing his left hand on the small of my back and pulling me in closer to him. I let him lead.
We move side to side in a simple box-step pattern in the small area between the surrounding tables.
His body is tense. I’m nearly dragged along, like he’s using me as a broom to try and sweep up a trail of dust. He has a surprising amount of strength in those arms. His attention keeps returning to his feet.
“You won’t step on them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He lifts his chin and grunts.
His grip loosens, but he continues to hold his shoulders high and step with all his weight on his heels. There are deep-set concentration lines on his forehead. It’s not lost on me that he’s way outside of his comfort zone.
He’s probably counting down until we can leave. Nevertheless, his act of kindness isn’t lost on me. I’ll take it as an apology for the way our relationship has started. An olive branch of sorts.
“You’re doing brilliantly. One of the best partners I’ve had all night.”
Arthur’s lips twitch. The folds of his eyes crinkle.
For the briefest moment, I’m rewarded with a flash of his dimples.
My heart stops and my breath catches. Whoa.
Is that what he looks like when he doesn’t have his mask in place?
If Helen of Troy had a face that could launch a thousand ships, then Arthur has a face that could inspire a thousand sculptors.
It’s a face that would be at home in a statue gallery of Greek gods.
As the music slows, the steady beats are replaced by a reserved, tranquil tune. He pulls me an inch closer to him. It’s a good feeling, but makes me nervous. I’m not used to being this close to a man. My body feels like it’s a glass of champagne and the bubbles are rising to the top.
We rock side to side. My hands travel farther up his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric of his coat, before looping themselves around his neck.
I catch the faint whiff of his cologne. It’s a clean scent that reminds me of mint, vanilla, and some type of other herb I can’t put my finger on.
“Art.” He murmurs so low, I barely catch it.
“Huh?”
“I’d prefer going by the name Art. I’ve never liked being an Arthur.”
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
He presses his lips together, remaining silent.
I leave it at that, deciding not to press him any further.
We’re not on firm enough ground for me to delve into the man behind the facade yet.
He’s only managed to confuse me more than I already am with his break in character.
We continue to dance until the last note of the music.
The applause of the crowd breaks the spell, and Art drops my hands and steps away from me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Ma’am.”
Walking back to the table, I gather my belongings and wait for Clara and Amanda to rejoin me. They’re lingering on the dance floor, greeting the band and taking a few photos. My attention travels to the two protection officers shadowing them.
They stand at a respectful distance, chatting amongst themselves, yet stay alert at the same time, like lions guarding their pride, ready to pounce the moment the wind shifts.
Art isn’t with them. I don’t need to turn to know he’s probably standing behind me, trying to blend in with the wall. That’s where I’d be.
Growing up, there was always a security team around me, but I never paid them much mind. It’s like living in a room with brightly-colored wallpaper—you grow immune to their presence and forget they’re there.
Bruce, however, changed all that. He was the first officer I had who was willing to be a friend in addition to being my bodyguard. I began to see the security team as people and not just names and faces. In time, I can only hope that’s how my relationship with my new team will be.
On the way home, I bring Amanda and Clara up to speed on how my night went.
“It was interesting, but it’s not something I see myself doing again anytime soon.
” I try and keep my wording as diplomatic as possible.
I enjoyed the parts of the evening where I could catch up with the girls, but talking to my partners involved too much interaction with other people for my liking.
“I know it wasn’t your cup of tea, but still, I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there,” Amanda gushes.
“Thanks,” I murmur. I’m proud of myself too.
Over the past few months, I’ve made big strides from being the girl who couldn’t wait to escape the UK to becoming a woman who has some confidence and is able to attend events like this.
But I know I still have a long way to go.
Rebuilding who I am is not a sprint. It’s a marathon.
“By my count, I consider tonight a win. You danced with . . .” Amanda reviews the tally in her note app. “A dozen different partners, and three of them twice. Give me the lowdown. Is there anyone who made an impression with you who might be date worthy?”
“You kept count?” My jaw drops. I’m partially annoyed, but also partially happy she was keeping an eye on me.
“I told you not to tell her. You sound like a crazed stalker.” Clara sniggers.
“I had a bet going with Eddie. He thought you’d only manage to find five partners.”
“And how many did you guess?” Clara asks.
“Ten.” A smug smile appears on her lips. “Princey is going to owe me home-cooked breakfast in bed for a week!”
“My brother can’t cook unless you count burned toast or microwaving Pot Noodles.”
“Oh, he can manage a few dishes.” Amanda winks. “He started getting lessons from me when we first began dating. He can make pancakes, beans on toast, sausages, and eggs for breakfast. But his specialty is grilling. He makes a mean steak.”
“Impressive.” I appraise her with a newfound respect. Who knew Eddie had it in him. Until he met Amanda, there was no way he would’ve ever set foot in the kitchen, unless it was to ask his chef to prepare something for him. She’s changed him for the better.
Amanda is hands down one of the most talented self-taught bakers I’ve ever met. She’d be a shoo-in to win the celebrity edition of The British Baking Championship if she ever decided to enter. It’s one of the few telly shows we watch religiously whenever a new series drops.
“Anyway, enough about Princey. Tell me about you. Did you meet anyone interesting or who stood out?” she asks.
Strangely, my mind jumps to my last dance with Art. He’s the one person I danced with where it didn’t feel forced. I can still feel his strong arms holding me up, and the easy side-to-side rocking motion. My fingers run over my forearms where he held me as a few goosebumps appear.
I frown. He doesn’t count. Art was only doing his job. Focus. Who was the least irritating guy tonight? A few faces flash through my mind. “Out of everyone, the only bloke I’d seriously consider a contender is Eric, the accountant who resembled David Beckham.”
We danced together twice. He was one of the only partners who took the time to listen to the responses to the questions he asked me. When I said I wasn’t overly big on sports, he moved on from the topic. He also knew about horses. Having a common language made for an easy and natural conversation.
“Dark hair, tattoo sleeves, and a lean, mean body?” Amanda asks.
“I don’t know about the tattoos, but yes, he was fit.” I focus on pulling my boots off my feet and rub my aching arches.