Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Frederic
This festival is far too loud and bright.
That’s my first thought as I step onto the cobblestoned square of Monteluce’s annual Summer Lantern Festival on a balmy evening.
We traveled to this small town in the mountains on the royal train after a luncheon with the mayor in Ravelle. Astrid has been chatting animatedly with anyone she’s crossed paths with. She’s all ease and friendliness, with no pretence whatsoever.
I look around the crowded festival. Strings of bunting criss-cross overhead in a riot of Ledonian blues and Elkevikian golds, fluttering in the warm breeze.
Stalls line the edges of the square selling everything from pastries to tiny hand-painted wooden boats.
Someone’s roasting chestnuts, filling the air with a sweet, smoky scent.
Children dart between the adults waving paper flags, their cheeks dotted with glitter from the face-painting tent.
Half the population appears to be dancing to the bright, brassy music that spills from the bandstand.
It’s accompanied by bursts of laughter and cheers and the occasional whoop of someone who’s had one glass of wine too many.
Astrid is at my side, utterly radiant in a pale-blue dress with straps at her shoulders.
The fabric catches the evening light as though she’s wearing pieces of the sky, her hair loose around her shoulders.
She looks both beautiful and regal, yet somehow like she belongs here in this hive of activity, surrounded by townsfolk.
I, on the other hand, am simply sweating through my shirt.
“Are you doing okay, Fred?” she whispers as a group of festivalgoers cheer our arrival.
Automatically, I lift my hand to wave. “Of course.”
She gives me a look that suggests she doesn’t believe me for one second. She slips her hand into mine, and the unexpected sensation of skin against skin is nothing short of an electric shock, knocking me entirely off balance.
Does she have any idea the effect she has on me?
To her, touching is like breathing. She picks up children, kisses babies, hugs anyone. It’s not that for me. Far from it. Holding hands with her feels special.
But such feelings aren’t helpful. I need to push them aside. Get through tonight just as we have every night before on this tour.
We move forward through the crowd to greet the mayor, families, and stallholders, many of whom are waving small Ledonian and Elkevik flags.
“Remember this is supposed to be fun,” Astrid says, her eyes daring me to disagree.
Fun.
Right.
Once we’ve made small talk with everyone, and eaten a meal under the bunting, the official part of the evening is over. The band strikes up a new tune, and immediately Astrid squeezes my arm.
“Let’s dance, Fred.”
“Dance? Here?” I ask, glancing around the busy town square. It’s picturesque, of course, but still. “I only ever dance at balls.”
I only ever dance at balls? Kill me now. Seriously.
“Oh, come on, Fred. Look at how much fun they’re all having.”
Couples have begun dancing to some modern song I don’t recognize, laughing and spinning around to the beat. There’s absolutely no form to their movements, no structure, no elegance.
“I don’t want to look foolish,” I sniff.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you’d say that.” She tugs at my arm, pulling closer to the dancers, her body already swaying to the beat.
People cheer us on. I can’t say no, not with the crowd watching our every move, cameras trained on us, waiting to capture us not in love.
So I do the only thing I can. I let her lead me onto the dance floor.
Automatically, I hold out my hands for her, one for her hand, one ready to settle politely at her waist. It’s the way I’ve been taught since childhood.
She stares at me as though I’ve just tried to waltz into a supermarket. “Oh, come on, Fred. It’s not the 1950s. This is 1992. We get to dance however we want.” She pauses. “Have you ever been to a rave?”
I blink at her. “You seriously think I would have been to a rave?”
The fact I even know what a rave is feels like an accomplishment.
To be fair, Francesca told me all about them, how these things can suddenly pop up in a field somewhere and people somehow hear about them and turn up to dance all night long.
I’m certainly not going to admit that to Astrid.
She already thinks I’m an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud who has no idea how to live.
I don’t need to add more fuel to that particular fire.
All she does is smile at me as she begins to move, letting the music wash over her. Her body sways side to side, her arms lift and float, her feet shift lightly on the cobblestones. She closes her eyes, completely unselfconscious, completely free.
My heart stutters.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so beautiful.
She’s the embodiment of light and warmth and ease. She’s everything I am not.
All I can do is stand here, rigid as a Roman column, watching her.
Then, she opens her eyes and looks directly at me, and it makes my breath catch in my throat. “Come on, Fred, you can’t just stand there. You look silly. Like a Roman column or something.”
She can read my mind now?
She takes my hand, moving me from side to side as if I’m nothing more than a life-sized marionette. Then she twirls under my arm, wraps it around herself, and presses her back lightly to my chest before spinning away again.
Around us, the crowd cheers..
They’re all watching us, and they’re loving what Astrid’s doing.
I need to do this. I need to let go.
Tentatively, I move my feet a little and wiggle my body. I probably look completely foolish, but I’m doing my best. Surely that’s the point.
“You’re doing it, Fred!” Astrid encourages. “Now loosen up those shoulders!”
I obey, wiggling my shoulders from side to side. It feels absurd, and yet somehow not absurd at the same time. Somehow, it feels rather wonderful.
I watch how the other men move. They’re more grounded and solid than Astrid, but still with a surprising amount of fluidity. I do my best to mimic them, hoping I look more John Travolta at the Whitehouse than Prince Charles dancing with tribesmen in the ’70s.
“You’re doing great!” Astrid beams at me, and I actually believe her. I may not be a born dancer, but this? It’s easy. Freeing, even.
Before long, I’m the one doing the spinning, twirling Astrid around and catching her in my arms. The crowd cheers us on, swept up in the town's festival atmosphere, and I find I’m actually enjoying myself, being here in this picturesque town, far away from the palace, with the woman who fills my heart and mind
Then the song changes to something slow and melodic, the kind of song that belongs in an American high-school dance movie. Around us, couples draw closer, drifting into one another’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes, swaying gently in the warm evening air.
Just like in those movies, I stand and stare at Astrid, awkward, my heart thundering in my chest. She’s watching me, the look on her face telling me to do something.
So I do just that.
I take her hands and draw her toward me.
Her mouth forms a surprised little “O”, her eyes widening before they soften into the sweetest smile.
She steps closer, trusting me, and I place my hands gently around her waist, holding her carefully against me.
We’re so close, she must be able to feel the thudding of my heart, and I can’t help but breathe in her scent, and get lost in the deep blue pools of her eyes.
Surely she must know by now how she makes me feel? How being around her is changing me for the better. How being around her makes me want to loosen up, to allow myself to have fun, to live life, even in just a small way.
For a moment, the bunting, the flags, the festival crowd, the music, all of it fades. It’s just us. Just Astrid and me.
“You're good at this,” she murmurs in my ear, her breath warm on my neck.
“At what? Swaying to music?”
“Slow dancing with princesses.”
She's teasing me, and I like it.
I tighten my grip a little around her waist, and it takes her by surprise. “I didn't think our first dance would be at a town festival, but I'm enjoying myself.”
“Astrid, you're—” I break off. There’s so much I want to say, but I have no idea if she reciprocates my feelings. The last thing I want to do is confess and for her to laugh her pretty laugh and remind me this is a business deal.
Even though that sounds more like my style than hers. Without the laugh, of course.
“You're good for me,” I say finally.
Her big eyes grow even bigger. “I am?”
“Yes. Your zest for life is infectious.”
Her lips quirk. “Only you could make a compliment sound like I'm some sort of a disease, Fred.”
Stung, I pull back. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. That wasn’t my intention at all.”
She steps back into my arms and instantly I feel the warmth of her body against mine. “You didn't offend me, Fred. I rather like that you think I'm good for you, even if apparently I'm some sort of infection.”
I smile at her, and she beams back up at me, and I can't imagine a better ending to our day. Her and I, dancing at a town festival, surrounded by onlookers, the flags of our respective countries hanging overhead.
We might not be a real couple yet. This might be a business arrangement between our two countries. But right now, it feels like we could at least be friends, even if I’m beginning to admit to myself that I want so much more from her. Something I know I should not dare to want.