The Dance We Remember (Love and Other Dreams #4)

Chapter 15

Aurora

Barely have we reached the final position of the Paso Doble when Maxime abruptly withdraws his hands from me. This is our first training session as dance partners, and he makes me feel like I'm toxic the entire time. Nevertheless, I am convinced that he would love to enjoy my presence, and slowly, I wonder if there is more to his panic than just the fear of losing his job.

"Five-minute break," Maxime says, heading toward his training bag on the opposite wall.

I watch him and try to calm my breathing. Then I stroll after him; after all, my towel is on the chair next to his training gear. Once there, he walks toward the mirrored wall with his electrolyte drink in hand. Lost in thought, I wipe the sweat off my face, arms, and décolleté.

Should I talk to him again? Yesterday, after Madame Durand left the dance hall, he blocked every attempt I made to reach out.

"That was very good. You still need to work on your arm posture, but your timing and technique were excellent." There's a hint of admiration in his tone.

I can't help but smile at him. "Thank you, that means a lot," I say wistfully. As often happens when my hard work pays off, my thoughts go to my mother. "Let's keep going right away."

"Your body needs a break," he replies, shaking his head.

"Nonsense. I'll take one last sip, and then I'm ready to go." We should make use of every minute we have.

With his head tilted to the side, he observes me. "This is incredibly important to you, isn't it?" he asks as if he senses something.

Either that or he, too, is constantly searching for possible solutions to the problem between us. Perhaps he wonders if I could continue my training elsewhere.

"Of course. Dancing is my life," I say with conviction.

He takes a sip from his water bottle. "No. It's more than that."

How does he know? "I've never seen a dancer with so much ambition, fighting spirit, and passion." He answers the question I didn't even ask.

My cheeks are flushed from dancing, but now I feel even hotter. I look at Maxime from a distance, trying to figure out if he truly senses what's happening inside me.

He nods at me. "So?"

"You're quite curious," I comment with a grin, trying to mask the storm brewing inside me. "Why?"

Instead of answering, he looks at me intensely. Even though I'm not sure what he hopes to achieve with this conversation, I know one thing: I want to tell him.

"I don't dance for myself," I say softly, feeling a sudden pang in my chest. I expected it, and I can handle it. At least that's what I keep telling myself over and over again while Maxime's expression softens.

"For whom do you dance?" His tender tone weakens me more than I'd like to admit.

Swallowing becomes difficult, and my mouth turns dry. But I won't let it show. "For my mother."

His forehead furrows. "Your mother is also a dancer?"

I lower my gaze. "No." Even though I'm not looking at Maxime, I can feel his gaze fixated on me.

"Why do you dance for her?" His tone reaches deep inside me.

I meet his eyes directly. "With my dancing, I always made her smile. Even when she didn't have the strength for it anymore."

If I were stronger, I would lift the corners of my mouth now. But it takes all my energy just to remain standing upright as our gazes lock. Memories start to crawl up within me. I see my mother huddled in her leather armchair, so frail that she could fit between the armrests three times over. Her head appears unnaturally large due to her lack of hair. The shadows under her eyes and the hollows along her cheeks have stolen her beauty. Yet because I danced for her, she radiated a comforting warmth.

"She passed away four months ago." Every single day since her death, I have missed her. "Knowing that she'll never see me dance on those grand ballrooms or at those magnificent shows in the world sometimes makes everything seem pointless." With determination, I take a deep breath and gaze deeply into Maxime's eyes. "But then I imagine she would. And I imagine her smiling while doing so."

His chest rises and falls rapidly. And in his face, I see that expression full of love and melancholy from that day in the park when we kissed. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking.

A somber silence fills the room. I don't want his pity; on the contrary, I want him to see my strength. My fighting spirit and unwavering determination.

"I dance solely for her, and one thing is clear. No matter what happens, I will always do that," I state, even though it's not entirely true. He should think that my dream of dancing is far greater than this academy will ever be. But the truth is, if I get kicked out of here, I don't know how to move forward. One thing I do know is I must never give up.

Never.

"One day, I will dance in the World Championship. My mother will watch me from wherever she is now, and she will smile," I continue, a mix of admiration and sympathy in Maxime's nod. He probably realizes how slim my chances are. It's damn tough for someone my age, still dancing in the lower classes. And it gets even harder with each passing year. His gaze is locked on me. It should make me uncomfortable, but it doesn't. Instead, it makes me feel a little bit stronger.

Now, he walks toward me, the same fiery passion in his eyes as when we first met. "I'm sure she will," he says.

My heartbeat quickens, and I lose control of my breath. Yet I step forward to meet him. There's about three yards between us. We lock eyes.

Two yards.

A longing fills my body.

One yard.

Suddenly, he comes to a halt. "No," he says.

"Why?" I whisper even though I know exactly why. Even if he doesn't want to show it, I'm sure he feels the same magnetic pull that draws us together.

"Your dream is too big to risk," he says, clenching his fists. At that moment, I realize I might not be the only one here with dreams.

"And yours?" I ask, looking into his eyes with intensity. Something is hidden behind that attractive face, I can sense it. "What do you dream of, Maxime Rousseau?"

He swallows hard. "The break is over," he says, exhaling sharply, then turning away.