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

Chapter 17

Aurora

My hair is tightly pulled up into a high ponytail, and my scalp aches. The glitzy outfit clings tightly to my hips, and the strappy shoes painfully press against the blister on my little toe. Underneath the thick layer of makeup, I'm sweating.

Still, I’m beaming. We've trained hard for weeks, and now we are actually here in the splendidly decorated event hall in Bordeaux.

Around us is a diffuse darkness, and only the dance floor, where Maxime and I wait for our performance, is illuminated by a spotlight. It follows the dance couple with the number three across the floor.

The fiery Cuban rhythms of the live music are building up to their climax, and the couple on the dance floor is swirling their hips. The woman's arm movements are perfect.

Unconsciously, I reach for Maxime's hand. His presence calms me at least a little. "They are so good," I whisper.

"We are better," he murmurs back.

I force myself to nod. Even if it were otherwise, now is not the time for doubts. We've come this far. Two days ago, not everyone was impressed during our crucial audition at the academy. Madame Durand didn't show any emotion. Only thanks to Cyrille did she not question further that Maxime and I had to compete in this tournament. The initial rounds went well for us.

But this is a whole different level. It's the final.

Only six couples remain, and our competition is flawless. The longer I watch the others, the more nervous I become. So I close my eyes now until I hear the music stop and applause begin.

"Peter Wonarova and Lina Balashnowa, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms from the speakers. "Next up is the samba by couple number twenty-three, Aurora Olivetta and Maxime Rousseau."

Aurora Olivetta and Maxime Rousseau. It sounds beautiful. So beautiful that I get lost in the words of the announcer for a moment.

I almost trip over my own feet as Maxime tightens his grip on my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. Determined, I return the pressure.

The white spotlight catches us, and I snap back to reality. The thunderous applause reaches us, but it's not loud enough to drown out the rushing sound in my ears. My heart pumps like a powerhouse, sending blood rushing through my veins. My breath comes so fast that I feel like I'm already running out of air even though the challenging part is yet to come.

Maxime extends his arm, and I perform a few spins before we take our position in front of the judges.

My arms rest on his shoulders, my head against his chest. I feel his heartbeat, synchronized with mine, and I cherish the feeling of being so close to him.

For a moment, I close my eyes and envision my mother in front of me. She stands there in her favorite floral dress, nodding at me with trust.

For you, Mama. Only for you.

I force myself to exhale slowly. The drummer sets the beat with his sticks, and then the rest of the samba band joins in.

For the next eighty seconds, not only the gym-sized dance floor but also the eyes of the crowd and the nine jury members will be solely on us.

Now or never. This is our chance. If we mess up, our year is over. Madame Durand will never allow us any more public performances, and without those, I can't progress to a higher level.

I gather all my concentration, feeling the rhythm of the music and paying attention to every subtle signal Maxime gives me.

There it is.

I start to move away from him slowly, waiting for him to lift my chin with his hand and raise my face.

We lock eyes.

Smile.

Oh God, those eyes.

Those lips. The thought of how they tasted back in the park makes me swallow hard.

I need all my concentration to assume the dance position. In perfect harmony, we take our first steps. The music floods through me. I connect with it and with Maxime. The three of us form a unity that makes us soar.

One figure follows another, and we use the entire space. I gracefully stretch my arms, lift my knees as high as I can, and savor the dance. Every time our gazes meet, I see the longing in his eyes, the one he so persistently tries to hide from me. It washes over me like a wave, sending tingles through my whole body.

It's pure magic.

As unique as the shimmer of a soap bubble.

And even though I struggle to endure the effort of the movements with each passing second, I am as happy as I could possibly be.

We dance. For everything we hope for. What we dream of every day is becoming reality right now.

If only I could kiss him too. If I could snuggle up to him, feel his skin against mine, and lose myself in his presence.

The spotlight follows our dance, making the beads of sweat on Maxime's forehead glisten like diamonds, and everything around us fades into the background. We approach the final lift figure. It's the most challenging part of the choreography. We worked on the timing until the last moment since it has repeatedly caused us trouble.

Not today, Aurora. Today, we'll make it work.

I raise my arms powerfully overhead, tensing my whole body with the last bit of energy I have left, while Maxime lifts me at precisely the right moment. With the final flourish of the music, I reach the maximum height and spread my arms out with a sense of enjoyment.

Oh, yes.

Relief washes over me, and I struggle to maintain my body tension. The lights in the hall turn on, and thunderous applause erupts. There are even excited whistles from the audience. Maxime lowers me, and as I come down, my cheek brushes against his. Instantly, millions of tiny sparks ignite between us.

I want more of that—every day.

We stay in a tight embrace, breathing heavily after the effort of the dance. My heart beats hard against my chest, and the internal heat makes my face glow.

"Aurora Olivetta and Maxime Rousseau, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice sounds muffled as if it were coming from far away.

I can hardly bring myself to let go of Maxime's embrace. Our fingers gently intertwine. Hand in hand, we bow first to the audience, then to the jury. I take the opportunity to study their faces.

Do we stand a real chance against the incredibly strong competition?

Neither the gray-haired man with the frameless glasses nor the spindly woman with the short blond hairstyle let me see behind their facade. The tall man next to her takes some notes. I can't get any further because the announcer is already announcing the next couple, who will get their chance to shine in the solo dance. We hurry toward the side exit. Along the way, we pass the dance couple, now illuminated by the spotlight while the rest of the hall is dimmed.

Maxime and I step into the shadows.

Technically, we should let go of each other now, but I can't do it. Just moments ago, we were so deeply connected that releasing him now would feel like letting go of a part of myself. Apparently, Maxime is having difficulty loosening his grip as well, and once again, I can't help but think there must be a better solution than pretending that there's nothing between us.

"Over there," Maxime whispers tensely to me.

I look up and spot Madame Durand in the semi-darkness. Suddenly, I have no problem letting go of Maxime's hand at all.

"Well, that was quite decent," the headmistress mutters once we stand before her, even offering a smattering of applause.

In one of our training breaks, Maxime told me what goes on behind the scenes at the academy. Hence, it's no surprise that Madame Durand looks like a child on report card day. I nod at her with a modest smile. Behind her, I spot Sky waving at me.

"Let's wait for the scores," Maxime replies so professionally that I can only admire him for it. He sinks into one of the chairs. I walk over to Sky and embrace her. "Thank you for coming."

She hands me a water bottle and, right after, the lipstick. "Wait, I have a mirror," she says, pulling a makeup compact from her bag.

For what feels like the hundredth time today, I touch up my lips. I can barely wait to get rid of all this makeup, but I have to endure a little longer. Together, we watch the dance of the last couple in the final round. They are so good that none of us dares to say anything.

We can never compete against them. Moreover, there is nothing we can do now to change that.

I hate not being in control. Nervously, I press my fingernails into my palms and observe how the last couple leaves the dance floor. A few minutes later, all the finalists are called onto the stage one by one.

I walk up to Maxime, and Madame Durand and Sky join us. The four of us stand like puppets on a string for a split second, all probably lost in our dreams.

Madame Durand may be envisioning Cyrille Perret promising her a special bonus. I can't guess what Maxime is thinking. Sky is probably already seeing us dancing at the World Championship. And I am also in my thoughts there. Moreover, I hear my mother deep within me, telling me with a trembling voice how proud she is of me.

I’m a fighter, always in control, never crying. Yet at this moment, I feel thick tears of joy forming at the corners of my eyes. I quickly blink them away.

"We need to go out." Maxime's hand suddenly rests on my back, urging me

Before I know it, we step into the spotlight again. With weak knees, I dance at Maxime's side toward the center of the dance floor.

The announcer starts a speech I can partially understand now, thanks to my improved French skills. "Now, let's move on to the placements," he says after what feels like an eternity.

I feel dizzy.

"Sixth place goes to Mareike Hausmann and Adam Berger." The German couple steps forward. Both smile, but I can see their disappointment. They collect their trophy from the judge, bow to the applauding audience, and step back.

The tension rises again. "Fifth place goes to..."

I feel sick.

So much so that I don't even hear what the announcer is saying. I only register that the couple with number thirty is dancing onto the stage.

I can barely notice anything else. I am too busy trying to stay upright.

Suddenly, a jolt runs through my body. "That's us. Come on, Aurora."

Was that Maxime?

Confused, I walk with him to the podium next to the announcer. Indeed. On the right side, a couple is already positioned. The left and middle places are still vacant.

Oh my God. We came in second!

I can barely hear the applause. I notice that someone hands me a rose.

Maxime takes the trophy. At least, I think so.

Somehow, I find myself on the podium, and the winning couple from Russia is announced. The band plays a fanfare, the audience applauds standing up, and all my physical discomforts are blown away in an instant.

We came in second. In a Class S tournament! That is... wow!

I feel like the brightest star in the sky, radiant with joy. I quickly turn my head to Maxime. "Unbelievable, right?"

There's a loving warmth in his gaze, and I'm not imagining it. "But it's true," he says, and we both know that we have taken a significant step forward today.

For a long time, I only believed in it because I wanted to.

But that is no longer necessary from now on. Today's success proves it. We will make it.