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

Chapter 30

Maxime

Aurora enters the dance hall before me. It's only been a week since the miscarriage, yet she insisted that we shouldn't wait any longer. She probably thinks I can't see it, but I'm very much aware that her heart pounds in her throat. Her chest betrays her, rising and falling rapidly, and she presses the nails of her little fingers into her thumbs.

As much as everything in me resists, I shouldn't ignore her panic. On the evening of... of the tragedy, for a moment, I thought it might be better to address our problems to solve them. But when I picked Aurora up from the hospital, I couldn't do it. The mere thought of her possible reaction scared me too much.

This is my next chance. I have to try.

"It's too early to return to training," I say with effort. "Your body is still weakened," I add, hating myself for it.

She's tense; I can see her nervousness, and that's what it's really about. Why can't I just say it like that?

"No, no. We have to dance," she replies now. Her fighting spirit is not new to me, but the stubbornness is.

She marches to the mirrored wall to leave her towel and water bottle. Then she starts bending forward and sideways to stretch.

Now, Maxime. Tell her you know she's scared.

"But we won't overdo it, okay?" Instead, I say, giving her a warning look. "Even though you've been recovering a bit in the past few days and even eating normally again, you're still not fully recovered."

Better. But not enough.

You're not doing well. You haven't left the apartment even once so far, you didn't want to see anyone. Not even your best friend. And now you want to force yourself to dance, even though you're clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

I should say that, but it won't come out of my mouth.

Aurora puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. "You don't need to mother me; we've been through this already."

I'm not mothering her. I'm just trying to confront our problems instead of running away from them. Maybe I'm doing it wrong? But how do you do it right?

I approach her. "It's okay to ask for help sometimes, you know," I say gently.

"I'm fine." She swallows hard. "Really."

Why is she lying to me when I'm trying so hard to be open? Since her emotional outburst when she came home, I can't shake the feeling that she doesn't want me to see what's really going on inside her.

Should I be even more loving? Even more accommodating? Does she not trust me?

Or is it better to just look ahead and try to leave our pain behind as quickly as possible?

No matter how much we confront the situation, it won't change. So why poke at the wound?

Or?

I study her expression, which acts as a shield. "Are you sure?" I ask.

She pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Her fingers tremble. "Absolutely." Awkwardly, I watch her turn away from me and head toward the music system. "What should we start with?"

She's determined to go through with this. No matter what I try, she won't be swayed.

"How about the mambo?" As Madame Durand made clear, competitions are off-limits for us in the near future. But we can participate in shows and galas, and the mambo is very popular here.

Besides, it's our dance. It has always represented our connection, deep trust, and unwavering love for each other. Today, in my mind, it stands for the hope that both of us can process our loss.

She scratches her forearm so vigorously that it becomes covered in welts within seconds. "Okay."

Should I ask her again if she's truly ready?

Or should we just dance and hope that, at that moment, she forgets what's weighing on her heart?

I don't know. Even though I try to do the right thing, in the end, I know nothing.

Torn inside, I nod toward the music system. "Song number six."

Aurora presses a few buttons and then quickly joins me in the center of the dance floor.

Gracefully, she offers me her hand. I take it, feeling her fingers covered in cold sweat.

The music starts. A shiver runs through her body so intensely that I can feel the vibrations in my hand.

I look at her questioningly. Her jaw is as hard as concrete, her nostrils unnaturally wide.

Something is wrong with her—that much is clear. But it's equally obvious that she wants to hide it from me.

What should I do?

What would be the right reaction?

"Three... two..." she says firmly.

Instinctively, I pull her closer to me. She lands right in front of me. My arm around her waist and my head resting on her shoulder, we breathe twice in time with our first tentative dance steps.

Out of nowhere, I feel wetness on my cheek. Before I understand what's happening, Aurora breaks free from my embrace and covers her face with her hands.

"Dammit." Her sobbing sends shivers down my spine. "I..." She turns away, and I stand there like a complete idiot, not knowing what to do.

"What's wrong?" I ask on impulse and immediately scold myself for it. As if it wasn't obvious.

Dancing reminds her of the championship. And what happened there.

Quickly, I walk over to her. "Everything's okay," I say, pulling her into my arms so tightly that she can't resist. "I'm here for you. Just tell me how I can help."

All I want is to get it right. My God, I don't know how to handle this situation either.

In desperation, I kiss her salty cheeks.

Sniffling, she looks up at me. Is there suspicion in her eyes? "I'm not ready."

"We have all the time in the world," I say sympathetically even though it's not true.

Madame Durand was very clear. We need to be back on track by the beginning of next year. That gives us just over two months.

I've already let you get away with too much, Monsieur Rousseau , she rants in my memory. The audition for the performance at the Gala Night on France 2 in mid-January has to work, understood?

My stomach tightens. I don't want to lie to Aurora, but I believe it's necessary. Pressuring her would be the worst thing I could do. Besides, I've already realized what is most important in my life, and it's not the academy.

It's the woman trembling in my arms, looking at me as if I were a stranger and she was standing naked in the Siberian winter.

If this goes wrong, I'll find a job, even two if necessary. We'll move to a place where life is cheaper. Whatever it takes, I'll do it.

"We have to dance," she says. It's as if she knows what happened behind the scenes at the academy, but that can't be possible. Only Madame Durand and I know about our agreement, and that was my condition.

I shake my head. "All that matters now is that you get better."

"But I'm fine!"

"Really?" I hold my breath. Just asking this question has taken all my courage.

She forces a smile. "Really," she says vehemently. Then she comes closer to me and kisses me until everything inside me gives in, and I believe her without reservation.