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

Chapter 38

Maxime

A new year has begun, and once again, the apartment was empty when I entered it half an hour ago. The absence of running shoes tells me that Aurora is out jogging.

Again.

Now she runs every day, and sometimes, when she's not working, seemingly twice a day. Her running has become something obsessive. When she talks about it, it seems like she needs it as much as breathing. As if she couldn't exist without the sport.

I cut a slice of cheese and take a bite, lost in thought. Clearly, I should talk to her about it. Things have been going so well between us lately. We share a new dream—to start a family—and it feels amazing. It has brought us closer together.

Perhaps her running is okay. She needs something to let off steam, and clearly, the exercise does it for her. Nevertheless, I should ask about it, at the right moment.

Before I finish swallowing the cheese, Aurora enters through the door with flushed cheeks, tired eyes, and a smile on her lips. She energetically walks down the hallway and throws herself into my arms. "Bonjour, mon chéri," she says, laughing.

I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my hips, kissing me so passionately that I feel a bit dizzy. "Seems like someone missed me," I say.

"Absolutely!" She wiggles until I put her down. "I'll quickly jump into the shower," she says and hops toward the bathroom.

Inevitably, hope rises inside me that we will dance together again soon, but I push it away quickly. It's Aurora's decision. She'll tell me when she's ready.

While she is in the shower, I prepare a small snack for us—cheese, grapes, jam, and white bread. Accompanied by the constant sound of running water, I arrange everything on a serving tray, set out wine, play romantic music, fluff the couch cushions, and even light a candle.

A little later, Aurora enters the living kitchen with damp hair. She's wearing yoga pants and one of my sweaters. Instantly, she notices what I've prepared. "Wow," she says in awe. "It looks amazing."

She hops over to the sofa, motioning for me to join her. I gladly comply. "How was your day?" I ask her while filling the wineglasses I've set out.

"I had a total blast. It was incredible," she replies, grinning. "Running makes me feel so alive. I can practically feel..."

Suddenly, she falls silent. I notice her pressing the nails of her little fingers against her thumbs. "Would you like a grape?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Sure," I say, puzzled, as she places a dark grape in my mouth. Why did she stop talking? What is she trying to tell me? "What do you feel when you run?" I inquire after swallowing the fruit.

She cuddles closer to me. "I don't know... when I run, I feel so alive."

"Beautiful." I understand that feeling, but maybe there's more to it. "However, I still worry that you might be overdoing it."

She dismisses my concern. "Nonsense. I'm an athlete. Movement is my elixir of life, remember?"

I study her, but I can't detect any lie. I'm sure I'd feel the same way in her shoes. "Let's go for a run together tomorrow," I suggest, which brings a broad grin to her face.

My eyes land on our little memory box, now beautifully placed on the sideboard next to the TV, thanks to Aurora. I get up to place it on the coffee table in front of us.

"It's full up there," I say, tapping the top drawer, where we've been collecting memories from the past year. Even Aurora's hairpin from the championships is in there. Despite the pain associated with it, she refused to throw it away. To me, it's a reminder to never ignore our problems. It's something I've learned from our shared hardship.

What happened still hurts like hell, but it's just as much a part of our lives as all the beautiful moments we store in the little box.

But today is about something else. So I reach for the golden handle of the second drawer and pull it open.

"What shall we fill this one with?" I ask, not without intention. When we dreamed of our future together at Christmas, it didn't just feel nice. It felt right. Our dreams have taken a back seat in recent months, but that will change this year.

"You mean, apart from baby photos?" Aurora scoots closer to me, her index finger tracing the edges of the drawer. "I don't know," she says thoughtfully.

"For the baby photos, we'll need a separate box," I say, putting my arm around her.

Beaming, she looks at me. "Definitely."

A warm feeling envelops me. "But we should also come up with at least one big adventure and many smaller ones for each of these drawers," I suggest because that is just as important. "How about getting a caricature of us on our first anniversary? The street artists in Montmartre offer that."

"That sounds amazing," she says, stroking her lower lip thoughtfully. "We could do something crazy too. Like exploring every single street in Paris by bike." She taps her chin. "Or showering under a waterfall."

Oh yes! I pull her closer. "And we'll fly to Japan. There, we'll have a picnic in one of those incredible parks where every blade of grass is carefully manicured."

I can see her inner excitement in her expression. "Sounds wonderful." Her cheeks turn rosy. "And one day, we should have cocktails at the North Pole."

"Absolutely." Maybe we can even dance on the ice. It could be a start of something Aurora still doesn't believe she can do. "When we have children, we'll just take them with us."

"Definitely." A delightfully mischievous grin spreads across her face. "And on our flight there, we'll try everything to catch a glimpse of the cockpit."

This is getting more exciting by the minute!

I look at the many empty drawers and can already envision them filling up one by one. "One day, we'll pose with torches at the foot of the Statue of Liberty." And we'll feel as free as ever.

Her eyes light up. "Oh yes! We'll conquer New York. Maybe even this year?" When she looks at me like that, nothing else matters.

Longingly, I kiss her. "Maybe in June. What else?"

Aurora's intense gaze meets mine.

We've come so far now, and I'm sure I can take the next step. "And someday, we'll dance the mambo in the heart of Paris," I say tenderly. "In front of the whole world."

A wistful expression spreads across her face. She swallows hard, unable to say anything, and that's okay.

"Barefoot in a summer rain. At a concert by Joshua Friedberg," I add.

That's exactly how it will be. Maybe not this year, but the day will come, I'm sure of it.

I kiss her even more passionately than before. In this kiss, there's all my love, hopes, and dreams for our future.

The tournaments, the shows, and the potential TV appearances are great. It's amazing that my job as a dance trainer pays the bills.

But besides having a family together, there's only one thing I want most: to dance with Aurora again. Just the two of us. For us. Because only then will I know for sure that our wounds have healed completely.

Aurora blinks rapidly and strokes the memory box. "That's our future."

"We'll have a fantastic life. With beautiful memories and amazing children." Nothing can stop us.

In fact, she smiles mischievously at me now. "Yes, it could be wonderful," she says playfully.

As much as I would love to lose myself in that idea, there's one more thing I need to ask her.

Tomorrow, Alice and I will dance in Lyon at the selection competition for the gala night of France 2 in Lyon. I simply have to have Aurora with me, or everything will lose its meaning. After all, I'm pursuing my dance career for our shared future.

Tenderly, I take her face in my hands and caress her cheeks with my thumbs. "If you're in the audience tomorrow, it would be my January highlight."

For a split second, she gasps for breath. "Of course, I'll come." Her voice is hoarse, and she forces a smile.

"What's wrong?" I ask her immediately because I can see that something bothers her. There's no need to pretend anymore; we've long moved past that.

She swallows heavily and waves it off.

No. We need to discuss this, or it will be as much of a barrier between us as the miscarriage was. "Are you afraid you'll suddenly miss dancing?"

"Mm-hmm," she replies, lips pressed together, and lowers her eyelids. There's a suspicious glimmer in the corners of her eyes. "And at the same time, knowing that I can't do it..."

I quickly pull her into my arms. "If it gets too hard, you can just leave. I understand," I say empathetically, and I really do.

Four years ago, I was sidelined for three whole months due to a herniated disc. I couldn't even watch training sessions because it made me so angry not to be able to participate. That's probably how she feels right now.

"If you'd rather..."

"That's how we'll do it," she breathes, relieved, against my ear.

"Great, I got two tickets for you. Maybe Sky wants to come along?" It's only now that I realize I've been holding my breath for too long. I release all the pent-up air from my lungs.

She nods. "I'll ask her right away," she replies, retrieving her phone from the kitchen table.

With a warm feeling in my chest, I watch her typing a message.

Even if she leaves the ballroom early, she'll be there, and that's all that matters. After all, I'll be dancing there solely for her.