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

Chapter 41

Aurora

"Aurora," he whispers tonelessly.

I am incapable of responding. My heart gallops. The bustling noise of the café no longer seems to reach me.

For seconds, we stare at each other in disbelief, and I feel the years that separate us dissipate with every breath.

What I fight against daily becomes overwhelming.

The desire to pull him into my arms. The longing to kiss him. And the guilt, heavier on my chest today than ever before.

His expression hardens. "How... what...?"

No, don't ask , I silently plead, though I have no right to do so.

He stands up from his chair. Is he wearing a suit? Why? Where is the gleam in his eyes, and where is the wedding ring he should be wearing? His shoulders seem weak and wrinkles traverse his face under a gray veil.

"Why, Aurora? Tell me." His tone sounds controlled.

I can't.

He can't find out.

It was that way back then, and it must remain that way forever. Panic floods me. In my distress, I turn away. I must be strong, perhaps stronger than ever before, and leave here immediately.

"I need to catch my bus," I say disoriented, fumbling to untie my apron and throw it over the chair. I grab my wallet and rush away.

Immediately, he's beside me. "No, you're not leaving again without an explanation." His hand finds my forearm. "You owe me that."

Of course, he thinks that, and I would love to tell him, but however twisted it may seem, this is not about me.

"Go home, Maxime. It's better this way, believe me." I wrench myself free and sprint blindly through the café and out onto the street.

I don't know where I'm running. I only know I need to get away. Without looking back, I hurry to the main road.

He's following me. I hear him calling after me.

Warning. Insistent. Angry.

A red pedestrian light stops me. Cars rush past me, their exhaust fumes scratching my lungs, and though I'm not cold at all, I wrap my arms around myself as I restlessly fixate on the traffic light.

Turn green. Please, turn green.

His panting draws nearer, his steps getting louder.

He's already standing beside me. "Stop running away," he says breathlessly. From the corner of my eye, I see him leaning on his thighs.

"Please. Let me go." I continue to stare at the traffic light. Can't this damn thing turn green already?

Maxime exhales sharply. "I don't give a damn about what you want. I want answers."

No, you don't want them , I should say. "We'll talk tomorrow," I reply instead even though that won't happen.

"I won't be here tomorrow," he says, struggling to get the words out.

So it's only a few hours I have to endure. I can do this!

I focus my gaze first to the right, then to the left. The traffic light remains unchanged, but I spot a small gap behind the next car.

"What happened, Aurora? Why did you leave?" Maxime's voice has taken on a pleading tone as if his life depended on my answer.

"I can't. Can't you understand..." As I speak, I feel everything inside me soften.

I long for his presence. And for him to forgive me. To tell me that he will always love me despite everything and to kiss the tears from my cheeks, the ones I would cry at his words.

But it won't happen that way, Aurora, you know that , I remind myself because that's just how it is.

The car speeds past us, and I run across the street, heading for the spot where I can already see the sign of the bus stop glowing.

"Stop running away," he calls out to me again.

"Stop chasing me." I press my lips together vehemently and storm toward the stairs. No other person is there, a bad sign. Is there even a bus still running?

I hear his footsteps behind me on the steps, which I effortlessly sprint up, thanks to my training. For a split second, I allow myself to glance back. His face is now flushed. He's gasping for breath, but he won't give up. I see it in the determined expression fixed on me.

"I have the right to know what happened back then," he says, reaching for my arm to hold me back.

I whirl around. "Let me go," I roar with all my strength. I hear the desperation in my voice and feel my heart pounding hard. Sweat collects beneath the rim of my glasses.

Stunned, he hesitates. Then his expression suddenly becomes pleading. "Why?"

Maxime's sight threatens to blur before my eyes. I swallow hard and quickly look away. "I can't," I repeat, my voice filled with so much sorrow that I'm sure he can hear my distress.

His grip on my arm loosens, and so do my muscles.

In the background, I hear the announcement over the speakers. A bus will depart in a few seconds.

"Let it go. It's better this way," I whisper, my lower lip trembling even though I would love nothing more than to seek refuge in his arms right now.

It takes all my strength to abruptly turn away, but I manage it and immediately start running. I reach the bus platform just as the doors of the waiting bus begin to close.

Just a few steps more. I can make it.

In a running motion, I stretch out my hand as the doors continue to close. The gap becomes smaller and smaller. My steps lengthen, my lungs burn.

I'm almost there.

It's almost over.

The door jerks loudly to overcome the last inches.

I stumble, almost fall, regain my balance, and put my hand between the closing doors.

A sharp pain shoots through my palm, but seconds later, the doors swing back open.

I made it.

Breathing heavily, I step inside and collapse onto the vacant seat up front. The bus's engine roars to life as I rest my head against the window and exhale heavily.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is empty.

Outside at the bus platform, Maxime stands there. His hands buried in his pockets, his face contorted in pain, he gazes into my eyes.

Until now, I've managed to avoid his gaze, but now I can't anymore. For far too long, we stare at each other.

A storm rages inside me. I should be glad that I've won this battle for myself. That we'll hopefully never see each other again, and that the past will remain locked away. Yet suddenly, I feel that in reality, I haven't won, but lost.

Maxime should be free.

That's the reason I left.

All those years, I was convinced he could only have a chance at a happy life without me. But now, as he stands at the platform with a forlorn expression when he should be glowing, wearing a suit when he should be in a dance outfit, I sense that the opposite might be true.

The haunting thought creeps up within me. Did I make the wrong decision back then?

Desperate, I lower my eyelids and bite my lower lip until I taste blood to keep my tears from overflowing.

At least until the bus starts moving.