Page 39 of Satyrday Night Fever
"One more turn," he said, "and then we'll stop for a breath."
She nodded, and he guided her through the rotation—smooth, steady, perfectly timed. Her dress flared around her ankles. Thelantern light caught her hair, sparking copper threads amongst the brown.
The turn ended.
They stopped.
But neither of them moved apart.
He became aware, suddenly and viscerally, of how close they were. Her hand on his shoulder, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His palm pressed to the small of her back, feeling each rapid breath she took. Her face tilted up toward his, lips parted, eyes wide.
The grove held its breath around them.
"Thallos." His name sounded different on her tongue. Softer. More uncertain. Like she wasn't sure she had the right to say it.
"Yes?"
"I…" She swallowed. He watched the movement in her throat, wanted to press his lips to the flutter of her pulse. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You were dancing," he said. "Very well, actually."
"That's not what I mean."
He knew. Of course he knew. But he waited, because this had to come from her.
"I don't trust people." The confession fell between them like a stone into still water. "I don't trust charm, or flattery, or men who make me feel… whatever this is. I've seen where it leads. I've watched my mother chase that feeling my whole life, and it never ended anywhere good."
His hand tightened on her back. Not pulling her closer—just holding. Anchoring.
"I'm not asking for your trust," he said carefully. "Not yet. I'm just asking for this. One dance. One lesson. Whatever you're willing to give."
"But you want more."
It wasn't a question. He nodded anyway.
"I want everything you'll let me have." The admission scraped his throat raw. "I want to know why you love flowers. I want to know what you dream about. I want to know who hurt you badly enough that you flinch when someone's kind to you." He raised their joined hands, pressed his lips to her knuckles. "But I'll wait. However long it takes. Because you're worth waiting for, Marigold. Even if you don't believe it yet."
Her breath caught.
The grove pressed in around them—ancient trees and soft moss and lantern light, the smell of earth and wine and something sweeter. He felt the moment stretch, crystalline and fragile, aware that whatever she said next would change everything.
"Another dance," she whispered.
His heart stuttered. "What?"
"You said we'd stop for a breath." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I've had my breath. Now teach me again."
She wasn't saying yes to everything. He understood that. She was saying yes to this—to one more dance, one more lesson, one more moment in the circle of his arms. It was a small step. A tiny crack in the wall she'd built around herself.
It was enough.
It was more than enough.
He smiled down at her, and something in his chest that had been clenched for years—something he hadn't even known was tight—began to loosen.
"Close your eyes," he said.
She did.
