Page 60 of Loaded

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”

She frowns, but she does stand, and then she places her tiny hand in mine. That same zing I felt before runs from the place where her hand touches mine, all the way through my entire body.

Until this moment, I wasn’t sure it was real.

I’ve seen enough movies where you feel that little zap, but in thirty years, I’ve never once felt it myself. I thought maybe that’s what happened before, but it was so quick that I didn’t trust it.

But tonight?

Touching her makes me want to dance, so we’re in the right place. And just then, a song ends. I have to drag her, practically, but we slide out onto the dance floor. When the next song starts, it’sThis Kissby Faith Hill, and it’s a good one to start with.

Watching her face as my hand slides around her waist and my other hand wraps tightly around her hand, moving her around the dance floor in time with the music. . .it’s everything I hoped it would be. She’s easy to move—not fumbly or resistant—and once we start moving, it’s like she and I are the only ones out here.

That’s always been my favorite part. The world disappears.

Her cheeks are rosy, and by the end of the song, she’s smiling.

“Not too bad?”

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she says. “I’m very impressed.”

But the next song’s starting. “Shall we keep going?”

She doesn’t pause. She just nods.

I whirl her away. The faster songs, the slower ones, she never asks to sit down. Hours pass, and my feet start to complain, and still, we keep dancing. Finally, I get a small stitch in my side, and I drag her back to our table.

“Were you really not tired?” I ask as we’re both chugging our waters.

She shrugs. “I’m on my feet for more than eight hours a day for work.”

I smack my forehead. “Duh. I should’ve known.”

“What?” she asks. “Sitting at a desk and ordering people around all day didn’t prepare you for this?”

I laugh. “I may not be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you stop sooner?” She looks genuinely worried.

“It felt like I’d drifted into Faerie,” I say. “I would have danced all night.”

“I’m sorry you felt chained to it.”

“Nothing like that,” I say. “I just didn’t want to let you go.” I can still feel her in my arms—the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it feels like she thinks the same thing. All around us music blares, people bustle, and glasses clink. But here, at our table, it’s like the tiny sphere of isolation that exists on that dance floor has extended to wrap us up again. It’s just Beatrice Cipriani and me, our perfect moment. Her eyes are wide, her lips just slightly parted, and the only way this could be better is if there wasn’t a table in between us and I could kiss her.

I’m trying to figure out how I can make that happen when my phone rings, the stupidly loud jangle breaking through our bubble like a hammer to glass. I ball up myhand, my jaw tightening. Why didn’t I turn the ringer off?

“Do you need to answer that?” Bea glances down at it.

I hit the volume down button to silence it, but it starts ringing again almost immediately. It’s Ace. He’s going to keep calling until I pick up. I groan and swipe to answer the call. “What?”

“Where are you?”

“I told you,” I hiss. “I’m out.”

“Oh, right. With Cinderella.”

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