Page 48 of Resisting the Billionaire

“Ms. Sweet, would you mind stepping in for a moment? She needs to see what proper dancing looks like.”

“Uh, okay.”

He positions me in front of Mackenzie, encouraging me to take her hand and hold her waist. Well, he doesn’t have to ask me twice.

He queues the music again, her body moving in rhythm with mine as I guide her across the floor. Now this is how it should be. Her hand warm and soft in my grasp, our eyes locked together as we dance, until it’s just the two of us.

I press her in a bit closer, appreciating the opportunity to hold her guilt-free. If only it were this easy all the time.

“Yes, yes,” he exclaims. “This is what dancing should look like. See the chemistry between them. The effortless grace. He moves and she follows. It’s instinctual.”

I glance over at Serena, who seems to withdraw further, hunching in on herself and crossing her arms over her stomach. Great.

He shuts the music off and she weakly chuckles. “Maybe you could just do the first dance for me,” she suggests to Mackenzie.

Yeah, if only.

I reluctantly let go of the woman I actually want to dance with, letting out a sigh to rival Cesar’s. “I appreciate all your help, man. But I don’t think we’re going to improve much. Would you mind if we use the room for a while longer by ourselves?”

“By all means,” he says graciously. He comes over to shake my hand, side-eyeing Serena once more as he leaves.

“What if we just do a really slow song?” I suggest. “Something that you barely even have to move for. Like some eighth-grade dance kind of song.”

“I think that would be best for everyone,” Mackenzie agrees, walking over to the iPod hooked up to the speaker system, swiping through till she finds what she wants.

I take Serena’s hand as Etta James croons to us about finding love and we discover that she’s able to at least master swaying side to side in place. Thank God.

When the music ends, she seems to brighten a bit. “Great! So that’s it then?” She walks over to where her purse hangs on a hook by the door.

“Well, what if you dance together later for a different song?” Mackenzie asks. “We should prepare for that too.”

“I’m not dancing again,” Serena says, the most firm I’ve ever heard her speak.

“But it’s your wedding.”

“I’m already making enough of a fool of myself once. No need to repeat the experience.”

She walks out, leaving me and Mackenzie gaping after her.

“Did you-” Mackenzie starts in indignation.

“Forget her.” I head over to the iPod, still unable to believe they’re using this relic, and find a playlist titledFirst Dance Songs. “Come dance with me.”

I hold my hand out and she hesitates for a moment before taking it, curling in close to my body, the movement natural. Easy. Right.

The King serenades us with how he can’t help falling in love, another simple tempoed song Serena and I could have used. Except the words aren’t meant for me and my intended bride. They seem to fit better with someone else, her caramel curls soft under my chin, intoxicating floral scent weaving me deeper under her spell.

She’s the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time, connected with past the superficial acquaintances my life has become consumed with as of late. I’d gone to that party that got me in trouble weeks ago not because I cared about anyone there, but because I was looking to fill time, bored and needing a distraction from the tedium that’s been creeping up on me lately. It’s partly why I agreed to this marriage to begin with - what else was there for me anyway?

But that was before discovering her. And I like this man I am with her. Someone who helps. Who protects. Who is appreciated.

I’ve never consciously thought about the need to fill those roles in my life, but it’s something I’m realizing I enjoy. Maybe that’s why I like going to the children’s hospital so much. And because it’s the one place I’m not under my father’s thumb.

“Will you go with me tomorrow to visit Kaia and the other kids?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, no hesitation, still swaying in my arms.

It’s not the controlled, sweeping movements across the dance floor like earlier, but this intimate closeness is even better. My palms rest on her waist, her hands linked behind my neck, but this is no eighth-grade dance. This is only the beginning.

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