Page 30 of Tension
Greyson claps his hands to get our attention. “Alright, you two. Let’s start with some Jive drills. I want to see hard-hitting footwork and clean lines. Remember, Jive is all about energy and rhythm. If you’re not sweating within five minutes, you’re doing it wrong.”
We line up, and the music starts, its quick tempo setting the pace. Yvonne and I move through the drills, our feet bouncing and our arms snapping into position. The Jive is demanding, both physically and mentally, but it’s also exhilarating. The rhythm pulses through me, making my blood rush with excitement.
After a few rounds, Greyson calls us to the center of the floor. “Let’s run through the routine again,” he says. “From the top.”
Yvonne and I take our positions, and the music starts again. The routine is fast and intricate, each movement requiring attention and timing. Yvonne’s confidence is palpable, her energy infectious as she grins at me during the turns and spins,but my focus is split. As much as I’m committed to the dance, a part of me can’t stop wondering where Vaeda is.
When we finish, Greyson gives us a nod of approval. “Good. That was solid, but there’s always room for improvement. With the holidays around the corner, I want you guys to be mindful of the food you eat and the alcohol you consume.” His eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t point out my sobriety as he continues. “The studio will be open still as Vaeda and I work through the holidays every year. You are still welcome to come and practice. In fact, I insist that you do.”
“Thank you, Greyson,” Yvonne murmurs before taking a drink of water.
I grab a water bottle from my bag, catching my breath before turning to him. “Where’s Vaeda?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Greyson hesitates, his expression unreadable. “It’s her birthday,” he reveals finally. “She’s taking the day off.”
“Her birthday?” Yvonne echoes, her brow lifting. “And she didn’t tell us?”
“Vaeda’s not exactly the celebratory type,” Greyson admits with a grin. “But there’s a surprise party for her later. You’re both welcome to come.”
I glance at Yvonne, who’s already nodding enthusiastically. “Of course we’ll come,” she gushes. “I’ll tell Adam and Kari too. Right, Mateo?”
I hesitate, the idea of stepping into Vaeda’s personal life feeling strange, but Greyson’s expectant gaze and Yvonne’s excitement leave little room for refusal.
“Sure,” I relent as trepidation trickles down my back. “Why not?”
Greyson claps his hands together. “Perfect. Now, let’s get back to work. Paris won’t wait for anyone.”
As the music starts again, I push thoughts of the party aside, focusing on the here and now. Despite that, the fear of beingaround alcohol creeps back in. It’s been well over a year since I’ve tempted my weakness, but the idea of seeing Vaeda outside the studio trumps my fears of a relapse, which tells me this is completely reckless.
VAEDA
The penthouse is alive with chatter and the clink of glasses, the warm buzz of conversation mixing with the soft strains of a live jazz trio. Gerardo has outdone himself, as always. The decorations are festive and will remain up as Christmas is just a few days away. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the city skyline glittering against the night, and the space is filled with well-dressed guests laughing and toasting in celebration. My birthday. My thirty-third, to be precise.
I’ve already had three martinis, which is two more than I usually allow myself, and the edges of the evening are starting to blur in a pleasant haze. Gerardo glides effortlessly through the crowd, charming everyone as he goes, his radiant smile making him the perfect host. I should be happy, content even, but there’s a knot of guilt inside my chest I can’t quite untangle.
I’m standing near the bar when it happens. The shift. It’s subtle at first, like the air being sucked out of the room, the kind of change you feel before a thunderstorm. Then I turn, my hand tightening around the stem of my glass, and there they are.
Adam and Kari arrive first, their grins infectious as they gaze around the room. Then I see him. Mateo. And Yvonne. Together.
He’s wearing a fitted suit, dark and crisp, his hair styled just enough to look effortless. She’s on his arm, radiant in a red cocktail dress that hugs her in all the right places, her smile wideas she says something to him. He nods, his expression polite but distant, his gaze flickering over the room, and I just know he’s searching for me.
My stomach twists, the alcohol in my veins amplifying the heat that rises to my cheeks. I force myself to take a slow sip of my drink, but my hand trembles slightly. What the hell is he doing here? My gaze darts to Greyson, who’s by the grand piano, chatting with a group of guests. Of course.
I make my way across the room, my heels clicking against the marble floor, each step a strike of frustration. Greyson spots me before I reach him, his expression shifting into something between amusement and trepidation.
“Vae,” he says smoothly, lifting his glass in greeting. “Having a good time?”
“Why are they here?” I cut straight to the point, keeping my voice low but laced with irritation.
He takes a measured sip of his champagne, unbothered. “It’s your birthday. The more the merrier.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Grey,” I snap, stepping closer. “You know damn well that this isn’t about numbers. Why would you invite them?”
His gaze flicks past me, briefly landing on our four students before returning to mine. “They’re part of the studio, and it’s good for them to see you as more than just their instructor.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the group he’s entertaining. “We need to talk. Now.”
I drag him toward my bedroom, ignoring his half-hearted protests. Once inside, I shut the door firmly and turn to face him, my anger bubbling over.
