Page 17 of Tension
“I promise,” I breathe out, the relief in my voice evident. “Thank you, Mami.”
“Take care of yourself, mi amor,” she urges, her voice warm again. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Good night, Mami,” I say before ending the call.
As I set my phone down, a mixture of hope and apprehension swirls inside my chest. It’s a small step, but with it comes a swell of excitement.
SEVEN
Mateo
The buzzing of my phone jolts me awake. I blink groggily, disoriented for a moment, before realizing it’s my ringtone. Grabbing the phone off the nightstand, I squint at the screen, the number unfamiliar.
“Hello?” I mumble, my voice still thick with sleep.
“Mateo!” The voice on the other end is chipper, way too energetic for this hour. It takes me a moment to place it.
“Yvonne?” I ask, sitting up straighter. “How did you get my number?”
“I begged Greyson,” she admits, laughing lightly. “And he caved. Don’t be mad. I’m calling with good news.”
“What kind of good news?” I grumble, still trying to wake up.
“We have the studio to ourselves today,” she announces, her enthusiasm bubbling through the line. “No interruptions, no distractions. Just us working on our Rumba.”
I rub my hand over my face, my mind racing. I’m supposed to be home today, it’s Sunday, keeping up appearances for my dad’s “perfect son” routine. Groceries and packages arescheduled to arrive, and the doorman will definitely report any unusual activity to him, but the idea of uninterrupted time in the studio is too good to pass up.
“That’s… great,” I say carefully, trying to hide my hesitation.
“So you’ll come?” she presses.
“I can come for a few hours,” I relent after a pause, already forming my excuse. “But I have a study group later, so I can’t stay long.”
The lie rolls off my tongue and it gives me pause. I used to lie as well as I told the truth, blurring the lines until I couldn’t tell the difference. In some ways, it scares me to be falling into the same bad habits I once carried in the past, but I tell myself that it’s necessary. I either tell a harmless lie or I tell her the truth, baring the ghosts that still haunt me.
“Perfect!” she exclaims. “I’ll see you there in an hour.”
“Yeah, see you then,” I reply, hanging up. I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a moment, the implications of my decision settling over me. If I want to compete in Paris, I have to take risks. This is one of them.
The studio feels different when it’s empty, and it’s when I like it the most. The usual buzz of chatter and movement is replaced by a calm stillness, the kind that amplifies every sound and every breath. Yvonne is already there when I arrive, stretching by the mirrors. She grins when she sees me.
“Took you long enough,” she teases. “Ready to get started?”
I nod, setting my bag down and slipping on my dance shoes. The familiar feel of the floor beneath my feet helps settle the nerves of sneaking out and the greater risk of being caughttoday. Yvonne cues up a playlist, and the sultry rhythm of a Rumba track fills the space.
“Let’s go from the top,” she says, moving into position. I place my hand on her back, our movements tentative at first as we find the beat together. The music swells, and we begin to flow through the steps.
The Rumba is a dance of tension and release, of push and pull. Every step demands passion, every movement an unspoken conversation between partners. Yvonne’s body moves fluidly, her arms extending gracefully as she turns. I match her steps, my focus deepening as the music intensifies.
“Stronger connection,” a voice calls out, startling us both. I glance toward the mirrors and see Greyson leaning against the wall, his sharp eyes dissecting every move. Vaeda stands beside him, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.
“You’re too focused on the steps,” Greyson continues. “The Rumba isn’t about technique alone. It’s about emotion and storytelling. Show me your chemistry.”
Yvonne and I exchange a glance, her cheeks flushing. We start again, this time letting the music guide us more freely. I concentrate on the tension in her movements, the way her body leans into mine before pulling away. My hand on her back steadies her, grounding us both as we move through the sequence.
I need to be here in the moment with Yvonne, but my gaze keeps flickering toward Vaeda. I can’t help it. Her dark eyes are fixed on us, and even from across the room, I feel the heat of her stare. There’s something about the way she watches so intensely that makes my pulse quicken.
“Better,” Greyson says, nodding. “Now, refine the footwork. Vaeda?”
