Page 12 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

The door buzzer sounded. “It must be him,” I said, resisting the urge to jump up and down in excitement. “Let him in. I’ll finish doing up the boots and be through.”

Out in the hall, moments later, Justin had obviously just answered the buzzer and was replacing the handset.

“Is he coming up?” I asked.

“Told him to wait down there.”

“That was a bit rude.”

“Keep him standing on the doorstep, good for him, taste of things to come.” He gripped my wrist as I exited the flat. “Remember, he’s years – many years – ahead of you in experience. He’s a ballet king, a diva, used to getting his own way. God only knows what diabolical proclivities he may have developed. Keep your wits, and your clothes, about you at all times.”

I kissed his cheek and tried to reassure. “It’ll all be fine,” I said and pushed him back inside. However, without him there to debate, his point rather won. Of course I would be completely out of my depth. Yesterday had worked out okay, but this was completely different. On an organised date, I would be expected to be, what? Sophisticated and witty? Oh dear.

The walk down the stairs was littered with doubts, though they lessened a little when I saw him standing outside looking similarly uncertain. We smiled at each other through the glass as I opened the door.

“You look beautiful,” he said and handed me a white rose. It was the most romantic event of my life so far. “Is different to see people outside class, no?”

“It is,” I agreed, touching his white-shirted chest briefly, noting the smart jacket and trousers.

There was no time to dwell further on the scarily grown-up nature of the night as he whisked us down the steps and opened the door of a shiny black car. The depth of the plush leather seat demonstrated the depth of trouble I was in. He’d booked four restaurants for me to choose from. They all had chocolate cake. He’d checked.

Smiling, intimidation temporarily forgotten, I chose Ukrainian. “I’ve never had that before,” I said, and then worried it sounded like an innuendo.

If it did, he didn’t react. He started the car, and we set off at an alarming speed. “Is good, this choice. Better traffic. Do you drive, Amalphia?

“No.”

“I think you would like.”

He took my hand, and linked our fingers over the gear stick as he drove. The experience was hugely erotic. He continually stroked my little finger with his thumb. We sat in happy finger-thumb-dancing silence for a while, and then we were there, and he opened more doors. In the restaurant, he took my coat and pulled out my chair. It was a little overwhelming, but not bad, not intimidating.

I settled back and stared around at the lavish cream and gold interior of the place. There were tapestries and embroidered cushions. Glass crystals hung from lamps large and small, making the place glitter. The walls displayed ornately framed mirrors between clusters of plates and pictures, some of famous patrons, including one of Aleks himself.

“It is good we come here,” he said with a smile. “Makes me look impressive. Is all right if I order for us? I am knowing what is good.”

“Yes, but I don’t eat meat.”

“You don’t eat meat?” He laid down his menu as if I’d said something shocking.

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“But you eat chicken? Fish?”

“No.”

“Amalphia, is very important for a dancer to get the proper nutrients.”

“Are you joking?” He clearly wasn’t. “Do I look nutrient deprived?”

“No.”

“Because I’m not. Oh no…” I looked down at the list of dishes. “Is Ukraine like France? I spent a holiday there living mainly on bread and cheese. No, it’s fine. There’s lots of things I can have. Potato pancakes sound good.”

“You will be finding it disgusting if I have meat?”

“No,” I said, annoyed. “It’s not me who’s passing judgement on the food choices of others.”

“Ah, Amalphia, I am sorry. We start again. You will forgive me?”

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