Page 121 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

“Is that something else I’m not allowed to say or do?” I asked through the dotted red mist that was starting to form. “Precious little Malphia, not permitted any thoughts beyond ballet? That’s basically what you were saying back there, wasn’t it? Well fuck you, Aleks. Fuck Colin and Michelle and Pasha, the whole lot of you.”

His hands on my arms prevented another flounce. “I’d rather fuck you,” he said, and I kissed him.

A clattering sound carried through from dinner, ending the rough embrace, and we sprinted for the elevator hand in hand.

But I didn’t want to pause, didn’t want to stand still. “I want to run up the stairs.”

“So? It is a race,” he declared, backing into the elevator himself.

I ran smack into Will coming down from his room.

“Hey, Treadwell,” he said, annoyingly standing in the way. “What’s the rush?”

“Umm...”

He stepped aside.

I reached the top of the stairs just as the sliding doors opened to release Aleks. We fell into the room, and onto the bed, in a frenzied mess of limbs and teeth and want and detail after perfect detail.

Dinner at the pub was leisurely and calm, neither of us in any hurry to return to the castle.

“You always lift me, Malphia,” he told me. “Whatever is happening. And whatever is happening, you leave it outside our bed. This is very unusual.”

I stared into the log fire, uncomfortable with the possible comparison to past girlfriends and the inference of strangeness.

“It is a great strength in our relationship,” he said, taking my chin and turning me back to look at him.

I tried to explain. “Nothing else exists for me when we…” Explanation trailed off in the public setting.

“When we make love,” he finished, with no such compunction. “It is the same for me. I don’t want to lose you, angel.”

“You’re not going to.”

“But whenever something is go wrong, we are both fearing this. I have a plan I think will help, a plan for your birthday.”

“An evil plan?”

“It will give Pasha some trouble.”

“Well, that’s got to be good.”

“This is it,” said Justin. “The doom. Don’t go.”

“We’re going somewhere beautiful,” I reassured him. “No doom.”

“And that’s all he’ll tell you. Somewhere beautiful. Leaving us in the hands of madmen for three days. I’ll miss your birthday; you’ll be scoffing cake in some distant land without me… Oh, I know what this is. He’s going to put a ring on you, a mini manacle to tie you to him forever.” He clutched at my hands briefly before wringing his own.

Scepticism must have shown on my face.

“Yes, Phi, yes. And that’s what you’ll say too. And you’re too young. Listen to me, darling. You mooned around for years about fuzzy over there.” He inclined his head in the direction of Will, who was speed eating a plate of chips beside Sadie. “Then there was the oaf. Of course Zolotov is going to seem fucktabulous after all that, but he’s not perfect. Think of the up/down, on/off stuff he’s put you through. And, now, in this latest self-indulgent infraction, he has you writhing around on the floor with him in lieu of ballet.”

“That was from Spartacus,” I informed my morose friend. “I’m studying dramatic classical roles in our lessons, a different one each week.” Aleks had expressed frustration with Mr. Timm’s ‘one ballet a term until it’s perfect’ method of teaching repertoire. I loved the challenge of making myself learn choreography so fast, the prize being to let go and act the character fully at the end of each week.

Justin’s doom and matrimonial-laden deliberations continued all week, causing momentary daydreams of white dresses and notions of forever. But Aleks and I were actually just going on holiday to have some time alone together. Any other idea was clearly ridiculous. I would say yes, though…

Friday came at last. The thought of three days to ourselves was quite enchanting. The final lesson before departure was my private lesson in the dungeon.

“Let’s really use the space,” said Aleks. “Is a day for travel.”

---