Black Death And White Roses (1) Mafia Romance

11. Movement and touch

Roxana

I always liked the feeling of the light spring wind on my skin, or of water at the perfect temperature under the shower, the cold softness of silk on my bare shoulders, and the way Bogdan used to touch me when we made love almost a lifetime ago.

I am touch starved, and I understand it only now, the heaviness of this sudden discovery crashing down on me when I feel this man's fingertips on my bare back. The first tunes of the music resonate through the ballroom and reverberate in me. It feels like my heartbeats are responding to the rhythm.

Tango basic consists of five steps taken to eight counts of music. The rhythm is slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. I can hear it, feel it, and my body answers to it, and apparently so does his. I move along, hypnotized by how natural everything feels. Our bodies seem to be in perfect harmony with each other.

I have felt this before. With Bogdan, this feeling came after years of dancing together, but here I am dumbfounded by how easy everything feels with a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger who is a hell of a dancer.

I look up at his face. His expression is hard to read. He seems to be a damn marble statue. Yes, this is a perfect comparison. The stern yet beautiful features remind me of the Italian Renaissance. Is that you David? Did you step down from your pedestal to dance with me?

Dark eyes shadowed by long black lashes, plump lips that finally curve into a weak smile, and the movement, the music, and his goddamn touch make me lose my composure for half a heartbeat. 

"You are good at this," he says finally. I shake my head, slightly startled.

"I am. So are you. Surprisingly good."

"Where did you learn it?"

"Four years of ballroom dancing classes. With my ex a long time ago," I answer, smiling with a hint of bitterness traceable only to me.

"Only four?"

"Yes. Why only?"

"Because you move like a pro. If you look around, you will see on people's faces that we are quite an attraction."

My goodness, he is right, and he is also right that I had no clue. At this point, we are the only people left on the dance floor. Everybody else withdrew into a circle and is now watching us.

"You are right. Damn'."

"Should we give them something worth watching?" he says, smirking. Somehow, in this brief moment, he seems much younger than his actual age, whichever that might be. I am not sure why, maybe it is because of the light of the dusk behind him but damn he is beautiful and I can't figure out why I didn't notice that before.

He does not wait for my answer, just gives a subtle sign to the quartet, and the rhythm changes into a more alert one. Our movements get faster, more aggressive, and gosh, the word is indeed passionate, everything ending in a pirouette where our faces are so close to each other that our noses almost touch.

Would this have been a movie, it would have been the moment where the boy kissed the girl, but we are only two strangers so it's only the exchange of a fleeting gaze, that is however, burning. Deep dark eyes and the smell of bergamot will make me remember this evening for quite a while.

Abruptly, he bows his head eighteen hundred style and exits the room, just like that, like a ghost, as if everything was just a dream or an illusion.

I make my way back to Lisa and Christian.

"Was war das?/ What was that?" says Lisa looking at me ambiguously.

"Was war was?/ What was what?" I am trying to play whatever this was down in front of everyone, starting with myself.