Hawthorne

45 - One last dance

Vincent Hawthorne

The silence is deafening, making it seem like my heart's fast-paced thumping reverberates through the entire hall.

Camilla's back is straight and stiff, her neck strained to maintain her chin up. Her eyes are focused somewhere close to the side of my head, avoiding my eyes at all costs. But beggars can't be choosers and I'd rather have her in my arms one last time. Even if she refuses to look at me.

One dance is more than I ever expected, more than I surely deserve.

If it weren't for Edgar, I'd still be by that window, wallowing in my misery. Torn between being happy for her and all she's accomplished---for having found her place in the world--- and miserable for having lost her in the process.

Everything is a blurry background, around us. My attention is solely on her, her beauty and grace. Everything happens in slow motion, before my eyes.

First, she bows that second before the music starts playing as if she'd been trained for this her whole life. Then her arms slowly extend to the dancing position, the movements are so deliberate and precise that it has me obsessed.

Her face is stoic and her eyes are still looking at everywhere but me. Even when we touch she holds on. Her eyes shut tightly, as sparks fly between our bodies. Am I imagining it? Because they surely are visible.

Lastly, I take the first step, and she follows as I guide us both through the dancefloor. We glide with grace, and the only thing that can be heard is the music being played by the small orchestra in the far corner. That and my frantic heart.

The strong notes from the violoncello take over the melody, giving it that classic tone this kind of events always aim for.

"I am happy for you," I whisper.

She shivers. It's barely there, but the hand on the small of her back allows me to feel it perfectly. Her eyes slide to mine for just a split second and the pain emanating from her brown irises is so similar to mine that it twists the knife in my heart even deeper. Except, from the both of us, she is the only one with the right of feeling this way, whereas I don't. I deserve everything that has come my way.

"Please, don't do this here." Camilla's voice comes out shaky, barely audible.

If it weren't for the proximity. I would think I was imagining it as she keeps her attention anywhere but me, looking around us, at all of the blurring faces that are witnessing our dance.

"I have to," I answer, in the same low tone. "It's my only chance."

"I gave you a chance," she grits. "And you threw it out the window." Ouch.

But she is right. I threw my chance with her out the window the moment I gave in to my mother's blackmail... If only I knew... But there is no point in crying over spoiled milk. We can't change the past.

"Baby, I am not proud of what has happened." God knows I am not. "But it was the only way of protecting you."

The confession rolls out of my tongue easily. Ever since she left the Manor, every day I have wanted to go to her and tell the entire truth. Let her choose what she could or not face. If she'd choose me too. But how could I ask that of her, if I didn't choose her first either?

"What the hell does that even miss?" She hisses but sobers up quite quickly when something foreign flashes across her eyes, her back straightening too.

I can see right through her, though. This is an attempt to keep composure, to not show anyone else how much I affect her. And I understand, this is a Lion's playground and even though she just became the Queen of the jungle, she has to be more alert now than ever. Keeping composure and not letting your weaknesses out in the open is a must. She, as a ruler, can never let go of that thought and that is just one of the thousand reasons I would never be fit for a King. I'd lose my composure at the first problem.