Painting Paper Hearts | ✔

Chapter 30- Ultimatum

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Who knew Waltz could be brutal, and that I had an impeccable talent of stepping onto my instructor's feet at every turn.

Prom did not serve me well as most of the dance were basically just jumping around in our two-hundred-dollar gowns and shiny heels. By the time that the DJ hit the slow dance, we were barefoot, dancing in dim lit room- it was just our bodies swaying back and forth.

Andy, my instructor, counted with the beat of the instrumental music in the background. This was only my second session with him and I was worried that by the time I finish the fifth session, he wouldn't have any toes left. I was so glad he was patient enough for me, unlike Aunt Elizabeth who scared the living hell out me. Don't get me wrong, she was a nice lady but once we danced, she reminded me of the strict Miss Minchin- a bit of a personality change.

Since it was going to be grandpa and grandma's golden anniversary in a week time, most of my schedule had been about etiquette and manners, memorizing faces that I'd be seeing more often, and picking out clothes for the event. I had to memorize some script too. I was told that the Darlington's would officially invite the press to re-introduce us to the public, to answer their lingering questions about us.

Interrogations could range from personal to professional plans. After all, it was not every day to wake up one day and find out that you were from an elite family and the press would want all the information they could get. The script would help me get by. But the only problem was that all these "homework"—memorizing, dancing, etiquette lessons, and repeat—was getting a little tacky but it didn't fail to make me nervous.

Why? Well, for starters, I did very crappy job at most of them. My table manners were good enough for an ordinary person, but why, in God's name, would rich people put up with using unnecessary utensils. At the end of the day, the spoons that were significant to me were the table spoon and the dessert spoon. Who the heck needed four more utensils in the table when they were only left untouched?

The face memorization was the most painful one. Oh. Lord.

I sighed internally. After the lesson, I had to head home and practice a piece I would play for my grandparents. Mom suggested one of her favorite pieces (and of the hard ones, too) but I already had something else in my mind.

"Miss Emerald, please, your posture." Andy softly straightened up my back by applying a small pressure on the small of my back.

I scrunched up my nose at him. "Sorry."

The music became clearer when Andy snapped me out of my reverie. My feet began to move to the sound of music but I couldn't keep up with the steps he instructed me a moment ago. A moment of panic struck me but I managed to keep myself together. Andy shook his head and stopped. Right when I picked up my momentum, he stopped-great. Andy then walked to his CD player and the music stopped altogether. The studio seemed emptier that way.

"You're not focusing, Miss Emerald. Perhaps you should rest for the day,"

Oh no no no no.

"Andy, I'm fine. I'm great, okay? Let's continue." I even stretched out my hand for him to take, hoping that he'd start playing the music again.

"No, madame. I prefer to dance with a woman with soul, someone who feels the music. Dancing with you is like dancing with a cold corpse," he then took my hand, a sympathetic look on his face drawn me in. "I don't mean to offend you, Miss Emerald, but if you are not feeling well, we can stop and pick up where we left off tomorrow."