I fell back a step, leading him, us, into the dance and he went with me. He was not graceful like prince Charles, he did not instinctively move to each beat as she did.
His eyes did not, would not leave my face. At first, I thought there was something on my face. Maybe I left a piece of food before my lips.
But that was not the case. His eyes stared into mine and I looked down to avoid them. For some reason, they burned me like fire even though I did not get hurt.
Our steps quickened and he found his rhythm which was a bit late. I expected him to get it when we just started. I was doing perfectly well. Anyone in his shoes would do well.
Maybe he was not a fine dancer. Unlike us who were forced to take dance classes since childhood, his parents might have had a choice. And then, he chose the fields over dance.
His palm was not soft. I knew it weighed a sword as soon as he could walk. He held my waist a bit tightly this sending different signals to my body.
