I would have liked to believe him. “Kailen said I was a lousy waltzer.”
“No, he didn’t. He said you needed to learn to follow your partner’s lead. That’s different.”
“You heard him giving me dance instructions?” I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me. Kailen said it enough times. Still it was odd to think of Donovan, close by, watching my stumbling attempts.
He shrugged. “There wasn’t much else to do. I figured I should learn how to waltz in case King Rothschild holds a ball. He’ll expect a prince to know how to dance.”
“Was it hard for you to pick up the steps?”
“I didn’t have a partner who made me nervous.”
In other words, no, it hadn’t been hard. It was only hard for me because I was graceless. I let out a sigh. “I hope the queen turns me into a bird. At least it would be cool to fly.”
Donovan stood up and held his hand out. “It’s time for a dance break.”
“You want to dance?”
He kept his hand outstretched. “Cocky fairies get on my nerves. We’ll go over the steps and tonight you’ll blow Kailen away.”
Not likely. Still it was nice of Donovan to help me. And I was tired of practicing with the rock.
I took Donovan’s hand and stood up. My skirt swished back and forth from the momentum, more eager than I was to start dancing. Donovan led me a few feet away from the bench and pulled me into position. One of his hands rested on my shoulder blade. He held the other lifted in his hand.
Last night at the campfire, we’d sat closer than we were now. While I’d shivered, Donovan had wrapped his arms around me. But I felt his closeness more now. A fluttering of nerves rumbled through my chest and made it hard to concentrate. His hand felt warm in mine. Did mine feel cold in his?
“We’ll do the basic step for a few counts, then move to the spins and stuff.” He stepped forward, smooth and confident, propelling me with him. “One . . . two . . . three . . . down . . . up . . . up . . .”
I moved my feet to the rhythm of his voice, doing my best to pay attention. He smelled faintly of leather. And something else. Something beckoning. I couldn’t stop staring at the line his shoulders made in his jacket. I remembered him fighting shirtless, remembered the muscles in his shoulders. Taut. Tanned. Now my fingers rested on his shoulder. It made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.
It was the corset, I told myself. I absolutely wasn’t developing feelings for Donovan.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .”
I messed up on three. In my defense, it’s hard to count and move your feet when your gaze wanders to your partner’s blue eyes.
“Sorry,” I said, and flushed. This was so stupid. Hadn’t I learned it was a bad idea to develop crushes on guys I hardly knew? I’d known Donovan for what, twenty-four hours? And part of that time we’d been competing against each other.
Donovan kept counting off the beats. I concentrated on moving my feet in the right direction and swaying upward when I was supposed to. He had a nice voice. I wondered if he ever sang. My eyes went to his mouth, to the sloping letter M on his top lip. M was for magnificent and marvelous. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss that M.
Nope. Not a good idea to go there.
As I listened to the count, I listed reasons it was a bad idea to like Donovan.
1) Once we left this fairy tale, we’d never see each other again. He lived in a different state.
2) My parents wouldn’t like me dating a guy with a criminal record.
3) Donovan could still betray me. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth about working with me. He told me at the campfire that he’d gotten by for years because he knew how to fool people.
I tried to think of a fourth reason. Couldn’t. I was stuck on the number three like the waltz. Donovan let go of my back, the signal to step out into a twirl. I did and he rewarded me with a smile. It tilted up at one side in an endearing sort of way.
Ohio wasn’t really that far away.
“See,” Donovan said. “Kailen didn’t know what he was talking about. That’s the thing about fairy guys. Have you ever met one that wasn’t full of himself?”
The way Donovan phrased the question made me laugh. We both knew I’d only met one.
Almost against my will, a list of things I liked about Donovan formed in my mind.
1) He’d kept me from falling off the stairs even though we were working against each other.
2) He’d saved me from drowning and built a fire to warm me.
3) He was patient. He hadn’t gotten frustrated with my lack of skill at palming coins, or working with rocks, or dancing.
4) He was smart and determined. He’d figured out a way to take care of himself and his brother.
5) He was loyal. He’d taken the rap for his brother and was still looking after him.
6) He wasn’t a real criminal—he was like Aladdin from the Disney movie, but without the creepy monkey sidekick. He was a victim of circumstance. Big-hearted. And hot.
7) Hot probably deserved its own number.
I started plucking away the other reasons I’d put on my I-shouldn’t-like-Donovan list. He wasn’t going to betray me for the goblet. If he’d meant to get it at any cost, he would have let me fall off the stairs. And what did I care if my parents didn’t approve of him? They didn’t approve of me pursuing a music career, and that had never stopped me.
But what if none of it mattered? What if he didn’t like me like that? None of the guys at my school had.
Donovan lifted my right hand and let go of my back, the signal to break away and do our next steps side by side. I did and returned to him again.
“Okay, let’s try it with music now. Sing something.”
I’d been contemplating the M of his lips and had to drag my attention back to his words. “You want me to sing?”
“Yeah. Let’s see if your first wish was worth the magic.”
I sifted through songs I knew, searching for one that would work with a waltz. The song I’d done for the auditions came to mind.
Nope.
I didn’t ever want to sing it again. No doubt Donovan and I would both hear enough of it when we got back home. Spoofs and song remixes. No one would ever see it for what it was supposed to be: a wistful song about unrequited love.
Donovan hadn’t heard it yet. I supposed he would be the song’s only untainted audience. So there in his arms, I sang the tune. I didn’t worry whether I’d be able to hit the notes while a corset constricted my diaphragm. Chrissy had taken the imperfections from my voice. The music lifted from my mouth, strong and clear, smooth and lilting. I meandered through the treble clef with ease, lingering on the hard, high notes and letting them flow off my tongue.
Donovan stared at me impressed and then entranced. He hadn’t expected my voice. I looked into his blue eyes and let every note caress him. This was what I’d wanted when I wrote the lyrics. This was what I’d tried for when I’d sung for Jason at the audition—the connection I saw in Donovan’s eyes. He understood the struggle of standing when a person had already fallen down so many times.
Dancing was easier while I sang. I was concentrating on the notes, not obsessing about where my feet were. I finished the song and started another. Moving with Donovan through the garden felt as natural as talking with him. Fun, and a little bit exhilarating. This, I thought, is why people invented dancing.
As I finished my third song, Donovan slowed until we stopped. “You’re amazing. I take back everything I said about singing being a useless, wasted wish.”
“When did you say that?”
“Oh . . . maybe I just thought it. Intensely. But I’ve changed my mind.” He dropped his hand from my back but kept hold of my hand. I liked the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine, liked the admiration in his eyes.
“I can see why you wanted that voice,” he said, his own voice low and soft. “It’s beautiful. Like the rest of you.”