In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(15)

“I think I should be insulted.” He furrowed his brow. “Okay, proof of dead parents’ pride. I can come up with that. Your mother was a cop, wasn’t she?”

I nodded.

“Is it a stretch to suggest that she would have been proud of you for figuring out how to turn your father’s business legal?”

“Maybe it would have irritated her that I was bending the law.”

He continued. “And your father. At the end of his life, he was trying to push Balanchine Chocolate into the modern era, was he not? The Russians killed him for it. You’re barely out of high school and you’ve already managed to do what your father could not. And without any bloodshed.”

“Any bloodshed so far.”

“You’re in a cheery mood. In any case, I think I’ve presented ample evidence that both your parents would have been absolutely delighted with you, my colleague.” He offered me his hand, and I shook it.

* * *

Glasses were broken. Drinks were spilled. The occasional punch was thrown. Girls cried in the bathroom. Men and women left with people different from those they had arrived with. We ran out of cacao—we were going to need to increase our supply—and only half of the people who wanted to come in were able to get through the door. It was dirty and noisy and I loved it more than I had ever dared hope.

A small miracle: I, who always worried, stopped worrying. Maybe it was toward the end of the night when Lucy beckoned me to the dance floor, where a group of women who worked at the club were dancing together. I liked these women, though they were my employees, not my friends. (Indeed, I had barely seen my best friend that night—she’d left early, kissing me on the cheek and whispering a rushed apology about Felix’s babysitter.)

“I don’t dance,” I yelled to Lucy.

“You’re wearing a dress that was made for dancing,” she yelled back. “You can’t wear a dress like that and not dance. That would be criminal. Come on, Anya.”

Elizabeth, who worked in the press office, waved her arms at me and said, “If you don’t dance with us, we’ll think you’re a snob and we’ll probably talk about you behind your back.”

Noriko was with them, too. “Anya! Silly to start dancing club and not dance.”

These were valid points, and so I made my way to the dance floor. Noriko put her arms around me and kissed me.

Years ago, Scarlet, who loved to dance, and I had been at Little Egypt, uptown. I had said to her, “The more I think about dancing, the more I don’t get it.”

“Stop thinking,” she had said. “That’s the key.”

At the Dark Room that night, I finally understood what she meant. Dancing was a kind of surrender to feeling, to sound, to the present.

I had been dancing for a while when a pillow-lipped, bedroom-eyed man in his twenties pushed his way into my circle.

“You dance well,” he said.

“No one has ever told me that before,” I said honestly.

“I find that hard to believe. Is it okay if I dance with you?”

“Free country,” I said.

“Interesting place, right?”

“Yeah.” I could tell he had no idea that I was the owner, and that was fine with me.

“Girl, that dress is stupid-sexy,” he said.

I blushed. I was about to tell him how it wasn’t really my taste and how someone else had picked it out for me, but then I changed my mind. As far as he knew, I was exactly what I appeared to be. I was a sexy girl in a sexy dress, who’d gone out to a club to have a good time with her friends. I put my hand on his neck, and I kissed him. He had these big dark lips that looked as if they needed to be kissed.

“Wow,” he said. “So do I get your name?”

“You seem nice, and you’re incredibly cute, but I’m not dating right now.”

“Pour la liberté!” Brita said, pumping her fist.

“Freedom! Freedom!” Lucy echoed. I hadn’t even known they’d been paying attention to me.

“Sure,” he said. “I get that.”

We danced for a few more songs and then he left.

How strange it was for me to kiss a man and know he meant nothing to me, to know with certainty that I would never see him again, that what I was feeling at that precise moment I would only feel once. How different it was from kissing Win—those kisses had seemed consequential, ponderous even. But when I kissed that man, my only obligation was to the present. I had always tried to be a good girl, and until that night, it had never occurred to me that some people you kissed wouldn’t become your boyfriend and that this was, in fact, perfectly fine. Maybe even desirable.

I was still on the dance floor when a hand grabbed mine. It was Natty. “I couldn’t miss your big night,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Pierce.”

I kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll talk about it later. I’m glad you came. Come dance with me, okay?”

She smiled, and we danced for what felt like hours. I forgot that I had a body that was capable of being tired. I wouldn’t even notice the blisters until the next day.

The sun had started to come up by the time Natty and I finally went home. She asked if we might stop at our church, as it only sent us slightly in the wrong direction.