One To Watch(62)

“Do you?” There was no malice in Sam’s question, no accusatory tone—without knee-jerk cause to get defensive, Bea considered the question on its merits.

“I’ve worked hard to, but part of that requires me to have some control over my own circumstances. Like, I would never go to the gym in shorts and a sports bra, even if that’s what I’d wear to work out at home.”

“And you’re saying taking off half your clothes to do a dance you don’t know for an audience of millions is … worse?”

Sam raised his eyebrows dramatically at Bea, and she laughed appreciatively. “Yeah, just a little.”

Before they could continue their conversation, Johnny came over to welcome them and introduce the concept of the date.

“Bea and Sam, welcome to Marrakesh!” He was entirely too enthusiastic—just looking at his gleaming eyes made Bea exhausted. “This country is known for its vibrant culture and incredible food—you’ll be sampling both tonight. But first, are you ready for some entertainment?”

At this, Johnny stepped aside and half a dozen belly dancers appeared; traditional music flowed through the speakers and the women executed a flawlessly choreographed dance. As Bea watched these curvaceous women jiggle and pop various parts of their bodies, the dread inside her mounted that she was about to be asked to do the same.

“Okay, Bea,” Johnny goaded, “you’re not going to let those girls have all the fun, are you? What do you say? Are you up for a little dancing?”

Bea steeled herself for further embarrassment, but before she could say anything, Sam spoke out.

“Actually, I had a different idea. I’m a little tired of Bea getting to have all the fun on these dates—would it be possible for me to do the dancing instead?” He turned to Bea. “If that’s okay with you, Bea.”

Bea wanted to say something to let Sam know how profoundly she appreciated this gesture, but that felt much too heavy at a moment when his smile was so expectant and so wide.

“I’ve never had a man dance for me before,” she said coyly.

“Well, I think it’s high time we rectified that,” Sam cooed, leaning over to kiss Bea’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

Without waiting for permission from Johnny, the producers, or anyone else, Sam got up and walked off with the dancers—who, Bea noted with a mild note of chagrin, seemed more than happy to have him.

While Sam rehearsed, Bea enjoyed a gorgeous spread of vegetarian appetizers—roast carrots spiced with cumin, shredded cabbage riddled with crunchy za’atar, and perfectly sour pickled beets. Half an hour later, the lights dimmed, the music grew louder, and Sam emerged from who-knows-where, sporting silky jodhpurs and a tight black T-shirt that, regrettably, was not cropped enough to bare his belly. Bea angled her chair away from the table so Sam could dance directly in front of her.

Sam struck a pose with three other dancers, and the music piped in through the speakers. At first, Bea took the minor melody for a traditional Moroccan song, but something about it was familiar. Sam beamed as the hook kicked in—Bea recognized that the song was Jennifer Lopez’s “If You Had My Love,” and she laughed and clapped with delight as Sam languidly rolled his torso in time with the other women. If he was having trouble with the choreography, he masked it with pure confidence, popping his hips and shoulders like he’d been doing this for a matter of years instead of minutes.

“If you had my love and I gave you all my trust, would you comfort me?” He sang along playfully, then leaned low to whisper in her ear. “Dance with me, Bea.”

As she rose to move with him, none of it felt like a joke—it was fun, but not funny, serious, but not self-serious. Bea loved to dance, and as Sam moved behind her, his hands traveling down her arms and waist and hips, Bea swayed against him, allowing herself to imagine where he might put his hands (and what he might do with them) if no one else was watching. Asher’s face popped briefly into her mind—was she being disloyal to him? Was it insane that she was already experiencing such an intense attraction to another man so soon after having declared her feelings for him?

This is what you’re supposed to be doing here, she reminded herself. Try to enjoy it.

When the music ended, everyone in the restaurant burst into applause. Sam took a bow, then held out his hands to encourage the crowd to cheer for Bea, which they did enthusiastically. Her face was flushed—with heat, with energy, with the things she was just thinking about Sam—and as they sat down to enjoy their dinner of spicy merguez sausage and mountains of fluffy couscous, Bea found she was absolutely ravenous.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that.” Sam gave Bea a mischievous look.

“Yeah, well I didn’t know you were so fluent in the lyrics of one Ms. Lopez,” Bea countered with a grin of her own. “Were you even born when that song came out?”

“Excuse you, I have two older sisters. The lyrics of everything they listened to in high school are forever ingrained on my soul.”

“Wow, so you’re the baby! Did they spoil you rotten?”

“Not exactly.” Sam broke eye contact with Bea to refill his glass of flinty white wine. “My family isn’t as easy as yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad is a corporate executive, and my mom is a surgeon—they had pretty high expectations for all of us. My sisters measured up, but …”