Two to tango, p.23
Two to Tango, page 23
The best thing.
And that's the final blow to my hardened shell. My heart jumps into my throat as I move my hand from her cheek and offer it to her, palm up, a silent plea for her to take it. For her to dance. She looks at it in surprise, then places her hand in mine.
We fall into step together, like we’ve been doing this for all our lives. Temple to temple, chest to chest. My arm around her back, her hand at my shoulder. Like maybe in some other lifetime we were partners, too. Like Celestina is here, smiling as she says, “Guess what, Logan? I found you a partner.”
“Logan,” she says, almost like a question, but I just keep dancing with her. How much I missed this even if it’s only been days.
An ocho, a giro, everything familiar. A close embrace, eyes closed. She’s right, this feels so much like home it hurts.
What am I doing, thinking I could give this up? Thinking I could walk away from the community, from the craft, from this one thing that has been part of my life for so many years? And I can’t do this without her either.
“I love this dance,” I whisper, opening my eyes to look at her. She looks at me, too. Suddenly, the feeling is a bright burst of light, something so clear it's inescapable. “And I love you.”
She gasps, a soft intake of breath, before she smiles through her tears and whispers, “I love you, too.”
That does me in. My hand cradles her jaw, holding her like she’s the most special thing, and I kiss her.
“I think I fell in love with you when you ran into me,” I tell her. “You were looking for a way out, and you ran right into my chest, like you kick-started my heart.”
I don’t let her say anything else, I just kiss her and kiss her until I can’t breathe. Long, lingering, passionate kisses at my door. I hold her, and I touch her, and I smile. I missed her soft skin, her smile, the way my hand molds to hers perfectly. Her perfume, and her voice, and the way she makes me feel.
“Whatever happens after this, I still have you?” My heart is in my throat, my hope is hanging on for life.
“Yes, a million times yes.”
I lean my forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, we’re a team.”
“I know,” she nods.
“You came back,” I say as I hold her close, feeling her heartbeat against me.
Her eyes soften at that, maybe a touch of sadness lingering, as she whispers, “I never left. I promise you I never left.” I know what she means by it, what everybody else clearly saw. She just needed a minute to come back.
“I love you,” I say with a smile, with all the newfound joy radiating from me. “Let’s go win you a competition.”
Chapter thirty-six
Julieta
“Nervous?”
“Oh, I’m a mess.” I chuckle. “Are you?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “You’re going to do great.”
We’re in the hotel room, warming up and getting ready. The doors open at six thirty, and the ProAm portion starts a little after seven. There’s a soft knock on the door and when we open it, Tara walks in.
“Tara?” I ask, shocked.
“Hi!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wouldn’t miss this. Are you kidding? Besides, I’m here to help.” She sits down next to me, throwing her carry-on on the bed.
“How was your flight?” Logan asks.
“Not bad! Arizona isn’t too far.” She smiles.
“Tara,” I repeat, elated. “This is such a nice surprise.”
She reaches over to hug me. “I’m going to do your hair and makeup, okay?”
I look to Logan then back to her. “Are you sure?”
“Julie. I got on a plane to come here.” She laughs. “Yes, I promise I’m sure. This is what I’m here for. I'm going to make you look amazing.” She smiles like she thrives in this environment. She's used to it, of course, but maybe she's living through us this time around.
“I’m going to go walk around downstairs for a bit,” Logan says, then gives me a kiss on the forehead.
“Okay,” I oblige, and I let go and let her take over.
Once it’s time, I take one longer look in the mirror. Deep purple dress with a high slit, glittery flowers. Lush, red lips, my hair pulled back into some sort of intricate low bun that Tara styled. And the shoes. I can’t not feel powerful like this.
“Ready?” Logan calls out as he walks back into the room. He’s dressed in a suit. Fitted jacket, loose pants, the definition of handsome. But when he sees me, he stops short.
“How did I do?” I ask shyly.
“You look incredible.” His eyes roam across every inch of my body, from my feet to my exposed thigh, up to my face and my hair. He comes closer, holding my face in his hands, kissing my cheek lightly.
“Thank you for doing this with me,” I whisper, spilling my immense gratitude for this into my words.
He just smiles, as he says, “I’m so proud of you.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting to feel any more elated, now I wonder if I might possibly burst.
“You can’t say these things to me before we have to go on stage and dance.”
He just laughs, kissing me on the cheek again, and below my ear, and along my jaw.
“Oh, I brought you a snack." He holds out a bag of mixed nuts. "I'm sure you haven't eaten, and you need something.”
I just sigh in gratitude as I take the bag from him.
“Vamos a bailar.” He winks, linking his hand with mine as he leads me downstairs to the ballroom.
It’s the most magical thing I could have imagined. And I’m in it. I was worried it would be overwhelming, or intimidating, but in this ProAm part of it, everybody has been welcoming and kind.
This feels like being eight all over again, except this time I’m on the other side of it. And I’m with Logan, too.
“Maybe afterward, we can go celebrate,” he whispers.
“Oh?” My eyebrows lift.
“You and me. Somewhere quiet, somewhere nice. Relaxing.”
“Sounds like you’re describing my bed.” I smirk.
“Maybe I am,” he waggles his eyebrows and I laugh in response. He leans in to kiss me, out in the open, and this feels even more freeing than the dance has. This feels even more comfortable, even more familiar, even more like home.
We find Tara, Delfi, and T sitting at a table, waving excitedly, blowing kisses, taking pictures on their phones.
What started as a secret, something I found joy in behind everybody’s back, has become something to be shared. Joy that could no longer be contained, that found an outlet and support in everybody here right now.
In showing up for myself, they showed up for me, too, and that has been the best gift.
The announcers speak into the microphone, introducing the ProAm singles dance.
This is it.
I faintly hear the applause, the loud cheers from the friend table, because it’s drowned out by my own nerves. But then, a wave of calm. Like whatever happens after this, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve already won.
I squeeze Logan’s hand, moving in close to him. “I can’t believe I get to be here with you,” I say, a repeat of his words, and his gaze meets mine like he feels it too.
“From Florida, Number 110, Julieta Martí and Logan Beck,” the announcer calls out.
And as we walk out to the floor, I feel my grandmother with me for the first time. I feel her presence, a solid weight right beside me, like my very own approval.
We’re out on the floor with seven other couples, each of us spaced out enough to allow room for dancing. Logan gives me one quick smile, that small one that I’ve claimed as mine, and then the music begins.
Walking to Logan, ready to dance in these shoes, to this beautiful music: this is exactly where I was meant to be. This is somebody and something that was meant just for me.
His arm comes around me to settle in the middle of my back. Mine finds a place around his shoulders. Our palms meet, and he squeezes my hand just once, like a reminder that he’s here. That it’s just us.
And then we start to dance.
***
The awards are luckily handed out right after the dancing portion, moving the night along. Logan and I are standing on the stage with the other couples, awaiting news for first, second, and third place.
Third place goes to a couple from Texas, and they rush to grab their trophy, joyously cheering along the way.
“Second place goes to Number 110 from Florida, Julieta Martí and Logan Beck.”
There is polite applause, and then there’s our table, which has erupted in cheers. When I turn to look at Logan with wide eyes, he looks back in shock, and elation.
Second place. Second place!
We walk up to claim our trophy, and congratulate the other winners, too. When we walk off the stage, Logan wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me in for a tight hug, lifting me off the floor.
“You fucking did it!” His smile is the biggest I’ve ever seen, but mine must be mirroring it. One huge grin from ear to ear. My heart’s racing from what we did, from everything we’ve done, this wild journey from the beginning.
“That was amazing,” I gush.
“That was amazing,” I hear Tara say.
Agostina and Delfi come in for a big hug, too, squeezing me so tight. “We are so proud of you!”
“Ready for the next one?” Tara asks with a smirk.
“Oh, I think I got it out of my system.”
Logan laughs loudly, those eyes crinkling at the corners again. “So, this was it?”
“This was perfect.” I kiss him because I can’t help it, because I want to. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you,” he says. And he kisses me back, proudly, passionately, in front of everybody.
The very last time I saw my grandmother was on a family trip to Buenos Aires. I got to watch her dance there, and I felt so close and attuned to my culture and my family. I felt so understood, so complete. And I hadn’t felt that since. Not until Logan blindfolded me, and everything shifted. Before that everything had been, maybe naively, just something to do. Just something on a list, just a way to use the shoes. But that night it became bigger than everything else. It became bigger than me. The ghosts of everything before me led me to that very moment. They converged to build inside of me, overwhelming and terrifying.
And liberating.
It was like limbs that had fallen asleep, but bit by bit woke up. The tingling feeling sparkled throughout my body, bringing everything back to life. And I look around now and wonder, so fervently, how I ever could have slept through all this.
Those shoes, dropped on my lap, carried me to the studio, to the milonga, to Logan. To here.
My grandmother always said tango gave her the love of her life, but it seems for me, it gave me everything.
Epilogue
Julieta, one year later
When you spend enough time in Buenos Aires, your schedule gets tossed upside down.
Like how it’s ten thirty at night and we’re just now headed to dinner because that’s when our reservation is. They didn’t open until eight thirty, anyway.
Like how we spent some time having a siesta in the hotel because that’s what everybody does, and frankly it’s the only way to make it through the night.
We’re headed to Bar Sur, a small tango bar that hosts dinner shows nightly. A place my grandparents visited maybe a handful of times.
We were looking for something quieter, something more intimate. As he guides me down the cobblestone streets of the more historical parts of Buenos Aires, we hold hands, and I walk at his side happily, reminding myself that this is indeed my life.
After we went to San Diego and placed second—the most thrilling surprise—we spent a couple more days there, riding that high. We visited touristy attractions, and reveled in delicious food and the glorious sun.
Once we got back home, I got to work applying for new jobs—something that I thought would be both terrifying and daunting, but soon after found a great match at a boutique firm. I even got to bring Larissa with me, making for an almost seamless move. I learned what work-life balance really looked like, and I spent it in an office that appreciated me.
After San Diego, Logan decided to work as a choreographer with a local dance program. He couldn't give up dancing entirely, just step back from it a little. Crawl up from the depths of it where he had become too entwined. And we still dance socially at milongas, basking in the warmth of the community there. That I could never give up. I love it too much, too.
He decided to move into my place about six months ago, leaving Gavin to his own space. We spent the past year enjoying each other. Doing new things together just for fun, just for the hell of it. There were some weekend trips, plus one week long adventure where I got to use my beloved paid time off. We spent mornings sleeping in, lazy Sundays sipping coffee, wrapped around each other.
Logan opens the door for me now, letting me walk into the bar. This place is romantic, really intimate and charming. Sure, it’s full of tourists, but still, it’s nostalgic.
The tango show at Bar Sur is dazzling as the dancers move across the checkered floor to the sounds of the live band. Our small table is lit by candlelight, and I'm enthralled watching the show. I catch Logan watching me from the corner of my eye, and I reach out to squeeze his hand.
“Watch the show,” I whisper, but he just smiles.
Once we leave, stumbling out into the street, we walk slowly down the sidewalk. Every so often he stops to kiss me, smiling as he does.
“I love you,” he says, hand cupping my face. “I never want to let you go, you know that, right?”
And then he gets down on one knee.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“What do you think?”
“Here?” I might be panicking.
“No better place, I think,” he grins.
His smile is the same loving one I’ve always seen on him, but his hands are shaking as he pulls something out of his pocket. Mine shake too, as I reach over to hold his, suddenly bursting with joy and laughter and happy tears.
“You changed my life,” he says softly, his own eyes shining back at me. “You gave me back hope, and this dance, and a happiness I never thought I’d feel again.”
“You changed my life, too,” I say, shakily.
“Want to be my partner forever?” he whispers, small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.
There's no answer but yes. I nod quickly, frantically, as I pull him up to kiss him. This has been the best year, a whirlwind that started when those shoes were placed on my lap. When my grandmother gave me the smallest little push and it lead me back home.
The night sky is covered in stars, and one is brighter than the rest, twinkling. Like my grandmother is winking down at us, mischievously. And lovingly.
Tomorrow morning T and Delfi fly in, joining us to spend some time in our beautiful country. But for now, for tonight, it's just us.
“You and me,” I say, in between kisses, smiling so much it hurts. “The best thing.”
Acknowledgements
This book required a lot of research and conversations and I am so grateful and thankful to have people in my life who were willing and happy to help. Very, very heartfelt THANK YOUs go out to:
Cecilia (my own cousin!) and Adjani who kindly chatted with me and shared stories about their childhoods and their upbringing.
Jeremias Fors of the Miami Tango Show, who graciously took time out of his busy schedule to talk with me about tango culture and dance. If you ever have the chance to see one of their shows, please go!
Brian (Esquire), who enthusiastically answered all of my lawyer-related questions and taught me the term “appellate briefs.” Can’t guarantee I won’t text you if I get sued, though.
Kelsey Painter (fellow indie author and ProAm dancer!), who kindly answered all of my random questions about ProAm competitions and ballroom dance.
Friends who excitedly read my drafts, love them even if they’re garbage, and are the best cheerleaders: Nicole, Stefani, Sara, Jane, Brian, Nick, Jackie, Megan, and Jenn. And anybody else I’m forgetting!
To family who give me so much love and support.
Kristen and Kelsey, who kindly and generously took time to beta read and give me such wonderful feedback.
Allie Samberts for editing and guiding me to help make this book the best it could be.
Lucy for being a delight to work with and again making the cover of my dreams.
To the romance book community and indie author community, those who have let me squeeze in. Who have commiserated and shown support, always up for answering questions and willing to chat. To indie bookstores championing and making space for indie authors. You are amazing.
To YOU, reader, for picking up this book. Thank you for taking a chance on my words. It means so much!
And most importantly, always, Brad (and the kids!), for tolerating my time behind a laptop and loving me anyway. For the long hours, nights, days, etc. I know it sucks sometimes, but I’m so grateful for it.
About the author
Natalia Williams writes contemporary romance featuring characters in their thirties and all their emotional baggage. Born in Argentina, now residing in Florida, she spent over a decade in the culinary field, but now spends her days wrangling kids and writing love stories. She loves a good cheeseburger, dogs, and has a freezer full of ice cream.
Find her on Instagram @nw.writes
Natalia Williams, Two to Tango
