Page 53 of Across Time

And I should be none of these things. I scoot back to the blanket and lean against the bale of hay, looking for any possible way to justify what nearly happened, justify how much I wanted it to happen.

Mostly I’m just astonished it happened at all. I've never reacted to Mark in that way. Granted, we've never fought over a chocolate bar before—Mark wouldn't act like Henri did, taunting me with it like a child. But still, I wanted that kiss more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted it like a drowning man wants something to grab onto—desperately, gaspingly. I still do. I've been so proud of my restraint all this time but now I have to wonder if I've managed to hold onto my virginity simply because no one ever made me want to lose it.

In that moment with Henri just now? I wanted to lose it.

20

On the night of the dance, after bathing, I slide the dress over my head. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned and the color suits me perfectly, a swirling red flame that sets off the pale yellow of my hair and the gold in my skin from these weeks in the sun.

All I can think of is Henri’s reaction to it. I picture a repeat of last night—of his hands around my wrists and the feeling of him pressed against me. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks, but I’ve never hoped for a reaction more in my life.

Will he ask me to dance? Will things be different between us? As hard as it is to imagine, it’s even harder to imagine that they won’t have changed after last night.

“Dieu,” says Marie-Therese when she enters the room to do my hair. “No one will even look at poor Claudette Loison with you in the room.”

“And they won’t look at me with you in the room,” I reply as she pushes me into a seat. In an amethyst dress, her eyes look impossibly green and her black hair shines, standing in perfect waves to her shoulders. It seems nearly impossible that André would choose any girl in the country over her.

“Pah,” she says. “I’m not interested in anyone there.”

“And I am?” I ask in the mirror.

Her eyes meet mine. “Aren’t you?” she asks. “Just a little bit?”

I blush. Is it so obvious, my crush on her brother? God, I hope not. “No, I have a boyfriend, remember?”

She raises a brow at that but wisely chooses not to say anything. When she’s finished with my hair, she insists on mascara and red lipstick. I’ve never worn red lipstick in my life because the last thing I need is to call more attention to my lips, but she insists it’s the style and I’ll admit that it’s a nice effect, the red lips with the red dress. If it weren’t for the cast, I’d be feeling pretty elegant right now.

We exit the room just as Henri comes into the kitchen, looking extremely handsome in his freshly pressed shirt. He tells Marie she looks nice and then turns toward me and does a double take—exactly what I’d hoped for, except the surprise of the first glance is followed by unhappiness upon the second.

“I’ll be outside,” he says, turning on his heel. “Let’s get this over with.”

Marie hasn’t noticed the slight because she’s busy gathering things, but I feel it deep in the center of my chest. I walk outside, directly to the trunk of the car, and throw the crutches inside myself, ignoring his hand when he tries to help me. All this effort, I realize with a sinking stomach, was put forth on his account. And for a moment when he first walked in the room, I thought maybe he was going to make it worthwhile. Instead he’s acting like it pisses him off.

* * *

The dance is held in a mansion which was once, apparently, the palace of some lesser prince. Though the decorations are meager, the place is already so adorned with crown molding and frescoes and gold filigree that adding anything to it would have been overkill.

We enter the ballroom to find the dance floor completely full. Most of the couples are full-on swing dancing, something I doubt I’d be able to manage even without a cast and definitely not with one. In my head I’d pictured 1938 as a dark time in the world, a time in which people began tightening their belts and preparing for war. But it isn’t that way at all. These people are my age, for the most part, and they are all so alive, so silly and happy and enthusiastic, just like twenty-somethings anywhere. They still believe this year, this time in their lives, is a big, fabulous beginning and they are exuberant about it. It makes what lies ahead for them that much more heartbreaking.

We get five feet into the room and Marie is whisked away by some friendly boy who waves to Henri as they go. Henri remains by my side, looming over me with those broad shoulders as if I’m something highly fragile, likely to shatter if touched. We move into the room with his hand on the small of my back, his eyes daring anyone to get close to us.

Claudette, however, doesn’t heed the warning. The moment she spies him she’s moving toward us, and he doesn’t seem to mind when she gets too close.

You look lovely, Henri tells her, and my heart begins a long slide to the floor.

He couldn’t say a single word to me tonight—not when he walked into the house nor on the entire drive here—but two seconds into seeing Claudette and he’s got a compliment at the ready. It stings more than I can begin to admit.

She grabs his hand, begging him to dance with her, and he demurs with a polite smile, telling her he needs to get me situated first.

“If she wants to dance, go ahead,” I tell him, gritting my teeth. By all means, Henri, if she’s so fucking lovely, you should dance with her. “I’ll be fine.”

He opens his mouth to argue and I turn to hobble away on my crutches, making the decision for him while I try to persuade myself coming here wasn’t a colossal mistake. So what if I wind up alone in a corner all night, watching Henri dance with his future wife? I get a firsthand view of a 1930’s dance in pre-war France.

“You’re not ditching me that easily,” says Henri behind me.

I look back at him, feeling inexplicably upset. “Go ahead. You obviously wanted to dance with her and I’m perfectly capable of finding a chair for myself.”

“You don’t seriously think I want to swing dance?” he asks with a brow raised. He grabs a chair at an empty table and holds it for me.