Chapter 3 - The Demonstration
Two evenings later, the rain had returned, slicking the streets of Richmond with black shine.
At 7:00 PM sharp, the studio door opened. Clare expected Henry. What she did not expect was Ethan entering three paces behind him.
Ethan had removed his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and his silk tie loosened at the collar. He still looked deeply out of place inside a community center ballroom where the biggest crisis was usually someone dropping an umbrella, but he looked less like an intruder today.
Henry noticed his son’s presence and scoffed loudly. “You again. Don't you have a conglomerate to run?”
“I’m making sure you don’t pull a hamstring,” Ethan said smoothly, leaning against his designated spot by the mirror wall.
“Very supportive,” Henry muttered to Clare. “He’s like an overly attentive guard dog.”
Clare smiled, adjusting the collar of her burgundy dance dress. She glanced at Ethan, catching him mid-gaze as he evaluated her movement.
“Actually, Henry,” Clare said, a spark of mischief flashing in her eyes, “his timing is absolute perfection.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed instantly. “No.”
“I haven’t asked you anything yet, Mr. Caldwell.”
“You were about to.”
“I need someone roughly your height and frame for a quick posture demonstration,” Clare said, stepping toward him with effortless grace. “Henry keeps collapsing his frame on the right side during the lead.”
“No,” Ethan repeated firmly.
Henry brightened up like a child offered ice cream. “Excellent idea! Show me how a younger, stiffer man handles the lead.”
“I said no, Dad.”
Clare tilted her head, stopping three feet from Ethan. “You don’t dance?”
“I don’t,” Ethan stated flatly.
Henry made a long, thoughtful, exaggerated sound from behind them.
Ethan shot his father a sharp look. “What?”
“Nothing,” Henry said innocently, inspecting his fingernails.
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“I simply remember paying tens of thousands of dollars for years of etiquette and dance lessons when your mother forced you to attend every charity gala and cotillion in Virginia.”
“I attended under duress,” Ethan said coldly.
“You danced.”
“I survived.”
Clare stepped closer, holding out her right hand to Ethan. Her smile was soft, warm, and entirely impossible to resist. “Survival is a terrible excuse for avoiding a three-minute demonstration, Mr. Caldwell.”
Ethan stared down at her small, elegant hand. The silence between them grew thick, filled only by the soft hum of the rain outside.
Henry sighed loudly. “Apparently courage skips a generation in the Caldwell line.”
Ethan closed his eyes for a brief moment. He let out a long, defeat-filled breath, pulled his phone from his pocket, and placed it carefully on a folding chair.
“One demonstration,” Ethan warned, his dark eyes locking onto Clare’s. “And then we get back to my father's cardiovascular health.”
“One demonstration,” Clare agreed softly.
Ethan stepped into the center of the room. The first surprise for Clare was that he knew exactly where to put his hands without being instructed. His left hand caught her right fingers with a firm, warm grip, while his broad right palm settled onto her upper back.
The second surprise was how instantly stiff he became the moment their bodies closed the distance.
“Relax,” Clare whispered, looking up into his intense face.
“I am relaxed.”
“Your shoulders are up around your ears, Ethan. You're holding your breath like you're about to brace for an impact.”
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Behind them, Henry burst into a sudden, delighted laugh.
Ethan snapped his head toward his father. “What?”
