Page 95 of Liar

Dance, Luciana. Dance away your pain.

It doesn’t take long for me to find a partner. And another. And another. The music becomes my lifeline. With each twirl, elongated extension, and stomp of the foot, I drive him from my mind.

Time flies and darkness begins to fall. I briefly pause to check on the sisters, only to discover they’ve made a killing with their beverages. They encourage me to stay and enjoy myself, having decided to head home.

I wave at Javier, who patiently watches over me from the sidelines. Then, without so much as a glance in the Bastard’s direction, I push my way back into the midst of things.

He’s a liar of the worst kind. Not the man I believed he was.This is your new normal, Luciana. Better come to terms with it now.

The crowd gets rowdier as the hours grow later. The music slows and dancers partner up.

One more song. Then I’ll go.

My partner is handsome and respectful. No wandering hands or inappropriate touches. A gentleman who easily falls into step with me. We dance several slow songs together, as he whispers how beautiful I am in my ear. I keep waiting to be swept up by the charming man. To feel the sizzle of attraction. To not feel the vast emptiness in the tight space between us.

To forgethim.

I feel nothing, except frustration.

We stop as the music ends. I offer him an encouraging smile, deciding right then and there that he should call me, and that we should go on a date. Maybe with time, a spark will ignite.

His smile is full of promise. Until it abruptly disappears.

He mumbles something that sounds like “sorry” before rushing off.

Firm hands squeeze my waist as the next song begins. It takes me a few moments to break free and spin around, to face the man who interrupted us.

“Tamale girl.”

Ignacio smirks at what can only be my horrified expression. Like a bad peso, I can’t seem to shake this man. My instinct is to pull away then run. But everyone is watching us. And don’t I know all too well, what happens when you make a fool out of this dangerous man?

“Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me,” he yells over the music.

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“With the Bastard.”

I flinch. The Bastard and company.

He leads me around the dance floor as I struggle to come up with a way to escape. Walking off on him will come at a cost. Piss him off or reject him when he knows where I work ...

“You in that dress. No other woman can compare.”

He spins me around and I follow. Deciding on a flimsy plan as a way out once the song ends. A lie that will, hopefully, send him back into the arms of his girlfriend.

I hope this works.

Bile rises in my throat as the musicians approach their final notes, before I blurt out, “ I can only dance once with you.”

His brows furrow.

“I’ll be disrespecting my fiancé.” I lean in and strike home. “I’m secretly engaged.”

I study him closely, praying his odd sense of morality about married women extends to engaged females also being untouchable. But, watching him is akin to witnessing a volcano erupting.

“Stop the motherfucking music.”

The dancers around us either freeze in fear or sprint away from the floor. I’m grabbed by the wrist and dragged over to the stage. “Get down,” he bellows at the musicians. They scatter in a wave of brass and wood.