Chapter Text
“You are making me jealous of this painting.”
His honeyed voice jolts me out of my reverie, but I can’t blame him for being able to sneak up on me.
I had returned to Jongho’s unfinished gallery after dinner, and since my human shadow didn’t stop me from entering, I guess I had permission to do so. I quietly sauntered the room, staring at the artworks while pondering the young art lover’s proposal.
His request has left me deeply conflicted. On the one hand, I would be working for the mafia – that vile and dreadful family that had been holding me here against my will, had stolen a precious work of art, had hurt Yunho and Mingi. On the other hand, however hard I have been trying to come up with means of escape, it seems like this is my only viable option – and it has been practically handed to me on a plate.
But, leaving all of those things out of consideration, I really, really do not want to allow these beautiful paintings to be so horribly mismanaged. The thought of all the damage they would get from the improper conditions in this room… My heart could hardly bear the thought.
Being consumed by this inner debate which threatens to tear me apart, I had been staring at the Monet – an absolutely splendid landscape, full of vibrant light colours, which still brilliantly shine at night – without really processing what was happening in my surroundings.
So it wasn’t actually that impressive of Yeosang to catch me off guard. Nonetheless, he manages to get on my nerves as smoothly as always.
“Why, because it has my undivided attention?” I reply sarcastically, having gotten so used to his ridiculous remarks by now that I can quite accurately predict his next words.
“Exactly,” he answers cheekily. I can feel his gaze on my face, studying my reaction, but I do my utmost best to resist looking back at him. I will not be falling for his tricks; I shouldn’t trust anyone in this family.
I sigh exasperated, drawing that chuckle from his lips again, and I curse myself for letting him get under my skin once more. Why can’t I resist reacting to this man?
“What were you frowning about?” he inquires. “Is the painting not to your liking?”
“Quite the opposite,” I mumble. “This painting is exactly why I love Monet.”
“I’ll let Jongho know he should acquire more works like this one, then,” he teases.
“No need,” I retort coldly.
“Because you will be acquiring them yourself?”
It’s barely phrased as a question, as if he’s convinced I’ll take his cousin’s offer. His words finally manage to draw my eyes to him, and his confident face ties my stomach in an anxious knot. Is he certain I’ll take it because he knows how much I love art? Or does he suspect my hidden motive to use this opportunity to contact the outside world?
“I haven’t said yes to Jongho.”
“Yet.”
“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“We both know you will say yes.”
He has stunned me into silence. We’ve met a bit over two weeks ago, but he speaks as if he has known me for a lifetime, as if he can look straight into my heart. A nervous butterfly twirls through my stomach.
I’m getting too involved.
His eyes still haven’t left my face when he mumbles: “You seem tired. Are you not sleeping well?”
His concerned words have the opposite effect and strike a nerve: “Hm, I wonder what could be troubling my sleep, between me having been kidnapped, Yunho having been shot, and my family and loved ones having no idea where I am.”
Even if my outburst hurts him, his mask doesn’t show any cracks. He is silent for a short while, as if he is contemplating something, before he pulls out his phone from his pocket.
“I cannot help you with the first or the last one,” he says, his eyes finally off my face while scrolling. “But I hope to relief your worry about the detective.”
He has found what he was looking for, and shows the screen to me. A video is playing, looking like CCTV footage of some public place. I soon realise it is a hospital, as nurses and doctors busily walk in and out of the frame. The date in the upper right corner shows that it was taken a week ago.
“Why are you showing me –” I start, but then abruptly stop when I recognise two figures who have just walked into the scene. I grab Yeosang’s hands to pull the phone closer to me, pausing the video to zoom in even though I know I am not mistaken.
It’s clearly Yunho and Mingi, both in obvious good health, walking towards the exit of the hospital. They are smiling, and Yunho has just started to spread his arms wide, as if he is ready to embrace someone. When I hit play again, a pretty woman comes running towards him, and he holds her tight; unmistakably, this must be his wife.
I tear my gaze away from the screen and lock eyes with Yeosang, trying to pierce his mask and find out if what I am seeing is the truth. I haven’t forgotten about the fake footage they showed at the police station to prove his “innocence”. What if they have fabricated this as well to make me lower my defences?
“It is authentic,” he replies to my unspoken question. “Please believe me when I say I want to ease your mind.”
To my utmost surprise, he has deliberately lifted the veil he so meticulously wears; true concern and care are written all over his face. It leaves me speechless and flustered, and the single butterfly that was occupying my stomach has sudden multiplied into a dozen.
The fact that he took off his mask convinces me that his words are true, and as a result their meaning come through to me with full force. Yunho and Mingi – they are both safe. My eyes unexpectedly fill with tears. I may have suppressed my worries about the two detectives, but now that I see that they are well, the relief hits me hard. I have felt responsible for what happened – after all, if I hadn’t agreed to the plan, Yunho and Mingi would not have gotten hurt – and the guilt had been eating away at some subconscious part of me. Knowing they are all right has lifted a great weight from my shoulders.
For once, I truly mean it when I say: “Thank you.”
His gaze softens as he replies gently: “My pleasure.”
Seeing the true Yeosang coming out from under the mask, I find it difficult to take my eyes off him. I didn’t think he was capable of showing genuine emotions, but behind the façade of teasing and taunting, there is a much deeper layer of compassion and humanity. I never expected to find this inside of him, finding this in any member of the brutal and ruthless mafia, and the revelation rocks me to my core.
Could it be that I was wrong about him…?
With a start I realise that we’ve been staring at each other while my hands are still covering his for an extended amount of time now. As a result of this realisation, the butterflies in my stomach somehow manage to quadruple in numbers.
Oh, oh. This is bad.
I cannot let one simple act of kindness fool me into trusting him; I need to get away from him, now. I quickly pull my hands back and tear my eyes from his, and this seems to break the trance between us.
He saves me the effort of coming up with an excuse to leave when he slowly retreats to the door, while saying: “I hope this gives you more headspace to consider accepting Jongho’s offer.”
“I never said that I would accept,” I counter.
I know he has put his mask back on when, just before he leaves the room, he cheekily replies: “Then go ahead and tell him.”
Yeosang isn’t the only one who shows me his true face, as in the next couple of days, I had seen glimpses of the real personalities peek through from behind the mafia masks.
“Indulging” the little one once again, I found myself in the garden at minus five degrees Celsius to watch over Mirae has she happily rolled around and about in the snow that has unexpectedly fallen near the end of this winter. I had told Jongho that morning that I would accept his offer and I was thinking of ways to send any cryptic messages to the outside world, so I had turned my back on Mirae for just a moment when I suddenly heard her high-pitched shriek. I turned around and found the poor girl lying on the ground with her knee scraped open. I rushed to her side while she started crying, probably more startled than hurt, and I learnt the she had slipped on a particularly slippery patch of the path – since I also almost slipped and fell there myself. I picked her up and carried her inside, asking my shadow if there were any first aid kits around. We ended up in the kitchen where I tended to her gently as she sat on the countertop and slowly calmed down.
Who was not calm at all was Wooyoung as he came rushing into the kitchen in total panic. You could clearly see he abandoned whatever he was doing before, because his hair was only half done with the other half still up in a bun, and bits of shaving cream were still sticking to his face here and there.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him as I stuck a colourful band aid on the little girl’s knee after cleaning and disinfection. “It was only a small scratch, wasn’t it, Mirae?”
“Yes, no need to overreact, daddy,” Mirae accused him as if she wasn’t just now shrieking like banshee herself.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Wooyoung apologised with a relieved smile. Then he took the little girl in his arms and put her back on the floor with a big swing, which made her giggle. “But perhaps it is safer to be playing inside now. Be a good girl and thank your auntie before you go.”
With a cheerful “Thank you, auntie!”, Mirae skipped out of the room, her pain already completely forgotten. I looked at Wooyoung’s face as he watched her go, and the worry clearly hadn’t entirely left his eyes.
“Why were you so concerned?” I asked him as I put the supplies back in the first aid kit. “The way you came rushing in, it would almost seem as if someone had died.”
It was meant as a joke, but his face completely clouded over, and I knew I had unintendedly hit the target.
He managed to compose his expression and replied calmly: “Well, ever since my wife has died, I find myself indeed a bit overconcerned about my daughter. Perhaps understandably… as Mirae is all I have left of her.” Even though he managed to keep his voice steady, his face betrayed him again as it shortly showed a deep sorrow.
I knew I shouldn’t sympathise, but curiosity got the best of me and I asked: “How did your wife die?”
Wooyoung carefully watched me for a moment, similar to Seonghwa when I asked him about his aunt in the library, and then, like some eerie echo, he said: “I think it’s enough to tell you that it was due to family business.”
“Oh,” I whispered softly, and I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him then. “I’m truly sorry.”
We were silent for a short while, as he looked out the window while I had a hard time trying to suppress the urge to reach out and give him a comforting pat on the shoulder. So his wife was the second woman to die due to what the family does…
“Just like your aunt Ha-eun,” I mumbled unconsciously, not really registering that I said it out loud.
“How do you know that?” Wooyoung uttered surprised, and I felt my cheeks flare under his scrutinising gaze. Then that cheeky smile of his crept up and he remarked teasingly: “Is there any particular reason you are taking an interest in our family history?”
“No, it’s just something Seonghwa told me,” I retorted unconvincingly, before I picked up the first aid kit and quickly left the room while I mumbled the excuse of putting it away.
I started to see a worrying correlation between women of the family and their unfortunate and untimely deaths. And that made me wonder if San really thought it was a good idea to marry the woman he so dearly loved. Wouldn’t that put her in too much danger? Especially if she had no idea what he did for a living…?
The next day, I somehow found myself the opportunity to actually ask him.
When he tried to convince me once again to join their tennis game, pulling that ridiculously adorable pouting face which made me understand why Areum fell for him, I saw my chance of getting some more insider’s information which might aid Yunho and Mingi once I got out. So I finally let him “win me over” and within a few flash I stood next to him on the field, slightly dazed by his enthusiasm, as he explained the basics and techniques, while Areum and Wooyoung were playing a warm-up game.
Even though he was helping me get along with the tennis racket, he always kept an eye on his fiancée; either he shouted encouragements to her when she lost a point, or he cheered for her when she won.
His genuine devotion truly endeared me, but I felt an anxious pang when I realised it did and scolded myself for getting too involved again. No need to befriend them, I was only there to gather information. And because I was still kidnapped, of course.
“You love her a lot, don’t you?” I said in an attempt to draw him out.
He smiled sheepishly and nodded: “There is no one in the world whom I love more.” His honest, romantic answer almost made me melt as well, and I wasn’t even the one receiving the adoration.
“Are you not worried for her?” I asked carefully. “You know, thinking of how Wooyoung’s wife died because of the family…” My voice trailed off as I saw the flash of anxiety on his face; but just like the others, he was an expert at smoothing it over.
“Unlike Wooyoung’s wife, Areum doesn’t know anything about our business, and she isn’t involved in any way. Without that knowledge, I’m sure she will be safe.”
I wondered if he truly believed that, or if he only said that to convince himself.
Ha-eun, Mirae, Areum… The women in the family were the key in unlocking their true selves, in drawing out true emotions from behind the masks. It seemed that was their only weakness…
I gasped loudly and dropped my tennis racket when I realised which woman was able to draw out Yeosang’s true self.
I made up a clumsy excuses at San’s concerned inquiries if I were okay, but it must have shown I was not. I had absolutely zero focus for the rest of the time we played, as I tried really hard to ignore the conclusion my mind had so accurately presented to me. It couldn’t be true anyways, I managed to convince myself at some point, because after all, I wasn’t a woman of the family.
And I had absolutely no intention of becoming one.
Today, the one who does passionately intend to become part of the family has managed to drag me to her room for a reason I wholeheartedly dislike.
“I am afraid this will be a waste of your time,” I mumble, while I keep an untrusting eye on the seamstress who is getting dangerously close to my skin with her pins and needles.
“Nonsense!” Areum dismisses my remark with a wave of her hand. She pouts while deep in thought, and then says: “I think we should be going for a wine red colour, maybe? This particular shade of blue doesn’t really suit her complexion, don’t you agree, Francesca?”
The seamstress takes a step back, lets her eyes travel over me from head to toe, and then nods with a disapproving frown.
“You are absolutely right, Miss Areum,” she agrees before pushing me back behind the screen and deftly picking out the pins and needles in the blink of an eye.
“But I won’t even be here in two weeks!” I exclaim, trying to lead the conversation back to my topic and away from colours of dresses that I will not be wearing anyway.
“Hongjoong says you will,” Areum retorts as she examines her nails innocently. “And the wedding is in one week, not two.”
Ugh, Hongjoong. First his stupid rules, now his stupid opinions.
This morning at breakfast he asked Areum about the preparations of the wedding, completely out of the blue, and I just knew he did so intentionally. As Areum happily babbled on about the arrangements of the flowers and the music the quartet would be playing, he suddenly engaged me in the discussion. He drew attention to the fact that, since I have been here for almost three weeks already and have extended my stay by accepting Jongho’s proposal, surely I would still be here in time for the wedding…? Upon which Areum turned the full force of her never-ending excitement on me, and insisted that I would attend as a guest of honour. I politely tried to decline, to no avail of course, and it wasn’t for long until Areum gasped loudly with a shock and exclaimed “We must get you a dress right away!” While she immediately started listing all the brands she liked, I slowly turned my icy glare to Hongjoong, who cordially smiled at me with feigned ignorance. When I heard Yeosang softly chuckle on my left, I knew it had been a set-up from the start.
“I’m positive I won’t be here then,” I say, barely stopping myself from gritting my teeth. “I assure you I am close to leaving.”
However confident Hongjoong might have been of the extend my stay, he has no idea of the secret messages I have been sending out these past few days whenever I “inquired” for the option of buying a painting, or the attending of an auction, or the hiring of workers to improve the conditions of the gallery. I am positive Yunho and Mingi will figure it out, and I like to keep my hopes up by telling myself it will be sooner, rather than later.
Any day now, and I will be free from this cage.
Though I was shocked to realise it has been close to three weeks already; I was almost getting used to the great food and the even greater library. I have to keep telling myself to stop diving so deeply, afraid I might lose track of the surface and drown in their sea of lies. I cannot let my guard down, I cannot trust them – not even sweet and innocent Areum.
Though… Is she truly innocent? I think back to what San had said about her not knowing anything of the family business. She has always struck me as a little bit naïve, but the way she just expressed her total trust in what Hongjoong, the mafia boss, has said…
Could she also be wearing a mask?
I surreptitiously look at Areum as she discusses the red dress I am wearing now with the seamstress. Behind that bubbly face shines a cunning spark in her eyes, as if she has some ulterior motive behind dressing me up like a life-size doll. Maybe I have underestimated her, as preoccupied I have been with the men of the family.
Maybe she fits right in with the rest of them.
“So, Areum…” I start off, a little unsure how to make her lift the veil of innocence.
“Hmm?” she replies with her eyes glued to the emerald green dress the seamstress is now holding up for her judgement.
I decide the direct way might be best, before she tries to feign her way out of this one too, and say: “Do you know what San does for a living?”
Immediately, her eyes fly to mine, and for a split-second, I see the shock on her face before she quickly looks away. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. But however short it was, it was more than enough for me.
She definitely knows.
“So, you do…” I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. She bites her lip but keeps her eyes on the dress. “And you leave San in the dark, leave him thinking that you don’t know…”
“Oh, please don’t tell him!” she suddenly bursts out, but then bites her lip again and resumes more quietly: “I wasn’t supposed to know, I found out by accident… A couple of months ago, I…” Her voice trails off as her eyes anxiously flutter to the seamstress, who is making some adjustments to the green dress just out of earshot.
“You don’t have to tell me how you found out,” I ensure her in a hushed voice. “It’s just…”
Wait, why do I even care? Why can’t I just let her go on, let her make that stupid decision of marrying into a mafia family?
I hesitate for a second, but still I continue: “San thinks you’re safe because you’re unaware, that’s why he is fine with marrying you. But since that is not the case, isn’t it too dangerous to –”
“If you think this will stop from marrying San, you are absolutely wrong,” she declares with a burning passion in her eyes. “Don’t think I am ignorant. I have heard all about Wooyoung’s wife so I know the risk I am taking. But I love San to the moon and back, and nothing is stopping me from being with him until my last breath.”
I can’t help but ask: “But does it sit right with you that he is part of something so profoundly… evil?”
Areum raises her head and says almost defiantly: “The fact that his family does this… type of business, so to say, does not mean that San is a bad person. When I am with him, he is the epitome of kindness, tenderness and devotion. I don’t think I will find something so pure and rare ever again in my life, so I will take him as he is; the good parts, and the bad.”
I am stunned for a moment, as everyone would be after such a heartfelt confession, and we remain silent as the seamstress puts me in the nth dress of that afternoon. But when I emerge from behind the screen and see myself in the mirror, Areum and I break our silence and gasp in unison.
This dress is simply made for me.
The off-shoulder straps curve elegantly along my shoulders and collarbones, the soft satin pinches prettily at my waist, and the long skirt widens smoothly but not too extravagantly, ending just above the ground which gives the impression that I am floating gracefully as I move around.
“Oh wow,” Areum sighs with sparkling eyes. “This is the one.”
I can’t help but agree, even though I do not want to be wearing this beautiful dress to her wedding next week.
Areum happily claps in her hands, and squeals: “I am so glad that you’re staying!”
“It’s not like I have a choice, if it’s up to Hongjoong,” I mutter, though it is hard to stay annoyed in this gorgeous dress.
“Now we should find you some nice shoes! Classy but still comfortable enough for dancing, of course,” she mumbles in thought, totally ignoring my remark.
Wait… What?
“Dancing?” I utter baffled.
She looks back at me in surprise.
“You do know how to dance, right?”
It’s her.
Mingi shakes his head while looking at his computer screen, half in disbelief and half amazed. He doesn’t know how she has managed to reach the outside world from wherever hole in the ground they are hiding her in, but he is certain these are coming from her. His heart is feeling a little less heavy for the first time in almost three weeks.
So incredibly clever! He feels sort of proud.
His heart skips a beat the memory of her. How he wishes he could hold her hand again like he did on that dreadful night. If only he could have finished his question…
He shakes his head. No time for daydreaming.
He disconnects his laptop from the screen and rushes over to his fellow detective. Yunho’s leg has recovered quite nicely, but Mingi isn’t blind to the subtle ways his face twitches ever so slightly whenever he has to walk long distances, or climb the stairs, or stand for a long time. Yunho hasn’t fully recovered yet, therefore Mingi goes to him instead of calling him over.
“Yunho,” he announces his arrival at his partner’s desk, “Look at this.”
Yunho has been bent over some aerial photographs of possible mafia hideouts, but after one look at Mingi’s excited face, he pushes them aside without a second thought.
“What have you got?”
“I think it’s her.”
A few days ago, he overheard two officers at the coffee machine discussing a particularly singular note that a famous art agent had received. The agent had come to the police because he was afraid he was hacked; it turned out that only a select few could know how to reach him, and this potential buyer was not someone from his inner circle. Of course, Mingi’s attention was caught at the moment he heard the word “art”; anything related to her made his six sense go into overdrive, looking for connections.
They soon found out that the message wasn’t that “singular”, in the meaning that several other people who were active in that field – from art brokers to gallerists, and even one painter – had received similar cryptic notes. Working closely with the police stations experts on codes and ciphers, they have tried to crack the deeper layer to reveal its hidden meaning.
And this morning, they had figured it out.
“What exactly am I looking at?” Yunho asks after shortly examining the screen.
“These messages have been send to several renowned people active in the art scene. Consider these three,” Mingi says while displaying three texts next to each other.
“Why these specific three?” Yunho interrupts him.
“Everyone has received one of these three,” Mingi explains. “And we know the order in which we should regard them, because the first one mentions the number “one” in the subject, the second one has the word “To” in every sentence, which we thinks hints at the number “Two”, and the third one inquires after a triptych.”
“A trip-”
“An art piece consisting of three parts.”
“Ah…” Yunho nods, convinced. “One, two and three… And then?”
“Keep that one, two, three in mind. Do you see the hidden message?”
“One, two, three,” Yunho mumbles, letting his eyes go from one letter to the other. Mingi knows he loves a good riddle, but he also sees the tiredness reflected in the dark circles around his eyes, remnants from the long stay at the hospital. So it isn’t a surprise to him when Yunho gives up and says: “I’m sure you’ve figured it out already.”
“It took us a while,” he admits, but he is still proud to announce the answer: “Look at every first word of a sentence in letter one, second word of a sentence in letter two, and third word of a sentence in letter three.”
“I… need… your…” Yunho gasps slightly before continuing: “Help…”
His eyes fly to Mingi, large with surprise; he is obviously impressed. “Has she been reading a lot of detectives, do you think?”
“I’m sure the Ateez will have a library, even if it’s just for show.”
Yunho smiles for a second, and then looks back at the screen, reading the rest of the message.
He whistles shortly before he concludes: “This is amazing. Brilliant.” He claps his partner on the back. “You picked the right woman.”
Mingi pulls at his colour as his cheeks turn a crimson red, and he coughs shortly before mumbling something incomprehensible.
“Do we have an IP-address?” Yunho saves him from his embarrassment.
“Cryptography unit is working on it right now.”
“Then it won’t be long, I’m sure,” Yunho says while he gives Mingi an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
“I do hope you are right, Yunho.”
I think I might die of mortification.
“What am I even doing here?” I grumble as I put on the impractical-but-cute shoes Areum has picked for my wedding outfit – that I still definitely won’t be wearing – in preparation for…
I sigh heavily, and am, as always, rewarded by that haunting chuckle.
“You’re here for dance lessons, silly!” Areum chimes innocently, though she was definitely not meant to hear my remark, and for once I wish I could wipe that lively smile off her face; but I won’t stand a chance with San in the room.
Ah, this room…
I shouldn’t be surprised, really, but I could hardly believe they have a freaking ballroom in their Palazzo too! Complete with shiny, polished dance floor, large mirrors lining one wall while the other is covered with a flowery tapestry, little alcoves with windows that overlook the garden, and a beautiful glass ceiling…. Do they have to be ticking off all the “palace-must-have”-boxes? As if the impressive red-carpeted hallway, lavishly decorated dining rooms and ridiculously large library weren’t satisfactory already.
I guess Hongjoong has an expensive taste.
I grumble at the thought of the mafia boss. I can’t believe he has tricked us into this again.
When Areum expressed her concern at my lack of dancing abilities at dinner, he insisted that I would let them teach me the basics of the different dance styles at the very least. When I got ready to protest, he silently mouthed “Rule number three” to me, while holding up three fingers and wiggling them tauntingly, upon which I pressed my lips together and fumed in silence. Of course, Areum understood that as a “Yes, please!” and so I find myself in her company for the second time today. And not just her, no, there had to be two members of the mafia present as well, because “You can’t learn to dance without a partner, now can you?” as Hongjoong had said with a devilish smile, which had made my blood pressure rise to explosive levels.
And, of course, as if the prospect of humiliating myself as I clumsily try to master several complicated dance styles in an impossibly short amount of time wasn’t already horrifying enough, to make it even worse, my dance partner tonight just had to be him.
“Shall we?” A hand appears in my view after I finally managed to fasten my shoes – pretty little things, but with treacherous heels attached to them – but I swat it away while avoiding his gaze and mutter: “I can walk on my own just fine, thank you.”
To show him my abilities, I take a few steps, but then the heels, despite their short length, already betray me, and I struggle to keep my balance. Within a flash, I feel his hand on my arm to steady me, and I hear his sarcastic reply: “Are you sure?”
I pull myself from his grasp and snarl: “I don’t need your help.”
“On the contrary, you will very much need it if you want to successfully learn how to dance.”
“I don’t want to learn how to dance, Hongjoong is forcing me,” I grumble. “And I’ll gladly ask San to tap in and replace you.”
Then we hear a soft giggle, and our eyes find San and Areum twirling around, drawn close together, her hand in his and his other hand gently on her back. Moreover, their gazes seem to be glued to each other, like the world around them doesn’t even exist, and I immediately realise the odds of being able to switch partners are nearly impossible.
“Guess it is still you and me,” he whispers before walking to the antique gramophone to start the music for tonight’s dance class. The thought of us mirroring San and Areum is at the same time annoying me to the bone and making my stomach surge with butterflies.
Why did it have to be Yeosang?
He was getting way too close before with his kind gesture in the library, when he comforted me by showing Yunho and Mingi were all right. The line between the light and the dark side is already blurring as it is, and I should really be keeping my distance.
“Come on, unnie, we don’t have all night!” Areum encourages me, and with another deep sigh I walk towards to others and submit to my doom.
“We’re starting simple,” Areum announces while sounding annoyingly much like a kindergarten teacher. “A classic waltz, nice and easy.”
Nothing seems “nice and easy” to me, but San adds enthusiastically: “Even Mirae knows how to waltz already, you’ll pick it up in no time!”
Great, a freaking seven year-old is more advanced than me.
“Let’s just get it over with,” I mumble, hoping to master it quickly so I can go back to my apartment and have time to device some more cryptic letters.
“For the waltz,” San starts off, “The leader’s right hand, that’s me or Yeosang, is placed on the follower’s back, that’s Areum and you. The follower’s left hand goes on the leader’s shoulder. Lastly, the leader’s left hand holds the follower’s right one, at around chest height, like this.”
San and Areum demonstrate, taking the same position as before, and then San nods in encouragement and says energetically: “Now you try!”
Yeosang is visibly biting back a taunting remark as he presses his lips together, but he doesn’t push me, just invitingly holds open his left hand for me to take. After a moment of hesitation, I shyly put my hand in his, which feels warm and surprisingly soft. I could swear a slight smile escapes his lips as he gently guides my left hand to his shoulder so he can lightly place his right one on my back.
Oh dear, I think as I swallow hard. This position keeps us way too close; I must avoid looking at him at all costs. Keep swimming near the surface, and I’ll be fine.
I think. I hope, at least.
Areum and San let go of each other and come towards us, judging my pose and giving me some small corrections here and there. When they are satisfied, they start explaining the steps, which honestly don’t seem that complicated at all. I look at my feet while we make a first attempt, and I must admit it does help that Yeosang already knows how to waltz, which makes it easy for me to follow his guidance. Indeed, after practicing for a while, we actually manage to move around quite smoothly, and I start to get the hang of it. If I’m being completely honest, this is actually quite fun.
But I’ll never tell them that, of course.
“Great! You’re a natural!” Areum chimes, genuinely happy. “Now try to match the music!” She and San set the example again, gracefully waltzing around the room on the beautiful classical music, but when we try, I keep falling a bit short, distracted as I am by trying to watch my feet or following my steps in the mirror.
“You do not have to look at your feet,” Yeosang suddenly whispers, only loud enough for us to hear, while San and Areum seem to have forgotten about the lesson as they whirl around in bliss. “You only have to look at me.”
Oh no, I’m absolutely not looking at him; not while we’re so close together that I am afraid he will hear my pounding heart. But… I can’t deny that focussing on my feet is not helping in any way either… so I decide to carefully move my eyes from below to face him.
And then everything falls into place.
Not staring at my feet actually makes it so much easier to follow, to let Yeosang lead me. Somehow, suddenly, we are moving perfectly in sync, and I’m losing myself to the feeling of dancing so effortlessly, so comfortably, so…
Naturally.
I have no idea how much time has passed as we twirl across the room, floating on the music as if we are in the clouds. Without fully realising, I have drifted from the surface and feel myself drowning in the depths of his brown eyes as the world around us slowly fades…
Out of the blue, the music comes to an end, and so we have to stop dancing with it. I can’t help but feel dazed, like I just woke up from a dream. And with waking up, I realise my heart is pounding, my cheeks are flushed and my head feels a little light.
Oh.
Suddenly anxious, I glance at Areum and San, hoping they were too preoccupied to notice, and see that they are standing considerably further away. Are they so far away because they had already stopped dancing before the music ended? My stomach is tying itself in a knot when I discover a dangerous twinkle in Areum’s eyes, while San is studying us suspiciously. Or –
Oh, no.
Could they have been watching us dance?
Oh dear god, no.
Yeosang doesn’t seem to take note of their stares, or he doesn’t care. He just nods approvingly and says: “You learn quickly, well done.”
Then he bends forward, and thereby misses the curious glance that San and Areum share between them, to whisper: “I’m already looking forward to the wedding.”
“I won’t be attending their wedding,” I say, but my reply sounds a bit weak, even to me.
“That would be waste of your talent,” he retorts. “Instead, we should refine your steps a bit more, do you not agree?”
He extends his hand like before, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Areum hurry to eagerly switch the vinyl record. She quickly grabs San when the music starts to play, and I feel like I have no other choice than to follow as I take Yeosang’s hand. To be honest, I am not sure if I even mind anymore.
Because the dancing is so enjoyable, of course. I tell myself that this has nothing to do with Yeosang.
Nothing at all.