“I'm trying. It'd be easier if I weren't being insulted.”
“Go with it!” His voice grew louder as he grabbed
hold of me once again. His scent was intoxicating; as he
pulled me to his chest, my anger turned fast to lust. I was
dancing with him again, as much as I didn't want to, unable
to resist the heat and pull of his strength, his passion, the raw
delicious smell of him. He was as aroused as I was. His eyes
locked into mine – his blue eyes boring into my green ones
– and I could hear his heartbeat in his steps.
The music came at last to an end with a final flourish
of drums, and we were standing face to face, so close that
our lips were almost touching, and as he exhaled I felt his
hot breath on my neck, making me shudder. I wanted his lips
on my skin. I wanted his hands to caress me. He reached out
an involuntary hand – it came so close to stroking my hair,
my face, my cheeks – but then let it fall limply at his side.
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The bonfire seemed to have vanished now; the music
was over. Around us there was nothing but the applause of
the hotel guests and the other dancers.
The boy pulled roughly away. “See you around,” he
muttered reluctantly, and again the blush rose to my cheeks.
“Wait!” I cried.
“Yeah?”
“What's your name.”
The boy shrugged. “Cutter,” he said.
“Chance Cutter?” I began, but it was too late. He had
already vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone by the
remnants of the bonfire, the torch lamps still hanging high
above us.
I returned to my mother's side, my blush brighter
than ever, my body still burning with heat from being so
close to him…the mysterious boy. Had she seen me dance
with the mysterious Cutter – had she seen the way my blood
rose within my skin, the way I responded to the flames, to
his touch? I knew my mother – she was far less likely to be
scandalized than she was to give me a profoundly over-
sharing lecture on how precisely to use condoms. That was
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what I was worried about.
But she let me off the hook relatively easily. “That
was some dance,” was all my mother said, although her wry
smile told me that she could have said a great deal more on
the subject if she wanted to.
I decided to steer the topic of conversation away
from the nature of my lust for the mysterious boy. “I can't
believe we were so close to the fire,” I said, laughing. “Is
that a Health and Safety risk or what? If we were back on
Angel Island we'd have to fill out so much paperwork to even
have a bonfire – what an insurance risk! But they seem so
laid back here.”
“Fire?” my mother turned to me with a vague smile.
“I don't remember seeing any fire.”
“Don't be silly,” I said. “The bonfire – the great big
one...” I could feel its intoxicating heat once more on my
face, feel the lure of its flames.
My mother laughed. “Don't be silly. I could get sued
if I had a big bonfire on the premises. It was only a trick of
the light – we had nothing but torch lamps!”
My heart sank. Confusion flooded over me. It had
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been real – I knew it: that heat, that desire.
“But what about where I was dancing with Cutter,” I
said.
“Cutter?” My mother's smile vanished. “Chance
Cutter? Or was it Varun?”
“Was it who? ” I looked up, confused. “I thought
Antonio said he only had one son.”
“He only has one son, although from what I hear,
people who know him doubt his true son is his biological
one. His nephew, Varun – his late sister's kid. While Chance
has been at Eton, Varun chose to stay at Aeros and learn the
trade that way. He and his uncle have always been close. You
danced with him, I imagine...”
“Why do you say that?”
My mother avoided my gaze, darting around the
question. “Well, Antonio's a self-made man, you know. He
doesn't like the idea that his sons would forget where they
came from. And he insists that Varun participate in the local
rituals and meet the guests – to ensure that they feel like part
of the Cutter family.”
“And Chance? Wouldn't he want Chance to
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participate too?”
“Well...” my mother hesitated. “I'm sure he would –
only...”
“Only what?”
“Now Mac,” my mother began, in an
uncharacteristically parental tone, “I don't want you
spreading this around. It's only gossip, you see – and it's not
something I should even necessarily be telling you. But I
don't want to be dishonest with you. It's something I heard
tonight from the other members of staff. The reason Chance
was really expelled from Eton.”
“Antonio told me,” I said. “Girls.”
“Not just girls,” my mother looked grave.
“What was it, then?” I asked. “Did he get somebody
pregnant? Cheat on a test? Play a prank on a teacher.”
My mother sighed heavily. “No,” she said. “Nothing
like that.”
“Then what?”
“There was an accident at Eton,” she said. “During a
dance with a girls' school. There was a fire and...a girl died.”
“And?”
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“And...” my mother said. “It was never proven, you
understand. Never made public. But he was asked to leave
nonetheless. You see,
