Enchanting Melody. Robyn Amos

a thirty-year-old man still rides a skateboard?”

      “Don’t knock it.” Melody had learned to ignore her sister’s none-too-subtle digs at her friends. “Skateboards are fuel-efficient, environmentally-friendly and good exercise.”

      “Whatever. Guess what? I have a surprise for you,” Stephanie said in a singsong voice.

      Mel braced herself. “Okay?”

      Stephanie reached into her Louis Vuitton bag and handed Melody a white envelope. Mel took it and pulled out what looked like a gift certificate.

      “This coupon entitles you to six ballroom-dancing lessons from the Moonlight Dance Studio.”

      Mel looked from her sister to the coupon then back to her sister. “What fresh hell is this?”

      “Now hear me out, Mel. When you agreed to be maid of honor in my wedding you knew there would be certain expectations.”

      Melody stuck her hand on her hip. “Yes, wearing an ugly dress, throwing you a couple of parties and buying you a ridiculously-expensive gift. Those are the duties I’ve agreed to fulfill.”

      “A Keenan Okofi original is hardly ugly,” Stephanie said with a huff.

      Mel rolled her eyes, knowing better than to insult the designs of her sister’s husband-to-be. He was swiftly becoming one of the hottest new names in fashion, or so Stephanie claimed.

      “I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. I don’t see where dance lessons fit into this whole deal.”

      “Mel, it’s a formal candlelight wedding with a twelve-piece orchestra. There will be a lot of dancing, including the bridal party dance.”

      “I don’t need lessons to rock and sway around the floor a few times with Keenan’s sixteen-year-old brother.”

      “I’ll have you know that Samir goes to boarding school in London where ballroom dance is a part of the daily curriculum.”

      “Poor kid,” she scoffed.

      “Mel, there will be a lot of important people there. Don’t you want to make a good impression?”

      Melody felt an icy tingle of suspicion at those words. They were all too familiar. “Did Mother put you up to this?”

      Stephanie winced, dropping her gaze to the floor.

      There wasn’t any use in denying it, Melody thought. Their mother had never given up trying to mold her eldest daughter into the perfect image of African-American high society—no matter how futile the effort.

      Stephanie reached out to squeeze Melody’s arm. “Okay, she might have made the suggestion, but you know I never would have gone along with it if it hadn’t been a good one. Our wedding guests aren’t just important to me, but to Keenan’s career as well. Some of them may ask you to dance, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

      “Oh, this is about my comfort? Because if it is…” She pointed to her red Converse All-Stars.

      “Melody, please. It’s just five lessons. They’ll teach you three different styles of dance. Just enough to get you through the wedding reception. Say you’ll do it…please, please, please?”

      Melody sighed. She was the black sheep in her family of New York socialites—and she was proud of it. Left to her own devices, she would have loved to send a message to her mother: her eclectic lifestyle wasn’t a phase, her friends weren’t going to morph into well-placed celebrities, and she was never going to marry rich.

      But, for a change, this wasn’t between just Melody and her mother. She was close to her sisters—both Stephanie and their youngest sibling, Vicky. And she’d already promised to do whatever chores were necessary to make Stephanie’s dream wedding a success. Apparently that included clopping around the dance floor like a horse in ballet slippers.

      “You’re lucky I love you, Steph, because I wouldn’t risk this kind of humiliation for just anyone.”

      “Thank you, big sis,” Stephanie screeched, crushing her in a tight hug. “Now wait until you see Keenan’s latest designs for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I’ve changed my mind about the black-and-white ball gowns. We’re thinking of going with these authentic African robes in red and gold….”

      Will Coleman glanced at his watch. It was time to start class and there was still one student on the roster who hadn’t arrived. Someone always bailed at the last minute.

      Rubbing his hands together, he moved to the center of the studio floor. “Good evening, everyone. This is Beginners Ballroom Dance, and I’m your instructor, Will. In this class you’ll learn the fox-trot, swing and waltz. Are you ready to get started?”

      The class mumbled a faint response. “Okay, I’d like everyone to line up across from their partners. Followers on the right, leaders on the left.”

      Will turned around to close the curtain that sectioned off the large dance floor, and a movement in the doorway caught his eye. A young woman was trying to sneak away.

      “Excuse me for one second,” he said to the class and walked over to poke his head into the hallway.

      “Miss? Miss, are you looking for Beginners Ballroom Dance?”

      The woman turned slowly, clearly embarrassed. For a second Will thought he might have made a mistake. This woman didn’t look anything like his typical dance students.

      She was dressed in tan cargo pants, low black boots and a scanty black tank top that revealed a tattoo of a Chinese character on the small of her back.

      “Um, I didn’t realize I needed a partner, so…” She shrugged and took a step backward, clutching the end of her long braid in her fist.

      He motioned her forward. “You don’t need a partner. Come on in.”

      She hovered in place, clearly unsure what to do. Will reached out and took her by the wrist, gently pulling her into the room. She came willingly at first, but began to resist when she saw the lineup of the class.

      “Everyone’s paired up already,” she whispered to him.

      Will smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about that. We do a lot of rotating, but you can start out as my partner.”

      A look of pure horror contorted her face, and he laughed out loud. “Trust me,” he said, leading her over to where the other ladies were already lined up. “This will be completely painless.”

      Will was intrigued with his new student, but all eyes were on him, waiting patiently for instruction, so he couldn’t indulge his fascination with her.

      “Today we’re going to learn the fox-trot. This is one of the most common patterns associated with ballroom dancing. It’s the one that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made famous. The rhythm for the fox-trot is slow, slow, side step. Slow, slow, side step.”

      He demonstrated the steps first for the men and then for the women. “Okay, now has everyone got that?”

      Across the room, he could already see that his pretty new student was having trouble. She was struggling to shift her weight and not trip on the side step.

      “Let me emphasize for the ladies that you’ll be stepping back with your right foot. So it’s right, left, side step. Good, now let’s partner up and give it a try.”

      He motioned for his reluctant partner to join him in the center of the room. “What’s your name?”

      “Mel…uh, short for Melody,” she answered softly.

      “Okay, class, Melody is going to help me demonstrate proper frame. Square up with your partner like this.” Will explained the basics of frames and maintaining proper resistance between partners.

      Normally, he could recite this spiel in his sleep, but today he was struggling to concentrate. There were