Dance Lessons – Maxwell x MC

Summary: When Maxwell offers to teach MC (Leila) the Cordonian waltz, there might be more between them than just music.

Notes: I originally envisioned this as a NSFW one time fic, but this might bend up being a multi-part story. I had no idea this was going to end up so angsty, but, you know … angst happens, haha. For the full effect, listen to Hozier’s “Jackie and Wilson” because that’s the song that inspired this piece. Hope you enjoy it!

Leila sat at the vanity in her bedroom, slowly brushing out her long hair as she wondered for the hundredth time what she was doing in Cordonia. As much as she was enjoying this experience, she knew deep down that being queen just wasn’t meant for her. Women like Hana and Olivia had spent their whole lives training for exactly this sort of thing, and Leila had … well, not. But it was more than that. Leila liked Liam, liked him quite a bit in fact, but she wasn’t falling in love with him the way she should be.

So then why am I still here?

A sudden, sharp knock on the door startled Leila and she dropped the hairbrush to the wood floor with a clatter. Smooth.

“Come in,” Leila called as she bent down to pick up the brush. The door swung open and Maxwell entered.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “I thought I heard something fall over.”

Leila held up the brush.

“You just surprised me is all,” she said. He grinned at her and Leila felt a flutter in her chest.

That’s why.

“Are you getting ready to go to bed?” he asked, eyeing her tank top and pajama pants. She shrugged.

“Not necessarily. Why, what’s up?”

“Well,” Maxwell said, “Bertrand suggested I teach you the Cordonian waltz. If you’re up for it,” he added quickly.

“Suggested?”

“Okay, he insisted,” Maxwell admitted.

“That sounds more like it,” Leila said. “Can’t risk bringing shame upon the House of Beaumont on the dance floor.”

“Trust me, I think I’ve already beat you to it,” Maxwell said. “So, since I’m here … are you up for it?”

“Sure,” Lelia said. “After all, we can’t risk further disappointing Bertrand.”

Maxwell laughed.

“Hey, should I change what I’m wearing?”

“No, you look beautiful,” Maxwell said as he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “Besides, it’ll probably be easier to learn the steps like this rather than when you’re in a full gown.”

You look beautiful. Leila felt her pulse quicken as she stood up. Maxwell tapped his phone a couple more times and then a delicate tune began to play. He set the phone down on the vanity table and held out his hand to her. Leila took it and Maxwell placed a hand on her waist. She stiffened slightly under his touch, surprised. He grinned.

“I know I’m not Liam, but we have to get close for this dance,” he said.

“No, it’s not …” Leila started to say, but then changed her mind. “Okay, so what do I do first?”

Maxwell wrapped his arm a little tighter around her waist and pulled her a little closer. Leila put her free hand on his shoulder and Maxwell smiled at her, briefly squeezing her hand.

“Okay. To start, you need to know that the Cordonian waltz, while really elegant, is kind of like a game of cat and mouse. When I advance, you retreat. When I retreat, you advance. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Leila said, glancing down at her feet. “Which foot do I use?”

“Think of me as a mirror,” Maxwell said. “Follow me like a reflection. You and I need to be in synch with each other.”

Leila felt her stomach turn over at his words. They were in synch … or, at least, she thought they were. Things always felt so easy between them, so natural. But they weren’t supposed to; she was supposed to be falling for Liam. And yet here she was, standing so close to Maxwell, feeling both terrified and like she never wanted to let go.

Maxwell led her through the dance, slowly at first, his strong arms guiding her. As they danced, Leila eventually stepped on his feet less and less until they were gliding across the floor together. Even in her old pajamas, Maxwell made her feel so elegant and graceful.

“You’re really getting the hang of it,” he said as he spun her neatly under his arm before catching her around her waist again.

“I have an excellent teacher,” Leila said. She glanced up at him and caught him staring at her. “What?”

Maxwell opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to change his mind. He let go of her and took a step backwards.

“I should go,” Maxwell said, fishing his headphones out of his pocket. “I’ve kept you up late enough as it is.”

“Oh. Okay.” Leila felt disappointed; she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She watched as he swiped his phone screen and plugged in the headphones. He was just about to put in the first earbud when she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “What are you listening to?”

“This Irish rocker I recently heard about.” His hand stopped just shy of his ear. “It’s not really my usual kind of music, but I really like him.”

“What’s your favorite song by him?” Leila asked. Something inside her felt desperate to continue this conversation. She felt like she was pestering him with a very boring, very inane game of 20 Questions, but she just couldn’t let him go, not yet.

Maxwell unplugged the headphones and tapped the screen again. A bluesy, electric guitar floated out of the phone, which  he set back down on the vanity.

“I like it,” Leila said. This time, she wasn’t just trying to fill the space between them to keep him from leaving–she really did like it. Maxwell studied her for a moment before he held out his hand. Leila took it and Maxwell stepped closer, replacing his arm around her waist. Leila could feel her heart pounding in her ears as he led in a dance, slower than before. This time, she didn’t worry about counting her steps and instead just let herself go into the music, following his lead. Leila closed what little space was between them, pressing her body against his. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he bent his head by hers, resting his cheek against her temple. She could feel the warm exhale of his breath over her hair and tip of her ear. Leila knew her hands were starting to shake and she tightened her hold on his hand.

Do it. 

With trembling lips, she turned her head until her face was looking into his. Maxwell’s eyes were close and Leila saw them flick down to her lips before catching her gaze again. She moved her mouth a fraction of an inch closer to his and he did the same. The breath she’d felt on her hair was now mingling with her own, the air between them hot and anticipatory. Their lips were almost touching now. Leila’s senses were in overdrive, all too aware of Maxwell’s arm around her waist, the sound of his breathing, the subtle, clean scent of his cologne.

The song ended and, abruptly, a fast paced EDM song blared out of Maxwell’s phone. They sprang apart, startled.

“Shuffle,” Maxwell mumbled as he quickly walked towards the vanity and grabbed his phone, killing the music. “Okay, I think you’ve gotten the hang of the waltz,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes. “You’ll be great tomorrow. I should let you go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Leila nodded, unable to think of anything to say. The whole situation felt so surreal and the sudden shift was disorienting. Maxwell turned and headed for the door.

“Goodnight,” she said lamely just as he’d started to close the door behind him. He finally looked up and met her gaze again. Once more, he opened his mouth to say something but then changed his mind.

“Goodnight,” he echoed. Then he left, closing the door gently behind him. Leila sat down at her vanity, still staring at her bedroom door.

---

The next day, as Leila entered the ballroom with the Beaumonts, Maxwell quickly excused himself and immediately headed towards a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses. Leila felt frustrated; she’d been anxious to talk to him about what had happened–or rather, almost happened–the night before, but he seemed to be avoiding her.

“Good god, you’d think he could wait five minutes before he started in on the drinks,” Bertrand said, annoyed.

“Hey, it’s a party, right?” Leila said lightly, forcing a smile onto her face. “Besides, he’s not the one who has to impress everyone by dancing the Cordonian waltz.”

“Oh, god, that’s right,” Bertrand muttered. “Please try not to embarrass the House of Beaumont.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Leila said. “Maxwell’s a good teacher.”

“Maxwell?” Bertrand asked, surprise overtaking the sourness of his voice.

“Yeah, he taught me the waltz,” Leila said, confused.

“Bertrand suggested I teach you the Cordonian waltz.”
“Suggested?”
“Okay, he insisted.”

“Well, how about that,” Bertrand said almost approvingly. “Maxwell took some initiative for once. Nice to see he’s finally taking this social season seriously.”

Leila nodded, her mind awash in thoughts of the previous night. She watched Maxwell down his first glass of champagne and take a second before he made his way across the ballroom, disappearing into the crowd. Maybe they were more in sync than she’d thought.

 

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