Author's Note: And, at long last, here's the follow-up piece! This is set six years after the series (three years after Don't Wait for Me), when Nadja is 19 and Keith is 22. With that said, enjoy!
Don't Dance with Me
It was Christmas day.
Keith stood listening to the music. It was a bright tune, one he would have normally liked. It was based on a hymn, as he recalled. It was beautiful, delicate, and there was a subtlety to it that he loved. In his mind, subtlety made the shadow; the shadow determined the quality.
But he hated it. He despised this tune above all others. So he had come out onto the balcony with a drink in an attempt to escape it. It was a favorite among this family, he knew. It always played at their balls. But he could not stand it. He would have loved it, if not for one little reason. As it was, he did his best to escape it.
He closed his eyes. How long had it been? Six years, he believed. So why couldn't he just let go? He wasn't going to be able to escape the tune unless he left the ball. He couldn't leave the ball. He hated the tune, but he loved her more. And she had asked him to stay, so he would. But he could not resist a feeble attempt to escape the tune. Even on the balcony, it flowed into his ears. He probably could descend the steps into the gardens, but he had seen a number of people go on moonlit walks.
He snorted. He knew the ways of the world. Nobles acted decent, but the moment they were in shadow, they were worse than anyone. He was ready to bet that that well-dressed young man and young lady that pretended to be lovers on a romantic stroll weren't lovers at all, but partners plotting something. And then there was the woman who had walked off with her husband's brother on a supposedly innocent walk. But he knew that look in the man's eyes as he looked at the woman, and the woman's eyes shared that look. They were probably in the shadow of a thicket somewhere, doing something even more indecent.
No, he wasn't about to enter the gardens when he had already judged over half of the ten or so couples out there to be frauds doing something else. Heaven forbid he should step into the middle of a secret scheme or forbidden tryst. He was better off torturing himself with this tune.
The tune just went on. No matter how he tried to tear his mind away from it, it just kept coming back. In fact, the harder he tried, the worse it became. No doubt they were dancing together. No doubt the smiles on their faces were exactly the same as those smiles six years ago.
Why was he still here? Nadja had chosen Francis. She'd chosen him six years ago at that ball at the House of Harcourt, dancing to this very tune. What right did he have to go barging into that, even if Francis had said afterwards that she actually loved him—Keith? Francis was wrong. He never had been very sharp when it came to human emotion anyway. Nadja would choose him to the end. She was the sun; Francis was the light; and Keith…he was the shadow. The shadow never bathed in the warm glory of the sun. The shadow never felt the sun. The sun never saw the shadow.
But the shadow could see the sun. And it tortured him. He would watch over her, most possibly for the rest of his life. But she would never see him.
The tune went on behind him. He wished that it would stop. It reminded him of the day when she had chosen him—they had not even needed words, so well did their hearts connect.
But still, six years later, she was only stronger in Keith's heart than before. Why?
He had always known that he wasn't for her. He had almost had her at one point. But he had blown that chance; had left her on the pretense of needing to do something useful, thinking that it could teach him to live away from her—so that his heart would not break when she finally chose Francis for good. Because he had known that she would, at one point or another. Francis could keep her love and affection for life. But he was just a thief and rebel. The forbidden always had a sort of charm to it. Back when he had made the decision to go to Africa, he had known that she had been on the verge of choosing him; but he had also known that in the end, she would always go back to Francis. So he had wanted to escape gaining her only to lose her again.
But it hadn't worked. He had returned within a year, for he simply couldn't stand to be so far away from her. Maybe he would one day return to Africa, but not until…well, he didn't really know. When the raging desire to be by her side died down, he supposed. Not that it felt as though it would die at any time soon, but all fires had to die at some point, right?
So now he watched over her. If she asked him for something, he did it, no matter how he felt about the matter.
"Keith?"
His eyes widened in surprise. Nadja? But the waltz-
No. The tune had ended. He snorted to himself. Had he been too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice? That would definitely need improvement.
"Yes, Nadja?" he replied calmly as he turned around. All self-pity and sadness flew out the window at the sight of her face. It didn't matter that she was Francis's, because she hadn't chosen him yet. And even when she did, she was the sun. Seeing her was enough to feel the gentle warmth of her rays.
"Do you want to dance?"
This threw him completely off guard. He stared at her.
She had invited him to the Preminger Christmas Ball every year for the past five years—the one day every year when she ceased to be a dancing girl and became a noble lady with the family of her birth. But never had she asked him to dance in all these years.
He bowed his consent and offered her his hand.
He danced with her, reveling in the heavenly feeling. She was nineteen now. No doubt Francis would be asking for her hand in marriage soon—then he would be out of the picture. He would never dance like this with her again.
"Why do you come every year?"
He blinked, startled by her words.
"Because you invite me, of course."
"But you'd rather not be here." What? How did she know that? "You're always out on the balcony, and you won't dance with anyone." Ah. "So why do you come if you'd rather not?"
"I'm dancing with you now, aren't I?" He tried to evade the question, futile though he knew it was.
"But you wouldn't have if I hadn't asked you."
No. I wouldn't have. Because if the shadow touched the sun, it would be burned. The shadow can only gaze upon the sun in longing from afar.
"It's unorthodox for the lady to ask the gentleman, you know," he teased, concealing his gloom.
"Well, after six years of waiting for you to ask, I figured I might as well just ask you myself or be left waiting until I'm ninety." Her voice was huffy and annoyed, but her words distracted him. He almost stopped, but forced his feet to move on.
"You're always dancing with Francis," he pointed out to her. She gave him a withering look.
"And Antonio, Leonardo, Harvey, Kennosuke, TJ, Oliver, Christian, Leader, Arvell, Thomas…" The list went on, but he stopped listening.
Yes. She danced with every man she knew at least once. But she always danced with Francis more than the rest. So he pointed that out.
Nadja stared at him as though she couldn't understand him for a moment, then comprehension dawned on her face. It unsettled him. What was she realizing?
"Francis is my best friend." Her voice was sharp, and it made him stop. Or perhaps she stopped. It was rather hard to tell at that point. All Nadja knew was her frustration; all Keith knew was that she was glaring at him in a way that he had never seen her glare at anyone before—not even at her grandfather, and that man had received quite the death glare.
"But this is all your own fault, you know. If you hadn't played 'Mysterious Knight in Shining Armor' that first night, the confusion would never have occurred in the first place! You didn't even have to tell me that you were the Black Rose, just that your name was Keith Harcourt! No—you could have even left out the Harcourt part and just told me that your name was 'Keith'! Do you have any idea how many problems that could have prevented?"
He opened his mouth to protest that he couldn't possibly just go around giving out his name when it suited him to be presumed dead. But Nadja went on. Her hands were now on her hips, and Keith was pretty sure that she was trying to the best of her ability to slaughter him a thousand times over with her glare.
"But you didn't! And even after you learned that I knew Francis, you didn't straighten things out. No, instead you pretended to be Francis, and tried to confuse me even further! And as if that weren't enough, you courted me until sixteen, then suddenly went away. And just when I'm thinking that you'd changed your mind, you come back and start taking to watching my balcony like some sort of stalker!" Now, really, how did Nadja notice all these things? "But you won't have a thing to do with me, and you won't even ask me to dance! What are you trying to do? Murder me? Because you certainly could make me die a few times over of heart attacks! Don't you have any sensitivity at all?!"
Now, that was just plain rude. No sensitivity? Who is she to tell me that?
"And you can say that?" Keith growled. Her eyes narrowed further.
"Yes, I can."
"Well then, let me tell you all about what you've done! You spend all your time with Francis, and make no move in my direction-"
"No move in your direction! I've tried to talk to you numerous times when I sense you watching me from my balcony, but every time I go out, you just run away!"
"Well, how was I supposed to know that you knew I was there?"
"Why were you trying to hide at all?"
"I'd rather not get whacked over the head and called a stalker, thank you very much!"
"I wouldn't have!"
"You just did!"
But suddenly, the meaning of her words—past the accusations—sank into Keith's mind. He froze.
She was yelling something at him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. All he knew was that she had chosen him. All along, she had already chosen and been waiting patiently for him to come around. For these six years, the whole time. Only, he had read the signs wrong and seen her choosing Francis.
Yes, it was definitely not a good idea to let jealousy rule your life. He really would have to do something about that. But first…
A waltz was flowing out onto the balcony.
"…and you never bother to unmask yourself! Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Are you still courting me or not? Just make that clear so that I can go on with my life without the confusion that you've kept me in for six years! Six years, Keith! I don't know what you're trying to do, but all you've managed to do is-"
Her words broke off in surprise when she could only stare down at him. He looked up at her with serious eyes. There were vehement flames in her eyes, but they faded as she stared. He was on one knee, his right hand held out to her.
"I apologize for the delay, Fraulein." He spoke in a quiet voice that did not bother to mask all his relief, elation, joy, regret, ignominy, and everything else he was feeling at the moment. "Will you dance my waltz with me?"
She blinked, catching the stress on the 'my'. Tears filled her eyes. She knew what he meant. She remembered their conversation from long ago as well.
"Yes." Her voice was trembling with the tears that she refused to let leave her eyes, but it held a sure, unwavering undertone—never had she doubted that she would choose him.
I really am a fool. How could I have failed to realize?
She took his hand, and he smiled. He stood and pulled her to him, and they began to waltz. They danced much closer than propriety generally allowed and he buried his face in her hair. If her grandfather could have seen, he would have been livid at the way that they were defying the rules of society, but it didn't matter. They were alone on the balcony, outside of the ballroom where those rules prevailed, and they shared the same view of nobility and society anyway: all rules of noble society be damned.
"It's odd, isn't it, Keith?"
"What is?"
"The way that people are so picky. Even if I dance well, if it's a dance that they've seen a lot, they aren't interested. But they also don't like it if it's too slow or too boring or too fast…"
"Everyone has their own preferences of everything, Nadja. Be it dancing or stories or songs or anything else. There isn't a single thing in the world that everyone will like."
"I know," she huffed with a stomp. "But I think that every dance is beautiful and shouldn't be slighted. Each dance is like a lifetime, you know."
Keith stared at her, uncomprehending.
"When I dance a dance, I'm nervous in the beginning. Sometimes it's hard to start up. But then once the dance takes over inside me, I'm completely consumed by the dance. I stumble sometimes, but I usually pick up again. I didn't manage to pick up again once, and that was horrible… But at the end of a dance where I've danced with all I have, I'm disappointed that it's ending, but I have this feeling of completion inside me, like I've come to the end of something that was worthwhile. It's like a lifetime, don't you think?"
Keith chuckled.
"So you think every lifetime is beautiful?"
"Of course! It's just that some people look at the wrong things. They say, it's too fast, it's too exciting. But a fast and exciting dance leaves me with a feeling of exhilaration at the end, because it's that much harder to manage the moves with beauty and grace when you're moving so fast, and so I feel like I've accomplished that much more when I'm done. And then people say, it's too slow, it's too boring. But no dance is boring. Slow movements take lots of concentration, because they're really hard to keep even and steady. It's really easy to stumble in a slow dance, and if you do, it's nearly impossible to cover up. But slow dances have difficult steps that are just as hard as those in fast dancing. Spinning faster and faster is amazing, but so is spinning slowly. It's much harder to complete a slow, steady turn without stumbling, did you know? So a slow dance leaves me exhausted and tired at the end, but I know that I've done something for myself, even if the audience didn't appreciate it as much as a fast dance."
Keith stared at Nadja. Then he suddenly smiled.
"Then my favorite dance is the waltz."
Nadja looked at him questioningly.
"In a waltz, you always move in time with your partner," Keith explained with a fond smile to the fifteen-year-old beside him. "Always together, always in time, always slow and steady without any hurry, and if one stumbles, the other keeps the movements going so that they don't both fall. It would be nice to live a lifetime in harmony with someone like that, wouldn't it?"
Nadja smiled brightly in agreement.
Author's Notes: And this is completed. At long last. Keith and Nadja together, and a nice, complete, uncomplicated ending. I know I said I'd make Don't Look for Me the sequel, but after a while I decided I just couldn't do it. It was too complicated and too tragic what I wanted to do to them, and the ending wouldn't have (couldn't have, actually) been happy, anyway.
Now, just as a gift to those of you who've bothered to read this, the next chapter is a random extra that I wrote. It's pointless and has nothing to do with anything, but I had fun writing it, so…