I showed up the next morning outside Dreamstyle Dance with my bag over my shoulder. It was still dark, the sun hadn't even risen yet, but I'd gone to bed early the night before, and felt physically ready at least for the day. I hadn't packed much for the trip, just an extra change of underwear, some clothes to relax in, and my toiletries. We were going down for the competition, nothing more. Especially with the way things went yesterday.

It wasn't that she had yelled at me, I'd dealt with that all my life. But being called a dumbass by a woman I was interested in ticked me off. After I told her we all had pasts and that I didn't care about her past, and meant it? It cut me to the bone, and I felt all my plans, of maybe even having a little romance mixed in with our dancing, evaporate.

"Good morning," Carmen greeted me, a little shyly as I pulled up. She borrowed Adriana Neiman's BMW I saw, as we'd planned. "Listen, Dante . . ."

“Let’s get on the road first?” I replied, opening the back and putting my bag inside. I saw that Carmen had already hung all five of the garment bags that we were taking, three for her dresses and two for my outfits. "Let's just get going, it's a long way to Vegas."

"O–okay," Carmen said, going around. "Do you still want to drive first?"

I looked over and saw that she was trying to be nice, and I relented. "Sure. I'm sorry that I walked out yesterday. I was exhausted and I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

"I'm sorry too," Carmen said, trying to say more, but then shaking her head. "Come on. We can grab some breakfast on the road. My treat?"

“I could eat,” I said, getting into the driver's seat. I had to admit, the BMW was a nice car. Sure, it wasn't Italian, but still, it was a nice car.

For most of the first hour, until the sun rose over the horizon and the day fully broke, we were almost totally silent, and I glanced over more than once to see if Carmen was awake or if she'd gone back to sleep. She stayed awake though, headphones in her ears as she listened undoubtedly to our program music. “You want to put it on the sound system?"

Carmen pulled the bud out of her ear, glancing over. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you wanted to just put the music on the sound system," I repeated. "We can both listen to it then."

"You sure?" she asked. “Listening to hours of nothing but two songs is tiresome."

"We can listen a little, then switch it over to something else. I noticed this car has Sirius, they've got to have something else we can listen to. Also, when do you want to get some food?"

"A half hour or so?" Carmen replied. "Then we can take a break on the music too."

"Fine," I answered, putting the BMW into cruise control. The miles rolled by as I listened to instrumental versions of first Dean Martin, then Tito Puente and Celia Cruz as they took over the car. It was actually helpful, as it allowed me to focus on something besides Carmen and I thought instead about the steps of our dances, running the turns, lifts, and moves through my head.

It was actually about forty-five minutes before I saw the off-ramp, and we pulled off to top off the gas tank and to grab some drive through. We were planning on going straight through, with us taking time to stretch and get our circulation back only when we filled the gas tank or had to use the bathroom. I just have to make sure that Adriana's car was fully cleaned out before returning it to her.

"Thanks," Carmen said when I handed her the egg sandwich. "You know, these things bring back memories for me."

“An egg sandwich brings back memories?” I asked.

"Growing up, after my dad left, things were tight even after my mom and I moved up here to Seattle. But the few times that we went on road trips, Mom always insisted that she and I get these sandwiches. My grandmother had an egg allergy, so it was kind of like our way to indulge without making her feel bad. At my last dance tryout, we ate these things going all the way down."

"What was the tryout?" Her words were working their way through my anger, and I could feel myself forgetting all about it.

"I was thirteen, and the American Ballet Company was holding a workshop down in Portland. The ABC is one of the biggest in the US, by the way, and they announced they were holding open tryouts for anyone who attended the workshop. So my Mom, she signed me up. I didn't know it at the time, but she worked double shifts for a week to pay for the trip and the workshop, and the whole way down, her and I ate these."

"I guess the workshop wasn't a success?" I asked. "What happened?"

"My hips aren't quite right, they said," Carmen said without rancor. "I don't have enough turnout to make it. I was of course shattered at the time, but I moved on. It allowed me to move on from just ballet at least, and I started to pick up other forms of dance."

"Do you still do it, though? I mean, with those slippers and everything?"

Carmen chuckled and nodded. “Rarely . . . it’s been a while. It'd take me a while to get back into it. Do you mind if I turn the radio back on?"

"Sure, go for it. You get choice on songs first," I said.

Carmen leaned forward and started messing with the touch screen on the stereo system, humming to herself as she saw the options. "Here we go."

The song cut in, and I had to smirk. "Eminem?"

"Hey, he's worth listening to for a few miles."

"All right," I said, relaxing as Eminem and Rhianna sang about the monsters in their head before Em broke off into songs about everything from him being a rap god to how he wasn't afraid. I shut it off though when the song changed to one about him regretting his life and how he had raised his daughter. "Sorry, too much in the feels for me there. Think you can find something different?"

"Sure," Carmen said. "By the way, when do you want to switch?"

"I can make it to noon," I said. "We should need gas by then anyway."

We continued through the rest of Washington and into Idaho, and for the rest of the drive, I felt like things were okay. We switched places right around Boise, grabbing just light drinks for the next few hours.

We ended up getting to Vegas just around midnight.

"I'm glad the competition check-in isn't until noon tomorrow," Carmen said as she stretched, getting out of the BMW. She'd driven almost all of the last stretch, although I'd made sure I was driving the last hour or so into town. I was used to late nights, Carmen wasn't. "It'll be good to get a full night's sleep."

"Just remember that we can't eat heavy in the morning," I warned her. "I don’t want either of us to be throwing up on the other in the middle of the compulsory round."

Carmen laughed, looking over at me. "You know, this wasn't as bad as I feared. After yesterday, I thought you'd spend eighteen hours pissed off at me."

I nodded. "We'll do fine tomorrow. Come on, let's check in."

* * *

The competition was over two days, with the first round taking place the following afternoon. Arriving at the competition site, the JW Marriot Convention Center, I marveled at the setup. "I expected more of an elegant feel."

"What's it look like to you?" Carmen asked curiously.

"Huge central competition area surrounded by stands. We're going to be a spectacle."

"That takes a lot of mental strength," Carmen said, looking out on the floor as a few other couples were already warming up. "It's a lot different than what we've been doing, and something we couldn't prepare for."

I tensed, and nodded. "I can handle it."

The fact was, as I changed into my first outfit, the tailed tux with a white shirt, purple bow tie, cummerbund, and pocket square to coordinate with Carmen's outfit, I wasn't so confident about this dance thing. Sure, I'd conquered a lot of my inner demons, and had shown to the Bertolis that I was a worthwhile operator. On top of that, I’m in the best shape of my life. But performing in front of audiences never was my forte. I preferred to be in the shadows, which makes my newest promotion all the better.

Coming out to the waiting area, where we were supposed to hang out until we were called to warm up, I took deep breaths, trying whatever tricks I could to calm my nerves. Carmen saw me, and came over. "Listen," she whispered, pulling me down until our foreheads touched. “Just remember that out there, the lights above are going to be so bright, and the lights outside the dance floor so dark, you won't be able to even see anyone. Just dance. We've got this.”

She gave me a smile, and I nodded. “We got it.”

She reached for my hand, but before our fingers made contact, the competition staff came over. “Warm ups."

We made our way onto the dance floor, and I was glad to see that Carmen was right. Other than the judges on the four corners of the floor, I couldn't see much beyond the floor. "All right, ready? Remember, transition number three."

We went through our warm ups, listening to the music once while we didn't so much as run through the routine as we talked each other through it.

"Couples, please leave the dance floor. Couple number seventeen, up next."

Carmen and I were couple nineteen, each flight being eight couples, and I watched as the first two pairs in front of us went through the compulsory dance. It was strange in certain ways to watch, as the women were so fixed with their expressions, the men so mechanical in the way they moved. "Do we look that way out there?”

"God, I hope not," Carmen said beside me. “I think what makes us a good couple is that we don't look like wind up dolls out there. Come on, we're next. Let's buck the trend."

Her words confused me, and I was a little distracted as we walked out, bowing the way we had practiced, Carmen taking my hand in the proper grip. I turned to her, looking down into her face as she smiled. It was different than the mechanical, artificial smile of the other couples, and I felt good as we got through the first two transitions. I was even good for the third, and we really started into it, feeling it as we went through the troublesome middle fourth and fifth, until as the last of the saxophones cut off, Carmen was in a perfect backward bend, my right arm under her torso, the left cocked back in the air just as I was supposed to. She was grinning, not just smiling. "Wow."

I smiled, slightly out of breath. Carmen was beautiful, and so close, I wanted to lean in and plant one on her, but I couldn't. Bringing her back up, we bowed again and left the competition area to see how our scores held up. "So how long do we have to wait?"

"They'll post them on the monitor as soon as the judges turn them in," Carmen said. "Just hope we make the top twenty?"

"Huh?" I asked, surprised. "Why?"

"Weren't you listening to the rules?”

I shook my head. "No, I didn't."

"The competition got so many entrants, they turned this into a knockout round competition. Only the top twenty pairs go on to the wildcard round, and then the top ten from there move on to the showcase. So there's going to be about ninety couples that wasted a lot of time and money on costumes that they're never going to wear."

"We'll make it," I said, taking her hand. "You did amazing. I felt like I barely had to do anything."

“Pssh, you did your thing and lead well.” I turned to her, and she tugged on my hand and pointed. "There, see?"

I looked at the screen, and saw the scores come up. The competition was being judged on a one-hundred-point max system, with each judge being able to give twenty-five points maximum. I blinked as the number ninety-seven popped up, and I had to re-read our names next to it twice to make sure it was for us. "Ninety-seven?"

"That's ten points higher than any of the other couples so far!" Carmen said, squealing. "We did it!"

I hugged her, then realized what she’d said. “What do you mean? There’s a lot more couples to go.”

“Please. There’s no way twenty other couples are going to beat a ninety-seven.” She was excited, and continued “First you get promoted, now we’re pretty much a lock to move on to the next round. All those assholes who didn’t believe in you can eat their heart out.”

“How do you know about that?”

"Well, I know about your father, and how people thought you might be a rat . . .”

"You don’t know shit!” I hissed, looking around to make sure nobody overheard us. "Look, I'll be ready in the morning for the next dance. Text me if we make the cutoff."

I walked away, ignoring her calling my name, and headed out of the convention center. I went back to the men's locker room and changed, my fingers trembling with rage that I'd been betrayed, not only by Carmen but by the Bertolis as well. What right did they have to tell her about my father? What right did they have to spread those same viscous, nasty lies that had dogged me for over half my fucking life?

Thankfully, Carmen and I were staying at the Marriott, and I took my bag up to my room, dropping it off and leaving well before Carmen could have gotten back. I was pissed, and didn’t want to say something I shouldn’t. Leaving the room, I headed to the casino, hoping to find something that I could do to let my mind wander.

I was walking by the blackjack tables when I saw them, two men who didn't look all that friendly. I was unarmed, and in the middle of the casino, there was little I could do anyway. I stopped, hoping that having a bunch of civilians around would diffuse any potential violence. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Your name Dante Degrassi?" one of them, a suited man who was clearly in the business, said. "My associate here saw your name on the monitors at the convention center, and considering where you're from, we're interested."

I looked at the so-called associate, and wondered how long it had taken the man to sound out my name to ensure he had read it correctly. He didn’t look like the sharpest tool in the shed. "Yeah, I'm Dante Degrassi. Who's asking?"

"Peter Malone," the suit said. "My family owns this casino. Would you care to take a walk?"

"As long as we stay in the public areas, sure," I replied. No way was I going to go into any back hallways with this man. "What's this about?"

"Of course," Malone said, pointing toward the front desk area. When we were far enough from the mass of the casino, but still in public areas, he turned back toward me. "Just so there’s no miscommunication, are you connected to the Bertoli family?"

"If you mean do I know the Bertolis, yes," I said, knowing it was useless to lie. "If you're asking if I'm down here to start some shit, and if the Bertolis sent me, then the answer is no. I'm here on personal business."

"Which is?"

"I think Rat-boy is just here to dance, Mr. Malone," the associate said with a sneer. "Ain't that right?"

"You know a lot about a small-time guy from Seattle," I said. "Any particular reason?"

"In our line of work, it pays to know as much about your friends as it does your enemies," Malone said. He looked at his associate with stern eyes and motions with his head. "Mr. Degrassi and I have some talking to do."

The other man gave me a glare and nodded, turning and walking back toward the casino. "Forgive him. He's a good chunk of muscle, but a bit short on manners. Which, by the way, you seem to be too. You didn’t stop by to pay your respects.”

"My apologies, Mr. Malone," I said. "I didn’t realize that your family controlled this hotel. Like I said, I’m just here on personal business.”

"Oh, the Marriott corporation owns the hotel, but my family controls the management for this location," Malone replied. He paused and looked me in the eye. “So just personal?"

"My word," I said. "If you'd like, we can put a call in to Tomasso Bertoli right now. He’ll vouch for me."

Malone nodded. “I don’t think that’s necessary. You seem like a stand-up guy, nothing like your father."

My hands were trembling by my side. I wanted to punch him right in the fucking face. Instead, I forced a smile and shrugged. "Like I said, Mr. Malone, I'm just here for the competition.”

"Well, give my regards to Don Bertoli when you get back to Seattle. If you’re into golf, look me up before you leave. I can get you a good slot at the TPC next door."

I shook my head, not trusting anything else. "Sorry, not my game. Thank you."

I went back up to my room, closing my door behind me. Replays of Carmen's words and Malone's casual jabs about my father flashed through my head the whole time. About ten minutes later, there was a soft knock, which I ignored until it went away. I was still standing in the middle of the room, my hands clenched so tightly at my sides that when I was finally able to uncurl my fists, four bloody half-moons were in my palms.

* * *

We weren't just in the top twenty. We were in first place. And not by a small margin either, but by six points over the second-place couple, a pair from Pasadena. "You ready?"

"Yeah," I said, which had been my answer to almost everything Carmen had asked me all day. It wasn't the hour. This round was taking place in two flights of ten and would be over in fewer than thirty minutes, including scores, with the showcase starting an hour after that. I just couldn't get my fucking mind right. My dad was a touchy subject with me, and I was filled with anger.

The head judge, some poofty looking dude who had apparently been some big shot movie choreographer whose most famous movie was one of those cult favorites among dancers, dramatically reached into the huge copper drum that had not only the dance styles, but the music imprinted on the tickets inside the little plastic balls. "Ladies and gentlemen, the style for the wildcard round is . . . the Viennese Waltz."

There were groans from some of the couples, and I could understand. It’s a fast dance, and with ten couples competing at a time, the chances for screw ups and collisions was high. "I see you all love the idea. Well, this should raise your spirits. The music for this is the full version of Boyz II Men's classic, I'll Make Love to You."

It was my turn to stifle a groan. I would’ve preferred fucking Johann Strauss. It wasn't that I didn't like the song. Sure, it had been old when I was figuring out just what making love meant besides cutting out Valentine's cards, but it was a good jam for the romantic at heart. However, the way I was feeling that day, the last thing I wanted to do was hold Carmen close and dance a Viennese waltz to a fucking love song. All I felt like doing was punching someone’s lights out. “We can do it, we can do it," I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. "Just dance."

"Dante?" Carmen asked, turning to me. "Are you all right?”

I nodded. "Yeah. Come on, we drew flight two."

There was one advantage to flight two, as I got to listen to the music as first danced, but we had no warm up prior to that. I saw one middle-aged couple, their numbers identifying them as the couple currently in twentieth place and looking like they'd maybe produced a few children to the song, smiling to each other. I could understand them, at least. They were so far out of the top ten that even getting to this round may have been a celebration for them. They were going to dance because they were in love, they were having fun, and they were celebrating.

The four minutes that flight one was dancing, I kept shifting back and forth, unable to make eye contact with Carmen. Finally, I turned to her. "Carmen."

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath. “Sorry about yesterday. My father’s a touchy subject, and I’ve never felt comfortable talking about it."

Carmen blinked, perplexed, then nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry I brought it up. After this, let's talk?"

"Maybe," I said, just as the music wrapped up. We had two minutes to prepare while the judges in attendance scored each couple. The wildcard was based not on the same hundred points as before, but instead on a system like a track meet. The ten couples would be ranked from best to worst in their flight. The top team would get fifty points, on down to the worst team getting ten. So while Carmen and I had a big lead, it wasn't insurmountable, and scores were aggregate, not round by round. "After the dance."

We went out to our indicated spot, Carmen taking my hand. The music started, and I led her into the first step. What I should have been doing was working in tune with Carmen as a team. Instead of me strictly leading, I would use her hand signals as much as she would use mine to guide us around the floor.

That's what should have happened. Instead, I wasn't in time with her, the months of practice dropping away from us until I felt like I was lost. Sure, I was keeping in time to the waltz steps, but I didn't feel fluid, and I certainly didn't feel like the two of us were moving in the spirit of the music. Instead of a man and woman preparing to get it on, I felt like a frustrated junior high schooler who had a stiffy in his pants and didn't know how to deal with it. At the end of the four minutes, I was exhausted, twice having to stop our motion to avoid collisions with other couples. Both times, I should have seen them coming, or read Carmen's hand signals.

"Shit," I muttered to myself when we came off the floor. "I fucked that up."

"It won't be that bad," Carmen said, trying not to sound despondent. I'd fucked it up for her, and we both knew it. "Let's see what the scores are."

Third. Forty points, which when added to our compulsory scores, dropped us to third place. We were lucky the damage wasn't worse, but we were holding onto a podium slot by the skin of our teeth, just one point out of fourth.

"Okay, we survived," Carmen said, putting on a cheerful face. "Come on, it wasn't that bad. We made it so far, and we can nail our showcase. Let's get ready."

I nodded. "All right. I’ll do better.”

"I know you will," Carmen said, stopping. “We've got the whole drive back to Seattle to work out this communication issue between us. Let’s just get through this next hour. I know we can do it."

I nodded, sighing as I headed back to the changing area. The outfit for the showcase was the one I liked least. It was uncomfortable, tight as hell. We were supposed to be going for a Spanish motif, with me being some sort of matador and Carmen being in a dress that riffed off black and red Spanish colors. My jacket was modeled after a matador's short jacket, and while I didn't have the stupid little hat, I still felt strange pulling the nearly skin tight pants on.

"Wow, you're not hiding what you've got," one of the other competitors commented, admiring my pants. "You trying to seduce the judges or something honey?"

I looked at the other man, not enjoying the hunger I saw in his eyes, and shook my head. "Just a costume."

I walked away and found Carmen in the warmup area. "What's wrong now?"

"Just . . . I hate these pants. And I’m pretty sure some guy just hit on me," I said, not able to contain a half-smile despite the fact I still wasn’t in a good mood.

“With those pants, I can believe it.”

I grinned. “All right. Let's go sew up third place."

The announcer called us to the floor, and as I walked out with Carmen, I suddenly saw Peter Malone in the front row of seats, his face bemused as he clapped. My moment of confidence was shaken, and as we took our position, nervousness and anger returned. Carmen and I bowed, and we took our starting position.

The music started, and we started our routine. The mambo was a great choice in hindsight, because Carmen was able to display her beauty to its maximum effect, with the short frilled skirt swirling around her legs, making her seem taller than she was while still keeping enough modesty around her bust to support her and not coming off as slutty. For my part, I was supposed to be portraying the superstar matador, while she was the maiden that was smitten with me. It called for us to be apart for nearly a minute at the start of the song, a risky maneuver as we had to be in perfect synchronization while not touching at all, and even sometimes not facing each other.

At the end of the minute, I turned to face her, supposedly the point in the performance where the matador sees the maiden for the first time, and cursed myself as I'd missed my cue. Carmen was already facing me, and in our practices she was supposed to be facing away. I was slow, and I stepped up my steps, crossing the distance between us a half beat faster than normal, taking her hand and launching into the close in portion. As I danced, I felt part of our unity reforming itself, and I only prayed that it was enough in enough time to salvage my mistake.

The last of Tito Puente's horns faded away, Carmen and I held close together, and I let her go, feeling hopeful. The last three quarters of the dance had gone well, and maybe my mistake wouldn't be noticed. "It's in the judges' hands now," Carmen said, giving me a smile. "I think we did enough."

We sat down and waited with bated breath as the fourth place couple, a brother and sister team from Salt Lake City took the floor again. They were the last couple to dance, and the only drama left in the whole competition. The first and second place teams had nailed their routines, their scores sewing up spots to the nationals easily. Everything came down to the SLC twins. If they nailed a perfect routine, they'd jump up to second. If they did good, they could beat us. If they screwed up, Carmen and I were heading to New York.

I barely breathed for the entire four minutes and ten seconds of their performance, but I could tell by Carmen's body language she was worried. They were good, really good, and when they hit a dance lift that I'd never even thought possible, I knew what was going to happen. "That's it," I said, leaning back. "They got it."

Carmen nodded, tears in her eyes as we watched them finish, walking off the floor and sitting down, waiting for their scores. They hadn't been perfect, but their score was just enough, bumping Carmen and I down to fourth, and knocking us out of the national competition.

I looked at Carmen, who was crying openly. "There'll be others," she said, trying to put on a brave face. "Maybe we can try again next year."

"Yeah," I said, patting her knee. “Next year."