Cursed-epub Read Free Page B

Please, dance for his glory. Leave the other two until you are married.”
    She took Carmella's hand in her own and gave her a heartbreaking smile. “I fear I can no longer move like I used to. When I was a young girl I celebrated Bes's glory and asked for his blessings by dancing with my mother. Just like we used to dance together when you were a little girl.”
    Looking down at their joined hands, Carmella marveled at how similar they were. Her skin held more of a golden hue than her mother's dark tan, but the graceful shape of their bone structure was the same. She was a lighter reflection of her mother's dark beauty. The worry in her mother’s eyes made her sigh.
    “I'll take him with me, Mama, but I won’t dance for him. I can’t. Not anymore. It hurts too much,” Carmella whispered softly as she shifted the heavy weight of the stone to her hip.
    “I understand, but remember that the only thing your father loved more than dancing was watching you dance.” Her mother sighed and pulled back. “Carmella, I worry about you alone in that big city. Please don't forget we still have friends there. I'm glad Miguel gave you a job as a teacher at the school to earn enough money for college. He's lucky to have you. You're a wonderful dancer, and I just know you'll be the Rainha da Bateria this year.”
    Carmella froze the smile on her face. “Yes, Miguel was very kind. I have to go now, Mama. I love you.” It would break her mother's heart if she knew Miguel refused to allow her to teach, only allowing her to do the most menial of tasks.
    “I am so proud of you and your father—” She cleared her throat. “Your father would be proud as well. You are my blessing.”
     
    ****
     
    Carmella sat at the back of the old dance studio, wrapping thin bandages around her fingers. This provided extra protection from the sewing needle, but made the task of holding the tiny glass beads difficult. Her workspace was shoved into the far corner of an old practice room with warped floors that needed replacing, sharing space with props, musical instruments, and cleaning supplies. Racks of bright and sparkly costumes sectioned off the space, giving her enough room to set up a small workbench with her sewing machines and a couple of chairs.
    With quick pulls of the needle and thread, she finished the top of Dianta's outfit. Looking over the rim of her clunky black-framed glasses, she admired her work. A sheer tan fabric with hidden cups, it gave the wearer the illusion of having a bare chest while holding the beadwork in place. Intricate snowflakes, more abstract than actual, glittered over the mesh like ice, covering the breasts enough to hide the nipples but little else. Once she was finished, the snowflakes would follow the curve of the waist, flowing in a glittering line down over one hip to meet the bikini bottom.
    “Knock knock,” said a sensual male voice from the doorway. A moment later Tian poked his head through a rack of costumes, his thick, black hair falling across his forehead. He had the body of a dancer with lean muscles and long legs combined with a killer smile. He was one of the samba school's most popular teachers, and he could bring enough heat to the dance floor to make mothers cover their children's eyes.
    “Come on in, handsome.” She tied off the bead and bit the string with her teeth. “What brings you to my majestic workspace?”
    Tian looked around the tiny section of the room and let out a snort. “I don't know why you put up with this, my pouco flor . You know you could move to another city and work at any samba school there. If you won’t leave, at least come live with Adam and I. We worry about you living in the ghetto by yourself and wish you would come stay with us.”
    The apartment Tian shared with his husband was barely bigger than hers and packed with a lot more stuff. She appreciated the gesture, but the idea of sharing one bathroom with two men who took longer to get ready than she did