Free Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) by DeAnna Cameron Page B

beam when it was finished, but all Melanie could think about was the fun her friends were having without her. She would rather have gone to the mall, to the park, or anywhere really. But no, she was stuck in that house with a sponge or a mop in her hand.
    There was one silver lining when Dad had left and Mom moved them into the trailer: there was less to clean. But even that silver lining lost its appeal pretty quickly when her mom’s cleaning routine dropped from obsessive to nil.
    Still, Melanie appreciated the low maintenance and minimal effort that went into small spaces. Or maybe she’d just gotten used to them. Maybe that’s why she gravitated to the dance room. It wasn’t as grand as the rest of the house. It was simple, and it was cozy.
    “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here,” she said.
    He shook his head. “Not at all. No one has used it since my mom passed away.”
    “Is that her?” Melanie pointed to a trio of black-and-white photos of a belly dancer, the only artwork in the room.
    “That’s my grandmother,” he said. “Those pictures were taken in Cairo in 1946 or ’47. That’s Badia Masabni’s nightclub. It’s where my grandfather met my grandmother.”
    Melanie gazed at the image with renewed interest. “Your grandmother danced in Badia Masabni’s company? Did she know Samia Gamal?”
    He pulled back in surprise. “You know who Samia Gamal is?”
    “Of course,” she said. “She’s practically my hero. I used to copy her choreography and her costumes when I first started performing. I had an exact replica made of the costume she wore in Afrita Hanem . All flowing chiffon and sequins.”
    “What changed?”
    “People kept thinking I was impersonating I Dream of Jeannie , so I stopped and moved on.”
    He shook his head. “Not many people know about the old days. Not even many dancers.”
    “Their loss,” she said. “New isn’t always better. Hey, who’s this?” She pointed to another photograph. It had worn into rust tones, like it was from the 1970s or earlier.
    “That’s my mom. It was taken in New York, when she used to dance with my father’s orchestra. It was ’65, I think.”
    “She’s gorgeous, too.” She recognized the high cheekbones. Taz had inherited them, and her wide, expressive eyes.
    “Yeah, and she was a pretty terrific dancer. She trained a lot of the dancers who became famous in the 1970s, but she gave up dancing almost entirely when she had my sister and I. She was just starting to teach again when…”
    He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Melanie knew. The airliner crash that had taken his parents’ lives was well known in belly dance circles. It had catapulted their already considerable fame into legend.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    He smiled, but she could see the pain in his eyes. “She never said she regretted giving up her career, but I know she made time to dance every day of her life. When she was here or when she was in New York. Even if she was in a hotel, she would sneak downstairs and find an empty ballroom or open conference room, and she would dance to nothing but the memory of music. I think dancing was as important to her as breathing. It was who she was.”
    “She must have been a very special lady,” she said, touching his arm, trying to draw him back from the past. “If I had a room like this, I wouldn’t stop dancing either.” She stepped into the center of the room and twirled, as if that proved her point.
    A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nice to see someone using the space again. It’s been a long time.”
    “I can honestly say it is my pleasure.” She twirled again.
    “You’re really good, you know.”
    She stopped twirling. “Really?” she asked hopefully. She blushed, embarrassed. With thick sarcasm, she added, “You aren’t getting all sweet on me now, are you?”
    She wanted to sink into a black hole and never come out. Why had she said that?
    But now he was