Later, when the light faded to blue and the rain thickened its song, he tugged me toward the courtyard with a look that said trust me. The stones were slick and black; the fountain overflowed in silver ropes.

“You’re not actually—” I began.

He twirled me under his arm, rain threading our hair. “I am.”

He danced like he did everything: shamelessly. I forgot the cold because he made forgetting easy. We laughed, slid, collided, and then the laughter broke into breath. He caught ...