Chapter 8
“You’re not serious.”
Lani laughed over one perfectly undulating shoulder at the horror on Stella’s face. “It’s tradition,” she called over the low pulse of the music.
“How can it be traditional in a country that prides itself on modesty for me to cover myself in oil and dance for a group of strangers?”
Lani chuckled again, the sound echoing up to the high ceiling of the foyer. “Come give it a go and I’ll tell you.”
Stella took a few dubious steps towards the middle of the floor and let Lani’s movements guide her through a simple eight-beat of choreography.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. And again…
Her movements were stilted, awkward compared to the flowing grace of Lani’s arms as she reached into the air, twisting her hands in gentle gestures.
“So,” the other woman began, reaching out to guide Stella’s flailing limbs into softer arches, “the taualuga is the final performance at an Avalian wedding or celebration. It is considered the climax of the evening, and none of the elders will leave until it is performed.”
“Even if it’s performed by a white girl with no sense of rhythm?”
“Especially then. People are going to be looking for a reason to disapprove of you. It’s a solo dance, but often the boys will jump in and dance around the performer, calling out and acting in a humorous way. This emphasises the grace of the female dancer and the balance between the honour and respect of the islands and our fun-loving nature.”
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
“And the oil?”
Lani shrugged. “We put coconut oil on everything we can. Skin, hair, babies. We use it for cooking, for ceremonies, for cleaning. And not just the oil. The coconut water for drinking, the flesh for eating, the fronds for weaving, the wood for building. Trust me, Stella. If you’re going to marry a Pacific Islander, you’re going to need to get comfortable with people rubbing oil on you.”
“Stop encouraging my future wife to let strangers rub her.” Aleki’s voice rumbled with amusement through the foyer.
Stella stumbled for a minute, lowering her arms as discomfort blistered across her skin. The foreign movements, the obscure music, the alien clutch of her heart as she took in Aleki’s nonchalant posture leaning against one of the pillars, all combined in a rising sense of dread that she was hopelessly unprepared for the reality she had signed up for.
What are you thinking? Marrying a man who will rule a country? A man you can’t predict, can’t control?
Aleki’s eyes narrowed on her face as he pushed off the pillar.
“Are you okay, little star?”
Gulping, she nodded faintly, watching his approach. One thick eyebrow quirked mockingly, and he reached down and claimed a fallen hand.
“Stella looks parched, Lani. Could you possibly fetch her a glass of water?” He waited until his assistant had left the foyer area before speaking again.
“You are learning the taualuga?” Another nod. She was like a dashboard dog on a particularly bumpy road. “What an honour. To be able to watch the mother of my child learn the performance of my people.” He raised her hand to the air and disentangled his fingers from hers. “Show me?”
“I’m not good.” Her voice was small, uncertain.
Aleki shrugged, the casual rise and fall of his shoulders at odds with the intensity in his brown eyes. “Practice improves everything. But the spirit of the dance, that comes from here.” He dragged a knuckle down her sternum as her breath caught in her chest, twisting tight under the brush of his finger. “And in here, you are as good as anyone I have ever met.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I once saw you punch a white supremist on the steps of your Parliment, so you’ll have to forgive me if I disagree. Now,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “show me what you’ve got.”
Blushing, both at the instruction and the reminder of one of her more physical altercations with the far right in uni, Stella started moving again, swaying her hips gently as she touched her middle fingers to her thumbs and twirled her wrists in a gauche approximation of Lani’s choreography.
Aleki stepped back, a grin powerful enough to light the room spreading across his gorgeous face as he clapped his hands firmly and began to move. Even in tight grey pants and a white shirt, his hips surged beyond the expected restraints of his clothing, rolling and swaying with a natural cadence born of both heritage and habit. He bent his knees, his pelvis swinging lower as he extended his arms towards her as though in worship.
Stella turned in the slow circle she’d seen Lani perform, keeping her arms as graceful as possible as she sifted through her meager range of motions. But her lack of moves didn’t seem to deter Aleki, who swung closer to her as she completed the rotation, gyrating his hips. His dark eyes fastened to hers, and her heart sped up, thrumming against her breastbone in a wild tempo that far surpassed the sedate pace of the music. Adjusting the movement of his hips until they were swaying in sync with hers, back and forth, mirrored figure eight patterns. Threads of arousal stole through Stella, reaching out towards Aleki as though the invisible bonds that kept their hips moving in time could draw him closer to the sudden pulsing space covered by the thin material of her skirt. Lust hazed her vision as his grin shifted, one side hitching higher in an unmistakably dirty smirk. Her nipples tightened, straining against the lace of her bra as he let his gaze wander down her body, each pass of his eyes stroking over her so thoroughly she could imagine the hot press of his hands on her body. Tossing his head back, Aleki let out a cry, the lean column of his throat working as he claimed the air around them with his passion.
“Chee hoo!”
The sheer exuberance of his cheer reverberated through Stella, lifting the last vestiges of her discomfort and tossing them through her like the island's trade winds, until they evaporated entirely. She had done this. Aleki was this happy because of her, dancing like this, their unborn child buried deep in her womb.
The song faded, the last few bars drifting off as Aleki lowered his chin, still beaming at her.
“A magnificent performance.”
“She’s going to blow them away when she gets it.” Lani’s voice smacked of satisfaction as she strolled back into the foyer, a frosted glass of water dripping condensation in her wake. “You, though,” she waggled a finger at Aleki, as she handed the glass off to Stella, who drank gratefully. “You need to match her. Too much time in meetings with Europeans, huh? Can’t move like you used to.”
Aleki snorted. “I’ve still got it.”
“You’ve got soft, is what you’ve got. There’s half a dozen boys down at the night market that can swing their hips better than you now.”
Aleki clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive. And speaking of things to survive, your father sent a message.”
Aleki sobered instantly, and Stella resisted the sudden pull in her stomach to reach out a hand in comfort.
Comfort isn’t part of the arrangement.
“His Majesty requires me?” Aleki’s forced lightness fell heavy in the wake of the good humour that had permeated their group before mention of his father.
“He requires you both.” Lani nodded to Stella, drawing her into the conversation. “He has decided to hold a ball next Friday evening. A number of dignitaries and village chiefs will be in town for the Pacific rugby tournament, and he’ll extend invites to others as well.”
“Unusual. The official reception following the opening of the tournament usually suffices our hosting requirements. What is the purpose of this ball?”
“Ostensibly it’s simply a gesture of goodwill as he tries to secure the Samoan trade deal, but in reality the understanding loto-a is that it’s to gauge the reaction to Stella and potentially present you with alternate marriage options.”
A muscle twitched in Aleki’s jaw. “I see.”
Fear flooded Stella and she gripped the glass tighter. “He wants you to marry someone else? Even though he knows about the baby?”
Aleki’s eyes flicked towards Lani, who was now studying the tiled floor as though it held the mysteries to the universe, then back to her.
“It’s a power move, a way to show he’s still in control. It doesn’t matter.” He reached out and patted her arm and Stella tried very hard not to act like she’d been electrocuted by lust. “Lani?” Aleki continued, his focus shifting and his assistant’s head bobbed up from her search for the meaning of life through mosaic.
“Yes?”
“Let’s get out in front of my father, switch the narrative. We need to organise an televised interview. One that will air before next Friday. We’ll announce our engagement, which should minimise any uncomfortable Bachelor stylings taking place at the ball. It will also solidify Stella’s position as my fiancée and protect her from the worst of the fallout.”
Lani’s nod was decisive, the assistant’s mask that had slipped during her dance lesson with Stella firmly back in place. “I’ll get on that immediately, sir. In the meantime, I’ll accept the king’s invitation and focus Ms Warren’s studies on issues most likely to be brought up during the interview. Should I arrange a stylist?”
“Stella is twenty-eight years old. She is more than capable of dressing herself appropriately. Unless -” he looked back at Stella, “you would like a stylist?”
“Employing someone to try and force me into marigold and salmon and hunter greens?” Stella shuddered dramatically. “Lord, no. All that colour would cause me to break out into hives.”
“Good,” Aleki’s smile dispelled some of the tension. “I’ll leave the arrangements in your capable hands, then, Lani. Come, little star. Let’s show you your kingdom.”
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