***

Viola looked around the grand hall of Nidhogg and couldn't help but smile a pleased smile. She had indeed done a great job organising the dance, she assured herself. The tasteful decorations had turned the hall into a Winter fairytale land, and the soft music poured out of speakers, just enough to create a joyful, festive atmosphere, without being too loud just yet. The long tables along the walls were brimming with appetisers and drinks, and the small hired crew of staff, mostly the younger children of the local large families, were shuttling around with trays. Frank Harris' younger sister, Edith, walked by Viola, proudly carrying a tray of champagne flutes, and gave Viola a happy smile. The Dance would give the young ones a chance to earn a bit of money, while keeping them part of the community, still under subtle supervision of their older relatives.

Mrs. Small rushed to Viola, starting on her compliments a few feet away from their small group, which made a few others join her to congratulate Viola with her success. John maneuvered Clem away from them, whispering something in her ear, which pinked her cheeks and made her giggle. Suddenly, Oliver was nowhere to be seen as well, and Viola was in the tight clutch of Mrs. Small's little dry hand - and surrounded by many other Fleckney residents that started pooling around them.

About half an hour later, Viola finally got a chance to slip away, and swap her empty glass for another flute of excellent champagne, generously paid for by the Fleckney Woulds Preservation Society. She took a sip and discreetly looked around the hall. Everyone who was anyone was present: the Mayor with his red-haired plus one; his Father, accompanied by a slim blonde woman - surprisingly, of the appropriate age, Viola noticed in amusement - who was leaning on a stylish cane, her leg in a plastic brace; six or seven Fitzroys; most of the Holyoakes - Viola gave each of Rhys' sisters and Julie's wife a small wave; the local clergy: Father Peters from the Church of All Saints' and the Reverend Phipps from St. Peter's; and most of the business owners in Fleckney. Rhys was nowhere to be found.

"Viola Holyoake," a lazy baritone rolled behind her, and she startled and turned.

"Niklas," she said, looking over Anders Bjornsson's infamous nephew. Pillock or not, what a specimen! she couldn't help but think. "Good evening," she said calmly. "Welcome back to Fleckney."

Being just a half-Holyoake, as John called him, Niklas had auburn hair and a dark ginger beard, the same long, prominent nose as his cousins, and the most unusual eyes, which Viola had forgotten about. Hazel and green mixed in them, in the lightest shades, making his eyes look like amber. His hair and beard were unkempt, and he looked thinned and exhausted, his expensive three-piece suit hanging on him - but his large, wide-shouldered frame still made him quite an impressive presence.

"I can say the same to you," he said venomously. "I've heard you've settled back in."

"That's one of the many advantages of the medical profession," Viola said in the most level tone of hers. "We are indeed welcome everywhere. I hope you manage to settle as well."

He narrowed his eyes at her furiously, but Viola was already walking away in search of his Uncle. It was time for her dance number with John.

She found Anders absorbed in a conversation with Yolanda, which made perfect sense. He would definitely be on the list of the most useful connections one could make in Fleckney. Yolanda laughed at something he said, and patted the lapel of his jacket. Bjornsson's cummerbund, tight on his large stomach, could as well be made of the Swedish flag, the colours were just right.

"Good evening, Viola!" he hollered as soon as she approached. "What a wonderful, wonderful party! All thanks to you!"

Viola withstood an avalanche of his compliments with her most charming smile, and then she reminded him it was the time for the cumparsita. He was to give a - hopefully - short speech as the host of the party, and the music arrangements needed to be done.

Suddenly there was some small commotion by the door, and Viola looked that way.

"By the way, who's the lush ginger?" Yolanda asked, no doubt referring to Niklas - but Viola wasn't listening.

Rhys stood by the entrance, already surrounded by a small crowd, made, as Viola assumed, of the admirers of his heroic act. He wore an excellent blue three-piece suit, no tie - and his left arm was in a sling. He looked over everyone's head, and his eyes found Viola. She gave him a wave.

"Excuse me," she said, and heard Yolanda's sarcastic 'yeah, yeah, go get your fella.'

Viola started walking towards Rhys, but was intercepted by Mrs. Barnett on her way.

"My dearest, the music is ready, and John's waiting for you," she said, and Viola glanced over her shoulder.

John, indeed, was already in the middle of the room. Viola looked at Rhys again, but he seemed to be absorbed in a conversation with Father Peters who was shaking his hand with both his hands, and patting Rhys' healthy shoulder from time to time. Viola turned around and headed back.

They'd practised the tango much more than their salsa, but of course she still felt nervous. She once again had to remind herself it wasn't a national competition. Rhys' words at the rink came back to her, and she inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly, telling herself that her ex-husband was right, and some things weren't about mastery but having fun.

Her hand lay in John's, their eyes met, and she gave him a nod. He looked relaxed, and a smile danced on his lips, but Viola knew better. They had, after all, rather similar personalities: both always in control, insecure inside, confident and somewhat aloof outwardly. Suddenly, she realised something that had never come to her mind before: she could use her poised and dauntless facade to reassure others.

"So, let's dazzle them then," she said and gave John a sincere warm smile.

His lips twitched, this time in a genuine smile, and he nodded.

***

Unlike during their salsa in the pub, when she'd only been focusing on her movements and had felt restrained and stiff, this time Viola let herself enjoy it. They started moving, and she immediately knew they were in the zone. Each next step came naturally, not trained and drilled in, but as if from within. John was the perfect partner for her, exactly because of how similar they were: they played off each other, mixing precision with a sudden glimpse into the intensity each of them had underneath their proper facade. He had always been the most reserved of the Holyoakes - but notably, most prone to bar punch-ups during their uni years. Rhys never fought, intimidating enough to just growl and scare his opponents, always worried to hurt someone if he lost control over his temper and his crushing physical strength. Will was always the quiet one, Oli was too civil, his mind set on his calling at the very early age. John Holyoake had a temper - and there was nothing better for their tango.

In the last movement, when the crescendo of their dance had grown almost impossibly sharp, he picked her up, and unlike during the rehearsal when they'd struggled to get it just right, he lifted and swirled her, her leg went around his waist, and he turned them both, going down on one knee, and finishing their cumparsita in the most precise and satisfying way.

Sheer perfection.

The hall exploded with applause, and they rose. Viola breathed heavily, everything shaking inside, adrenaline coursing her blood.

Rhys.

She bowed again and again, whistles and cheers filling the air, and every time she straightened up, she'd look for Rhys with her eyes. At some point she thought she'd seen him, but when she lifted her head again, he wasn't there.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Anders Bjornsson was roaring in his mic. "And now let's begin our dancing! We'll give our wonderful couple a few minutes to enjoy some champagne, and then please feel free to come to Mrs. Groggin's table to enter your Golden tickets in John and Viola Holyoakes' dance cards."

John let go of her hand, and Viola saw Clem step out of the crowd. She looked flushed and pleased, still clapping softly, when John crossed the distance between them in two wide strides and scooped her in a rather indecent kiss. Someone cheered near them. Viola couldn't say she disagreed with John's approach. She was feeling just as fired up as him, and just as him, she would like to direct her riled up libido to its proper destination.

"Champagne?" a soft voice said behind her, and she looked behind her shoulder.

Her eyes met Will Holyoake's, and he gave her a warm smile.

"Rhys is on the balcony," he said, and Fiona laughed behind him. She was holding Viola's clutch.

"It's cute what a sentimental matchmaker you are, dear," she said, and he leaned to her, clearly hinting on a kiss on his cheek.

Fiona cupped his face, turned it slightly, and kissed him properly. Viola giggled, suddenly feeling even more turned on. There was rarely any sensuality in Fiona and Will's behaviour - but it was quite clear right now, it was simply reserved for when the two of them were alone. She took her clutch and the champagne out of their hands, and she doubted they'd noticed. The tango might have affected even more Holyoakes than she'd anticipated, she thought. Viola took a large sip of her bubbly and headed to the balcony.