“We’ll do the basic step for a few counts, then move to the spins and stuff.” He stepped forward, smooth and confident, propelling me with him. “One . . . two . . . three . . . down . . . up . . . up . . .”

I moved my feet to the rhythm of his voice, doing my best to pay attention. He smelled faintly of leather. And something else. Something beckoning. I couldn’t stop staring at the line his shoulders made in his jacket. I remembered him fighting shirtless, remembered the muscles in his shoulders. Taut. Tanned. Now my fingers rested on his shoulder. It made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

It was the corset, I told myself. I absolutely wasn’t developing feelings for Donovan.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .”

I messed up on three. In my defense, it’s hard to count and move your feet when your gaze wanders to your partner’s blue eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, and flushed. This was so stupid. Hadn’t I learned it was a bad idea to develop crushes on guys I hardly knew? I’d known Donovan for what, twenty-four hours? And part of that time we’d been competing against each other.

Donovan kept counting off the beats. I concentrated on moving my feet in the right direction and swaying upward when I was supposed to. He had a nice voice. I wondered if he ever sang. My eyes went to his mouth, to the sloping letter M on his top lip. M was for magnificent and marvelous. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss that M.

Nope. Not a good idea to go there.

As I listened to the count, I listed reasons it was a bad idea to like Donovan.

1) Once we left this fairy tale, we’d never see each other again. He lived in a different state.

2) My parents wouldn’t like me dating a guy with a criminal record.

3) Donovan could still betray me. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth about working with me. He told me at the campfire that he’d gotten by for years because he knew how to fool people.

I tried to think of a fourth reason. Couldn’t. I was stuck on the number three like the waltz. Donovan let go of my back, the signal to step out into a twirl. I did and he rewarded me with a smile. It tilted up at one side in an endearing sort of way.

Ohio wasn’t really that far away.

“See,” Donovan said. “Kailen didn’t know what he was talking about. That’s the thing about fairy guys. Have you ever met one that wasn’t full of himself?”

The way Donovan phrased the question made me laugh. We both knew I’d only met one.

Almost against my will, a list of things I liked about Donovan formed in my mind.

1) He’d kept me from falling off the stairs even though we were working against each other.

2) He’d saved me from drowning and built a fire to warm me.

3) He was patient. He hadn’t gotten frustrated with my lack of skill at palming coins, or working with rocks, or dancing.

4) He was smart and determined. He’d figured out a way to take care of himself and his brother.

5) He was loyal. He’d taken the rap for his brother and was still looking after him.

6) He wasn’t a real criminal—he was like Aladdin from the Disney movie, but without the creepy monkey sidekick. He was a victim of circumstance. Big-hearted. And hot.

7) Hot probably deserved its own number.

I started plucking away the other reasons I’d put on my I-shouldn’t-like-Donovan list. He wasn’t going to betray me for the goblet. If he’d meant to get it at any cost, he would have let me fall off the stairs. And what did I care if my parents didn’t approve of him? They didn’t approve of me pursuing a music career, and that had never stopped me.

But what if none of it mattered? What if he didn’t like me like that? None of the guys at my school had.

Donovan lifted my right hand and let go of my back, the signal to break away and do our next steps side by side. I did and returned to him again.

“Okay, let’s try it with music now. Sing something.”

I’d been contemplating the M of his lips and had to drag my attention back to his words. “You want me to sing?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if your first wish was worth the magic.”

I sifted through songs I knew, searching for one that would work with a waltz. The song I’d done for the auditions came to mind.

Nope.

I didn’t ever want to sing it again. No doubt Donovan and I would both hear enough of it when we got back home. Spoofs and song remixes. No one would ever see it for what it was supposed to be: a wistful song about unrequited love.

Donovan hadn’t heard it yet. I supposed he would be the song’s only untainted audience. So there in his arms, I sang the tune. I didn’t worry whether I’d be able to hit the notes while a corset constricted my diaphragm. Chrissy had taken the imperfections from my voice. The music lifted from my mouth, strong and clear, smooth and lilting. I meandered through the treble clef with ease, lingering on the hard, high notes and letting them flow off my tongue.

Donovan stared at me impressed and then entranced. He hadn’t expected my voice. I looked into his blue eyes and let every note caress him. This was what I’d wanted when I wrote the lyrics. This was what I’d tried for when I’d sung for Jason at the audition—the connection I saw in Donovan’s eyes. He understood the struggle of standing when a person had already fallen down so many times.

Dancing was easier while I sang. I was concentrating on the notes, not obsessing about where my feet were. I finished the song and started another. Moving with Donovan through the garden felt as natural as talking with him. Fun, and a little bit exhilarating. This, I thought, is why people invented dancing.

As I finished my third song, Donovan slowed until we stopped. “You’re amazing. I take back everything I said about singing being a useless, wasted wish.”

“When did you say that?”

“Oh . . . maybe I just thought it. Intensely. But I’ve changed my mind.” He dropped his hand from my back but kept hold of my hand. I liked the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine, liked the admiration in his eyes.

“I can see why you wanted that voice,” he said, his own voice low and soft. “It’s beautiful. Like the rest of you.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t break our gaze. There was nowhere else I wanted to look.

“So . . .” Donovan rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting it. “I know the favor I want.”

“What?”

He pulled me closer and lowered his head. He did this slowly, watching my reaction, giving me time to move away if this wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t move away. I kept my eyes open until the last moment. Then I shut them and felt his lips press against mine.

My worries about my first kiss had been unfounded. Our teeth didn’t bang together. My lips knew what to do. They followed his lead.

Donovan slid his hands around my waist, and I wound mine around his neck. His jacket lay open and as I leaned against his chest I felt the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt like music, and the words that sang through my insides were, “Donovan likes me like that.”

I’m not sure how long we kissed. He wasn’t in a hurry to end this and neither was I. Finally he lifted his head.

I smiled at him, my arms still draped around his shoulders. “You’re right. That wasn’t such a bad favor.”

He kept his gaze on me, but didn’t smile back. Worry tinged his eyes. “I’m probably not your usual type, am I?”

“I don’t really have a usual type.”

He stiffened, and the worry in his expression grew. “Because you see so many different types of guys?”

It was sweet he thought so many different types of guys were interested in me. I couldn’t lie though, and didn’t want to. If he liked me, he had to know who I was. “At your school do you have girls that are friends with guys, but never hang out with them except as friends?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m one of those girls.”

His eyebrows rose in happy surprise. “Score. The guys at your school are stupid.”