What is she doing here? Simon's mind flashes as he approaches the stranger standing next to Johnny at the makeshift bar.

"Guests are not allowed to enter here. Didn't you see the sign at the entrance?!" Unable to hide his irritation, he blurted out sternly, at the moment feeling like a father scolding his daughter who dared to break the rules.

He bites the tip of his tongue as Johnny's eyes widen. Damn it... He definitely shouldn't have forgotten that he was talking to a girl who was unequal in status and just one word from her was capable of depriving him of his job. Yes, there is no work there — the promised payment at the end of the season!

Someone calls his name, and the Ghost, clenching his teeth, unable to squeeze out an apology, hurries to retreat. The song is replaced by the next one, familiar to the pain in his ribs, and his body, echoing the rhythm, adjusts to the movements of the surrounding dancers. Simon danced all day: in the morning teaching the old people the simplest movements and in the evening entertaining the crowd in the main hall.

Dancing was his addiction. Not the one who forced him to run away from his own home for fear of succumbing to the temptation to become the one he despised most in the world. Not the dirty and vicious addiction that destroyed his father's mind and subsequently the peaceful life of his family.

Riley's gaze is drawn back to her. A girl from high society, who had never been to places like this before, had not seen such a... Dirty dancing. The lot of her kind is to spin in a prim waltz or swing modestly from side to side, imitating dance movements.

He doesn't think twice when their gazes cross: hers are surprised, but not without a hint of interest, his are predatory, narrowed. Simon beckons her with his index finger, grinning, and does not give her time to retreat, approaching and almost gently taking her hand, leading her to the center of the hall.

"Have you danced something like this before?" Out of politeness, he asks, knowing the answer in advance.