The Summer Prince Read Online Free PDF Page B

and me inside. Camera bots buzz overhead, broadcasting us to the rest of the city on this celebratory, festive night.
    The lights of Palmares Três are white, so we “sparkle on the bay” as the song says, though if you ask me they could use some color. I press my nose into the smudge-proof glass and make out the greening hump of A Castanha, one of the four volcanic islands that dot the bay like petrified gods. Up here, suspended above the water, I feel as though I can do anything.
    Enki hasn’t arrived yet. The dozen wakas in the room have been eyeing Gil since we entered. I outdid myself this time, putting him in black, which he likes, but with every element subtly asymmetric — not so much lopsided as rakish. Myself I clothed as simply as possible: a strapless wrap of blue secured with a blue flower, and a matching one in my ear.
    One does not, as Gil’s mother would tell me, upstage glowing skin.
    “Would you dance?” Gil asks, extending his one gloved hand toward me in a gesture so formal I nearly laugh. But it also feels right in this enclave of the Aunties — and now of our very own summer king. I take Gil’s hand.
    “My pleasure,” I tell him, just as formally.
    No one else is dancing, which is exactly why he asked me.
    The music is classical: so familiar I could sing the bass line in my sleep, but it’s still insistent for all that. That’s the thing about samba.Four hundred years and the famous standards still don’t sound old so much as familiar. Gil and I have joked that if we hear “Eu Vim da Bahia” one more time, we might throw ourselves into the bay, but then I’m caught off guard by João Gilberto’s deceptively difficult rhythmic patterns, his gentle voice, and I think, okay, there’s worse music to be forced to listen to.
    The song changes to something faster, good for dancing. I’m not a great dancer, but I know how to follow. Gil is the best sort of partner: one who makes you look more skilled than you are.
    I feel when Mother notices us. In the corner of my eye, I can see her go still and turn away from the ambassador, who seems confused. Auntie Yaha purses her lips and I smile. Gil’s in another world, of course. I’ll tell him what a scene we made when we’re done and he’s had time to come back down. Gil dances like an orixá, and he knows it. He’s charming and smart and gorgeous and all the wakas we know are crazy for him. I’m lucky he’s my best friend.
    We’re moving fast, I have to pay attention if I don’t want to make an ass of myself. But even so, I’m getting lost in the rhythm. The one-two-three that my feet know better than my brain. The way my hips shake and the feel of the polymer silk sliding over my breasts. Gil spins me one way and then the other. I laugh and he dips me. I kick up one leg, not caring that anyone can see up my dress or that I’m in danger of losing my shoe. Gil smiles that secretive, crooked smile. He pulls me up and then his arms are on my hips and I’m flying above his head as the samba pulses around us and I see the city glittering beneath me.
    This is the best moment of my life.
    And then I see him.
    He’s on the edge of the glass floor, alone, though a crowd surrounds him like a horseshoe. He’s looking at us with those bright eyes. Maybe Gil can tell that something has happened because he puts me down gently and turns around.
    Even I can see the spark when Gil meets Enki’s eyes. The air leaves the room. Or maybe that’s just me, wondering if my heart might fall out of my chest when I lose the comforting warmth of Gil’s hands. He heads toward Enki, still dancing, though I don’t think he realizes it.
    Enki is dressed simply, though he no longer wears the “verde boy” clothes from his final performance. Leather sandals, white pants, and a loose blue shirt. He looks like he might be selling cupuaçu in Gria Plaza, and he’s captured the attention of every person in the room.
    But Enki only has eyes for Gil.
    Should I have