The only remaining couple left at our table shake their heads as we abandon them and their dwindling sit-in. Scott takes my hand and leads me right into the middle of the gyrating, swaying bodies. Then we dance.

It’s been a while since I let myself break loose. Dancing used to be my thing prepuberty. Dad often introduced me as the dancer in the family and Mum would occasionally come to watch me at recitals, which is probably half the reason I loved it so much. But once the boobs started to swell and my periods became heavy and painful, I gave it up. Where I used to feel joy and freedom when I danced, I felt awkward and exposed. Dad was relieved when I told him I was stopping dance so I could concentrate on my schoolwork. He felt uncomfortable with my changing body, too.

“You’re a good dancer,” Scott yells.

“You’re pretty good yourself,” I call back.

He steps closer, puts his hands on my hips and continues to dance, only there’s a look in his eye now, one I know well. A part of me is pleased – thrilled, even – but mostly I’m scared. I stop dancing.

“I’m going to take off.”

His hands drop from my body. “Sorry, Trish. That was out of line.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m tired, though. Think I’ll call it a night.”

Scott nods rapidly. “Absolutely. I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“I want to leave. Give me one sec to say bye to Harry, OK?”

Then he weaves off through the other dancers without waiting for my answer.

I retrieve by jacket and say goodbye to an older man standing by the door. I was introduced to him earlier – one of Harry’s uncles – but haven’t the faintest memory of his name. Then I push through the door and out onto the path lit with lanterns.

Putting a hand on my belly, I take a deep breath, enjoying the quiet. I can’t believe I’ve just spent all night at a complete stranger’s wedding half a world away from home. Even more surprising, I agreed to come to this wedding with a complete stranger who I met on a plane by crying all over his T-shirt. What has come over me? I don’t do spontaneous things like this. Is it pregnancy hormones making me act out of character? Or did I simply want to spend more time with Scott? I wanted him to kiss me just now on the dance floor. The way he looked at me, it was as if everything around him had ceased to exist and the only thing he wanted was me.