“Now, as Angelina and I dance this song,” G says, “I want you to watch our chests, rather than our feet. That’s where the dance is really happening, that’s where we communicate and connect.”

Angelina trots to the stereo to put the music on. She looks so at home here, so at home next to him. It’s like her connection with G remains even when they’re not dancing. He smiles at her approvingly, and jealousy constricts my throat.

They settle into each other’s arms, and I watch them exchange a glance that feels intimate. The lurid thought crosses my mind that Angelina follows G so well because he’s been inside her.

As instructed, I watch their chests. Through the fog of my envy at watching G with this girl—who I already assume he loves, and who’s a far better dancer than I’ll ever be—I see it. Though it appears Angelina is moving in many different directions, they remain connected as though by an invisible tether, locked into each other’s orbit as though they couldn’t move from it if they wanted to. They start simple with some basic walks and ochos, then add some crosses. Then, they ramp it up dramatically and spin around the tight axis they’ve created, her feet hooking around his legs and vice versa; they move into and out of the other’s space with precision and ease. I’m mesmerized by the depth of their connection.

“Thank you, Angelina,” G says, and she smiles, nods at me, and goes back to the practice room, where she’s working with a student.

“That sets the bar pretty high,” I say. I feel like he’s shown me this to put me in my place.

“Angelina has been dancing her whole life,” he says.

“All sixteen years, huh?”

He smiles. “Nineteen. And she’s originally from Russia. They’re more grown up than most at that age.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, I bet. How long have you two been dancing together?”

“A year,” he says, and this strikes me as rather convenient. I try to muster up some disgust. G must be at least in his midthirties, and he’s way too old for her. But still, all I feel is admiration and envy.

“The point is,” he continues, “I don’t expect you to emulate that exactly, but you can learn to have that connection with a great number of partners.”

“Kinky,” I say, smiling.

G laughs. “It’s not about sex. Well, not exactly. It’s an intimacy between you, your partner, and the music. Without the music, this dance means nothing. This is why tango is so precious to Porteños. Our entire history—the beautiful and the brutal parts—is encoded in the music. It brings us all together.”