Five Sentence Fiction - Wicked

Maria sat poised at the end of the uncomfortable faux bamboo chair; although she pretended to be listening to the detailed stories put forth by her new acquaintances at table 7, she instead kept a close watch on the main entrance of the banquet hall.  

When Mr. and Mrs. appeared at the entranceway, faces regrettably stretched into camera smiles, the guests erupted into applause, while  Maria reached for her water glass, drinking the full contents, crushed ice and all, in four quick gulps. 

She sat waiting through the first, second and third dances until, as she knew would happen, on the fourth dance, Mr. walked assuredly towards table 7, stopped, knelt beside her chair and whispered into her ear:  “It’s about time we had a dance tonight, isn’t it?”

Maria watched his arms, his “guns” as they both used to laughingly call them when rolling around in bed, as he extended both of them, hands outstretched waiting for her to grab hold and move to the dance floor with him.

Once on the parquet, surrounded by hundreds of people, the physical effect of their bodies’ slow, full contact movements remained hidden, but hot flushed faces and dark red lips exposed the secret to Mrs. watching with vested interest from the sidelines.