Vixen, Oz thought as he saw her lifted into the air. She was doing this for his benefit; the fact that she'd met his gaze was proof of that, before one even took into account the amused look on her face. She was trying to tease him, but why? What was her end game? They weren't going to end up engaged in the same sorts of activities as before, locked in her dressing room. Even if he wasn't set against it, he didn't know why she would want to rekindle that affair given how things had ended the last time. How could there be anything other than unpleasant memories there now?

At least he wasn't the only one staring. The brunette hardly even seemed disappointed that he'd looked right over her in order to track Sophia's twirl. The smattering of applause was further proof that while she might have intended the performance for him, he was far from its only audience member. The applause was what made it make sense, after a moment: she didn't want him. She wanted attention. Given her profession, this was hardly a novel discovery. She might be seeking his attention specifically because he was withholding it; its relative scarcity since their liaison that summer had made it more valuable.

Oz was reluctant to let her see this as a victory, despite how he'd been captivated by the pirouette. He turned his attention very specifically towards the flower dancer in front of him. "I'm afraid I didn't catch the last bit," he said, gently putting a hand on her elbow to guide her a step away from the rest of the crowd. From her perspective it likely looked as though he were trying to steer her towards somewhere quieter (or perhaps setting the stage to slip away with her later, should things go that direction) but his primary goal was actually finding an excuse to angle his own body away from the prima ballerina. If she wanted his attention so badly, she would have to work harder for it. He checked that his hat was firmly in place. He ought to find the soonest possible excuse to leave, in a place like this.

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