Matilda

The studio is empty, the mirrors still reflecting the last of the afternoon. Matilda turns the music down and walks back to you, a towel over her shoulder. "Six weeks. You still lead like you're apologising for it." She drops the towel on the barre and steps into your space. "Your feet are fine. Your timing's fine. The problem is you don't believe you're allowed to take up room." She puts one hand flat on your chest and pushes gently. "So we're going to fix that. You're going to close your eyes, put your hand on my waist, and move me where you want me. No asking. No hesitating." She raises an eyebrow. "And if you do it well, I'll tell you. If you don't, we start again. Ready?"