I’ve wanted you from the moment I spotted you in that church, looking like a fucking angel. You stole my breath away.
I twirl a finger around my hair as the memories of his words filter in. Words I never thought I would hear coming from him.
I saw you walk in with the bride, but you shone the brightest to me, and I wanted to damn it all to hell and fuck you against those church pews.
I’m blushing fiercely as I finish my shake and rinse my glass before heading for Dante’s gym. I catch my breath the second I step in. I've been to his gym before—of course, I have.I was present when he was house hunting. and this is one of the rooms that sold him on the apartment. The sheer scale of the space was one of the most impressive things. coupled with the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Hudson River.
But there’s something different about the room from the last time I saw it.
It’s been divided, with a clear line separating a side with a punching bag and machines, their glint of steel and sharp angles greatly contrasting the other side. One much softer. My side.
I step into the room, my heart racing as I take in my space, bathed in soft natural light with gleaming wooden floors. A ballet barre runs along a wall of mirrors. There are pictures on the adjacent wall, a series of framed prints of me in different forms and graceful poses. In the corner is a small vintage record player and a stereo system…
He did this for me.
I swallow back tears that threaten to choke me as it sinks in that he made space for me in his world. There is no way he could have done this in the day it took me to move in. He’s been waiting…for me?
I told him how hard and stressful it is to reserve one of the theatre’s in-demand rehearsal spaces or deal with the catty drama from other dancers. He listened to me so patiently, venting about the competition for practice space, the politics of it all. But now,I never have to deal with that again. Not when I have all this space and a magnificent view to boot.
"Okay, this is not the time to cry, Gia," I whisper, even as I sniff back tears and start my warm-up routine. I try not to think of the man sleeping in a nearby bedroom as I turn on the music to practice for my upcoming show,Swan Lake. Asthe company’s prima ballerina, the role of Odette was mine—I’ve been dancing both Odette and Odile for months now, ever since the European tour. This is what I’m preparing for: the U.S. debut. I can’t allow myself to be distracted so close to the show or I could mess up and…
“No, you can’t think like that, Gia. You’re the prima ballerina.” It doesn’t matter that this is my biggest role yet or that it's for the theatre's American debut; I'm going to kill it at the show.
I try not to get discouraged that I don’t have a partner to practice the dual movements and lifts with. It doesn’t matter; I can do it by myself. No pressure.
I close my eyes and listen to the music, moving as I have a hundred times before, but when it gets to the dual part, I have to stop.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I untie my hair before tying it back into a bun, running a hand over my damp brows before starting the dance over again. But again, I mess up the timing as I try to skip the partnered portion of the movement. My fingers clench and I bite back tears of frustration, annoyed with my inability to practice this dance alone. The male dancer’s part is an auxiliary role to support me in lifts. Usually, I don’t have a problem getting my timing right as I skip the moves I can’t do alone, but for some reason, I’m all over the place today.
Again.
I wait for the music to wind down and am just starting again when the music suddenly cuts off. My head whips around to look in the mirror, and I’m surprised to find Dante standing by the stereo system, dressed only in sweats. And just like that, I forget what I was doing.
He’s breathtaking, standing there half-naked. Hair disheveled from sleep with a lazy smile on that perfect face. The strong lines of muscles carved onto a body I long to touch on full display. In the light of day, I can make out some of his tattoos, and the snake curving on his arm should terrify me, but Christ, it matches the man staring back at me.
That stare…those eyes—they’re a stormy brown with little flecks of green. The way he watches me is enough to send my heart racing and heat pooling between my legs. I instinctively back up a step when he takes one forward. He smirks at the move.
“Are you happy with your studio?" he asks as he approaches me. I don't immediately respond—it's hard to when I can't find my tongue. “I had an expert work on it, but you can always change what you don’t like.”
“I love it.”
And there’s that sinful smirk again. “So, am I right to assume that your obvious frustration has nothing to do with the space?” I shake my head, letting out a shuddering breath when he reaches out and caresses my cheek, those calloused fingers leaving a storm of heat on my skin. “What’s wrong, Gia?”
"I can't practice without a dance partner," I tell him, biting back my frustration. "You made such a beautiful place for me and put so much effort into it, and now I can't even use it because the dance I need to practice requires a partner."
“Hey,” he whispers, brushing the back of his hand over my cheek. “Don’t stress over it. I’ll be your partner for the dance.”
If I weren't already in love with him, this would have sent me toppling over. "That’s so nice of you, Dante, but this is nothing like the dance we shared at my sister’s party. Ballet is a lot more complicated than waltzing.”
“True, but I happen to know the dance, and the male dancer's role isn't that complicated." He laughs when I arch a single brow at his words. "Alright, fine. I can't do the ballet movements—heaven knows how anyone can. But if I'm not wrong, most of the male dancers' parts are centered on supporting and lifting the ballerina, which I can do."
I chew on my bottom lip as I contemplate his words. “How do you know the dance?”
He takes my hand and twirls me around, drawing a laugh from me. “I heard you got the role of Odette so I watched the ballet." He pulls me flush against him and brushes his mouth over mine; it's a wonder I don't melt into a puddle. "Let's just say I wanted to know what dance you'd be doing. Besides, I've been to nearly every one of your rehearsals in New York. I learned a thing or two from watching you."
I flush at the memory of his intense stare during my rehearsals—those hazel eyes never leaving me as I moved through the choreography. At the time, I’d convinced myself he was just being protective after everything that happened with the kidnappings. But now, I realize there was more to it. He wasn’t just watching to keep me safe. He was watchingme.
