Epilogue
Five Years Later
Dante
Saturday nights have always been hell for a city that never sleeps, so when an idiotic pedestrian decides to jaywalk and nearly gets run over by my car, I don't bother cursing at him. The knee he knocked against my bumper should be lesson enough. He flips me off and limps away as if it's my fault he walked in front of a moving car.
Usually, Gia would make some kind of noise or comment, asking if the guy is okay, but she remains quiet.
Something's wrong.
She's been awfully quiet since we left the theatre. No, it’s been this way for days now. She's not been herself, and I can tell something's bothering her, but I know my wife well enough to know pushing will only result in a fight. Typically, I wouldn't mind one if only to help settle her mind, but something tells me it's about her work. That's always been a sensitive topic, so I decide to give her time until she was ready to discuss it.
I take my wife's hand and bring it to my lips, and that's when an idiot driver decides to blind me.
Now, I do curse when a blinding flash of headlights from a passing car momentarily steals my vision. As my eyes adjust, I turn to Gia. Her face is illuminated, and the sight of it stills my breath. It reminds me of the first time I saw her in that church. Breathtaking, even under the headlights of a careless driver.
It still doesn't hide her worry lines.
Those lips I love to kiss are pressed in a tight line, and her eyes, the beautiful green of a forest, appear clouded with concern. The tapping of her finger on her thigh indicates her head is miles away and that she hasn't even noticed the multiple traffic violations and near-accidents in the last couple of minutes.
"Gia," I call out, bringing her hand back to my lips, and that seems to startle her out of her stupor.
"Huh?"
Christ, she's breathtaking. How the fuck I was able to convince someone as beautiful as her to become my wife will always be my greatest achievement.
"What's wrong,mia passerotta?"
She brushes her hair from her face and turns back to stare at the road. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because I know you."
That seems to bring a smile to her face, and I can feel her eyes on mine as I drive to the parking lot. "Do you remember the night I got drunk and you had to carry me to your apartment?"
I don't call her out on her change of topic. "How could I forget?"
"I don't think I've ever told you why I drank so much that night," she says as I put the car in park. "I was sad and convincedyou didn't have feelings for me. I was thinking, ‘how can he dance this way with me and not feel something for me?’”
"How could I dance the way I did with you that night and make you think otherwise, Gia?"
"I don't know. I guess I was scared to think like that and get my heart broken, so I got drunk on a few glasses of wine."
I laugh, climbing out of the car and rounding it to her door. "Do you want me to carry you like I did that night?"
"God, yes—my feet hurt. Tonight’s show was brutal."
"You looked magnificent on stage,mia passerotta," I say, lifting my wife out of the car. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."
"You weren't jealous of my dance partner, were you?" she asks with a sigh, pressing her face to my throat as she did that night, humming silently as she audibly inhales my skin.
"Barely noticed the guy."
"Me too," she whispers, nuzzling my skin. "The stage lights are so bright I can barely see past the first row, but knowing you’re out there somewhere...it helps. It always has."
She talks about the show with such melancholy in her voice as I carry her to our apartment. I head straight to the master bedroom and set her down on the edge of the tub.
I roll the sleeves of my shirt to draw her a bath, as it is our tradition now after every show. Lately, she's been more exhausted than usual after shows, and I've been considering asking her to take a rest for a couple of weeks at least. It worries me when she works herself to the bone. After five years as a prima ballerina, I’ve noticed how the job has slowly started to wear on my wife a little, and I can't help but worry about her. Sheloves it, and I am determined to stick to the promise I made to never ask her to quit.
