TRENTUNO
Ava
There’s a cool breeze blowing off the hills tonight, shaking the strings of bulbs that dangle overhead, sending sparks of light across the dinner table and yard. My freshly burnt skin is covered in goose bumps despite Leo’s merino wool grandfather sweater I’ve cocooned around me. Even the Barolo, the music, and the boisterous company have failed to warm me. Perhaps because there is an extra blast of ice coming from the man to my right. He’s working hard to keep his eyes off of me, but I’m failing to keep mine off of him.
All throughout dinner Nina’s words from the garden have been bouncing around my skull like a sugared-up child on a pogo stick. How am I supposed to “not waste a moment” when the man in question won’t even look at me? And perhaps he’s right to protect himself. I’ve been a mess from the moment I stepped foot in Italy—nothing like the put-together, collected woman I am across thepond. James doesn’t need to get sucked into this tornado only to be spat out wrecked and ruined.
“Ava?”
Uvaldi’s huge hand flashes back and forth in front of my eyes, interrupting my view of James’s jaw.
“Yes?” I ask, turning in my chair to find the man behind me with a huge smile and his hand outstretched.
“Dance with me,” he says, apparently for the second time.
I start to tell him no and see Nina give me a look from where she sways in the arms of Leo. Aldo and Lucia move around them, as if they were trained for this moment. I don’t have a moment to marvel at them before I’m being tugged out onto the grass by my partner. The music picks up and the couples create an inner and outer circle.
“La monferrina,” Uvaldi yells, clapping his hands, but I don’t have time to ask him what the hell he’s said because he has started to do the steps across from me. His smile is contagious as all two hundred fifty pounds move with surprising grace and alacrity. I study his feet carefully and mimic the movements, just starting to feel confident when he links his elbow in mine and spins me to Leo. The sound of my own laughter mixes with the music as I’m passed from Leo to Aldo, Aldo back to Uvaldi, and round and round again.
When the music finally stops, I’m so out of breath and dizzy from laughing and spinning that Uvaldi has to keep a hand on my shoulder so I don’t tip over.
“You dance just like your mother,” he says, beaming.
“Terribly?”
He gives a deep breathy laugh and shakes his head.
“Senza preoccupazioni,” he says. “Without a care.”
I nod. I know exactly what he means. We had dance parties in the living room all the time, spinning and bouncing like we were possessed. Even my dad would swoop in and twirl us around.
“She lived like she danced,” I croak. The opening chords of “Con Te Partirò” softly reach me and I lift my brows and put out a hand to my partner. He puts his hand on his chest, feigning exhaustion, and bellows over my head.
“Gi, could you keep my lovely partner company while I rest? An old man needs a break between dances.”
I shut my eyes and wince, waiting for James to reject the offer, but when I open one eye again, there he is standing before me, studying my face while chewing on the inside of his cheek.
He winds his fingers between mine and cups his hand just below my ribs, then pulls me close enough that I need to arch my back or face plant against his chest.
“Hi,” I say lamely.
One side of his mouth rises and he lifts a brow at me.
“How was your week?” he asks, spinning us slowly. The question is so impersonal that it strikes a nerve.
“Fine,” I say. “How was yours?”
Are we really doing small talk? As if his tongue wasn’t in my mouth less than a week ago. As if my chest isn’t brushing against his at every step, sending shock waves straight through my core.
“Good. Just a lot of work—”
Like what? I’ve been doing all the grading.
“And the apartment is ready,” he finishes.
I try to keep my expression neutral because he’s studying me like he studies his art. Like he’s writing a dissertation on my face.
Apparently, I fail, because the corners of his mouth turn down.
