10. Chapter 10
Albrecht
W atching Giselle bumble around in her kitchen is adorable. She does this cute little humming while she’s gathering everything for dinner.
I watch in fascination as she grabs the plates from the cabinet; it looks like she’s performing a ballet move as she goes up on her tiptoes and one leg stretches out behind her. Her long, delicate arms reach up, and she gracefully brings them down.
“You sure I can’t help you?”
“I’m sure. I’ve got it, but if you want, you can open the wine,” she says, gesturing to a wine fridge under her countertop. Happy to be useful, I squat down and find a merlot to open. I grab a bottle opener from the counter and as I’m working on opening the wine, Giselle sets the small round table that sits in front of the kitchen window overlooking the vineyard. The sun has just started to descend and the vines are basking in its glow.
As I pull out the cork, I feel Giselle’s eyes on me. When I look up at her, she looks a bit dazed.
“You good?” I ask, having a hard time hiding my smile.
Her gaze slides from my arms to my eyes, and it’s then I realize she must have been checking me out while I opened the wine. I guess that would cause my biceps to flex; not that I’m anything special, but the way she’s looking at me makes me feel like I am. I’ve always just played sports to stay fit, but it’s harder now as a working adult. I miss my days of rugby in college and being in the best shape of my life. It’s hard to maintain that level of strength now, but I try to get a workout everyday.
“Ah, yeah, I’m good. Let me get us some wine glasses,” she says, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. Why do I love how I can make her blush?
She sets two glasses down on the counter and grabs the wine, pouring the entire bottle out into a decanter before setting it on the table. I follow behind her with the glasses and we both sit down to eat. Giselle dishes us out large portions of the gnocchi and I’m practically salivating as I watch her take her first bite. She moans into her fork and my dick stirs. I’m trying so hard to keep this professional, but she isn’t making it easy.
“Oh my god, it’s so good,” she says. I take my first bite and can’t help the groan that escapes my throat as the zesty flavors hit my tongue. Damn, Myrtha can cook.
“Wow. This is incredible.”
“I told you,” she says, her lips twitching with delight. Plump, pink lips that I can’t seem to stop looking at. Lips I wish I could taste. Shit, I need to focus on getting to know her, not what her lips would feel like against mine. I shouldn’t think of her like that, but it’s damn near impossible not to.
When was the last time I’ve ever been this drawn to someone?
“So, you grew up here and just returned from Chicago?”
“Yeah, I stayed after high school and danced with the San Francisco Ballet for a year before joining the Joffrey and dancing with them for the last five years.” Her eyes light up as she talks about her dance career, and I hang on her every word.
“So, why come back? Why stop dancing?”
“Well, it’s complicated. My career wasn’t progressing, for one. I’d been given soloist roles, but never actually promoted. I think they just have too many soloists and principals already and can’t afford to promote until more retire. Now that ballet dancers are having longer careers, this sort of thing is happening more often where it takes years to advance. It’s understandable, but difficult to wait that long. And then my mom’s health declined recently, and I just knew in my gut that it was time to come back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching across the table and placing my hand over hers, gently squeezing. Her eyes get misty for a moment, and she gives me a sad smile in return. I pull my hand back and take a sip of wine, restraining myself from getting up and pulling her into a hug. It’s like I have this primal desire to be closer and comfort her.
“It’s okay, really, even if I don’t quite know what I’ll do next. I’m just happy to be home and helping out.”
“If you could do anything, what would you do?”
“Well, I’ve thought about opening my own studio here since there wasn’t one in Napa Valley for me growing up, but that’s a lot to take on. I’m using my time here to see if I’d like running my own business, and so far I have enjoyed the marketing and events planning. Which has made me think maybe I’d like to start an annual ballet festival here instead of a studio.” I love watching how her eyes light up while talking about the things she’s passionate about.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Both sound like solid ideas that you’d enjoy and I’m sure do very well at.”
“Thank you,” she says, tilting her wine glass to me. “What about you? Do you enjoy your work?”
“I do, but sometimes I wish I could do something different, although I’m not sure what that would even be. I’m good at buying and selling real estate and investments, so I should probably just stick with that.”
“But you don’t love it?”
I take a sip of wine, contemplating that question. I’ve never really questioned it; I’ve always just done what was required for the family. All of my siblings have, because there’s really no other choice when you're considered royalty.
A pang of guilt hits me that Giselle doesn’t know my real name or who I really am. I’m starting to regret the decision to conceal my true identity now. Although, I would hate for Giselle to google me and see all the tabloids and think I’m in a relationship with Bathilde, when I’m not.
“Some aspects I love, but I don’t think I’m passionate about it in the same way you are about ballet. It’s my loyalty to the company that keeps me going.”
“I get that, with the winery and all. What would you do if you could do something else?”
“Grape stomping.”
Giselle laughs, almost spitting out her wine, and I chuckle with her.
“I’m sorry to say, but I don’t think that’s a viable career for you.”
“Damn, I was really hoping to stay here and start over.”
“Well, you don’t have to stomp grapes to do that.”
“No, I guess not,” I say quietly. Time seems to stop as our eyes lock with unspoken words dancing between us.
She breaks the tension, clearing her throat and pouring herself more wine. The decanter is sadly almost empty. I pick it up and pour the rest into my glass. Myrtha was correct that it goes perfectly with her bolognese sauce gnocchi.
“Should we open another bottle?” I ask.
“Sure, I could go for one more glass,” she says as she finishes what's left in hers.
“One bottle just doesn’t ever seem like enough.”
“I agree. I’ll clear the table while you open the wine?” she says.
“Deal,” I say, tossing her a wink.
I can’t help but imagine if this was my life, how content I’d be sharing a life with her. Making dinner each evening and love every night. God, how I wish it was a possibility.
Just as I finish rinsing our dishes, she comes over and hands me a full glass of wine.
“Thank you for everything. This was a lovely evening with incredible food and even better company.”
“Anytime, Loys,” she says, reaching her glass out to cheers mine.
“I guess we’ll get to do this a lot over the next several weeks.”
“I guess so,” she says, taking another sip.
Somehow, we’re now only standing inches apart, just watching each other drink our wine. The air between us feels like it’s sizzling and I can’t take my eyes off of her, from her eyes to her lips, down her throat. She licks her lips between each sip and I’m fighting back a groan every time.
Christ, I want her so badly. I want to close the distance between us and kiss the hell out of her, but it could ruin everything. It’d be a huge risk to act on these feelings, but the longer I stand here, the more I’m thinking it’s worth it.
Fuck it , I’m going in.