Chapter One #2
I try not to glance at Dante as he walks away but I can’t help myself, and my eyes follow him.
His black hair is tousled, catching in the evening light as he strides away.
His shoulders move, so broad and strong, something that seems to be a signature of the Rossi brothers.
They’re all so big and strong, but none of them draws my attention the way Dante does.
Christ, I never thought I would find a thirty-five-year-old man attractive, but Dante seems to tick all the boxes.
Suddenly, our fifteen-year age gap doesn’t seem to matter. He’s just so freaking hot.
Tonight, he’s wearing a black jacket that fits his broad shoulders so perfectly, paired with dark dress pants that emphasize his long legs.
I know I should stop staring, but I can’t pull my eyes from him.
Can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to be in a closed room with him, feeling his touch on my skin.
“Here it comes!”
I probably wouldn’t know what to do alone with him, but something about the molten gold in his eyes and that smirk on his lips tells me that he’d know exactly what to do. That's if he wants me as much as I want him. Bet he doesn't. To him, I'm just a friend. A sister-in-law. Nothing more.
He must sense my eyes on him because he suddenly stops and turns around.
Oh shit!
I flush, spinning away so he doesn’t catch me staring, when something smacks me right in the face.
“Ouch!” I reach up instinctively, fingers closing around something soft even as the smell of flowers hits my nose.
A cheer roars from the crowd, and it takes me a second to make sense of what’s happening.
Slowly, I glance at the item in my hands, and my eyes widen in panic when I spot Elena’s bouquet. I look up to find my sister grinning down at me.
“You caught it, Gia,” she beams.
“What? No, I mean…” I glance at the bouquet of white flowers, shaking my head even as I refuse to accept the reality of what this means. No, the bouquet toss thing is just a myth. Right? “I…I didn’t catch it.” Rather, it caught me. Completely off-guard, too.
“I guess you’re getting married next,” Sofia says from behind me, putting her hand on my shoulder. I turn to her.
“No, I’m not getting married,” I laugh without mirth.
“Like, who gets married at twenty? Here, you take it!” I pass the bouquet to Sofia, who laughs, raising her hand to show me her wedding ring.
I turn around to pass it to someone more hopeful than me, but people are already turning away as the music resumes.
“What’s so terrible about marriage anyway?” Sofia asks with a laugh when she spots the horrified look on my face.
“That’s not what you were saying a few months ago,” I point out. “You didn’t even want to get married at first.”
“True, but then I fell in love with Matteo, and everything changed. Once you find someone you love, you’ll want it just as badly.”
I already have, I think.
“Maybe,” I say instead, lifting the bouquet to stare at it. “It’s not going to happen any time soon anyway. Not until I’m willing to quit dancing.”
"Ballet dancers get married, too."
“They don’t unless they’re willing to give up their career by tying themselves to someone.
I’ve seen so many dancers swear marriage won’t affect their careers, only to quit ballet shortly after their wedding.
” I shake my head, unwilling to entertain the thought.
“I won’t risk my career and become a victim of my marriage. No, I’ll always choose ballet first.”
I lift my gaze back to Sofia to find her staring at something over my shoulder, so I turn and follow her gaze, flushing when I spot Dante standing behind me. For a second, I panic at the thought that he might’ve heard my words...but then again, I shouldn’t care whether or not he did.
We’re just friends.
Still, something dark and intense swirls in his eyes as he watches me, sending a shudder down my back. For a moment there, I question whether he's perhaps affected by my words, but then a smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth as he steps forward.
“I’m here to claim my dance,” he tells me, tossing a charming smile at Sofia before turning to look at me. "You'd better be ready, Gia. I'm the best dancer of the Rossi brothers."
From the corner of my eye, I catch Sofia laughing as she disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone with my friend, crush, and in-law all bundled into one. I offer Dante a smile as he steps in front of me. “Count yourself lucky then. I am the best dancer of the Marino sisters.”
“Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”
His hand closes around mine and I'm spun around before he turns me to face him.
His eyes stay locked on mine as his other hand finds my waist. A jolt of electricity courses through me.
I feel the smooth texture of his jacket beneath my fingertips as I grip his shoulders, soaking up the warm and familiar scent of his cologne, a blend of woods and spice.
So comforting, yet undeniably masculine.
His arm wraps around my back, pulling me closer, and I feel the heat of his body against me, working to light a ravenous forest fire under mine. The heat only seems to grow more intense when we begin to dance, slow and deliberate, moving with the music.
And then the world melts away, and it’s just us.
I bite down a whimper when I feel the press of his fingers against my spine as he dips me low, and the world seems to spin. My hair whips around my face, and I catch a glimpse of the surprised faces of others before he yanks my focus back to him.
We don’t speak.
No, there are no words exchanged when each step does all the talking for us. The way we move in sync, almost like we've done it a million times before. Not once do his eyes shift from mine, the heat of his gaze arousing me in ways dancing never has before.
And it’s confusing.
The way he looks at me. Almost like he wants me, but…that can't be true.
Dante and I have been friends for months.
He flirts, sure, but it’s never serious.
I've watched him flash that same smile at others and had to push down jealousy at that.
And even now, I can sense others' eyes on him, women who would do anything to trade places with me.
But the thought of Dante dancing with other women threatens to drive me to madness.
He’s mine.
Except, he’s not.
There have been so many opportunities for him to take things to the next level, but not once has he crossed the line.
Always a gentleman. Treating me like nothing more than a friend.
So, why is he watching me with such heat and intensity, like he wants to strip me down right on the damn dance floor and take me?
Christ, I would let him.
I would give anything and everything to feel that mouth against mine.
The music pulses, and we’re the only ones on the dance floor.
The lights fade away, and so does the noise as my entire world centers on him.
And when he pulls me flush against him, I feel the thump of his heart and the pulse of our connection.
I get lost in the moment, in him, and in the dance.
And when the music fades, I barely register it until he stops moving, and his body slowly pulls away from mine.
“You dance as gracefully as you do on stage,” he says with a smile I don’t return. When his brows arch, I realize he’s waiting for some kind of response.
“It was nice to do something other than ballet for a change,” I say, fighting the urge to flee.
“Most of my work is solo or highly technical partnering. This was...different.” I look around for something to distract me and when I spot the bar, I realize that I desperately need a glass of wine.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Dante. I need to… take care of something.”
Dante grabs my hand before I can leave, his molten gaze lighting up with concern. “Is everything okay?”
You don’t want me, I want to say, but I’m not brave enough to bare my soul so plainly. So I do what I always do. I smile.
"Everything's fine," I tell him before turning around, eyes locked on the bar.
I’m fine.