Chapter Five
Gia
I wake up before Dante, and I know I should get up to start my morning workout, but I allow myself to linger, completely captivated by the man lying next to me.
I glance at Dante’s bedroom and the ensuite bathroom where we shared a bath before falling asleep in his bed.
A part of me is certain that this is some kind of dream. That everything that happened last night was my mind playing tricks on me, but the arm wrapped around my waist feels solid. And the man lying on his stomach looks very real to me.
But just to be certain, I reach up and trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, reveling in the warmth of his skin.
The morning sun pours into the room, and it's like a spotlight on his face, highlighting every single feature of that handsome face.
His dark hair is a mess, sprawled across the pillow, and the sunlight catches the golden highlights in it.
His eyelashes are long and dark, casting tiny shadows on his cheeks with each slow breath.
The morning sun makes his bronze skin glow, and the way his lips are slightly parted in a slight smile makes my heart skip a beat. I watch him for a little longer, taking in the rugged features of his face and the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
I’m in love with Dante Rossi.
It wasn't much of a question before as much as a rejection of the truth on my part. Somehow, I convinced myself that all I felt for the man was physical and that it could be solved with a single night, but it's no use lying to myself any longer.
And last night… Christ, I can’t believe any of that happened.
His lips on my skin, hungry and desperate as he pleasured me.
And there is no forgetting that hungry look in his eyes when I was on my knees, or the taste of him.
I bring a finger up to touch my lips, recalling how sinful but right it felt to please him the way I did last night.
But the white envelope nearly ruined it.
I can’t believe I was so careless and left the letter out in the open.
While I was able to shove it into a drawer, the guilt still surfaces.
I’m honest with Dante in a way I’m not with many people, but telling him about my stalker would not end well.
He’s fiercely protective of me, and a part of me is terrified that he would try to force me to quit ballet.
Would I? Could I?
I'm afraid to think of a choice I would have to make if it were Dante asking it of me.
I don't allow myself to question if this man is more important to me than a career I've worked on my entire life, so I turn away from him and slowly slide out of bed, careful not to wake him.
I tiptoe back to my room and start opening boxes, hoping I don't have to dig far before I find my workout clothes.
“Bingo!” I whisper when I open the second box and find my leggings neatly folded inside. The next box proves to be as helpful as I find my tops, and I’m relieved when I find my ballet flats in the next. I quietly carry everything to the bathroom.
Dante is still asleep when I come out of the bathroom, and he looks so good lying there.
It’s tempting, so freaking tempting to climb back in bed and cuddle with a man I have fallen for but I hold back the need.
With a last glance at the sleeping man, I walk out of the room.
I stop in my room and grab the letter from my dresser drawer before heading to the kitchen first. I turn on water in the sink and stuff the letter down the garbage disposal to destroy it.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
I don’t have to think about the stalker anymore. There is no way in hell he can get to me with Dante around.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath before releasing it slowly, feeling much better than I have in days. Weeks even.
I’m smiling as I make myself a protein shake, and I allow myself to think of Dante and how things are going to change for us. Surprisingly, I was able to convince myself that Dante had no feelings for me despite everything he did to show it.
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. As the 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 watching me.
I laugh when he spins me around once more. “This is not ballet.”
“I know, I was just warming up.”
He pulls me back flush against him and I suck in a sharp breath when our gazes lock. "As much as I love dancing with you, this is very serious for me, Dante. I need to get the timing and movements right, or I'll mess up and ruin the entire show even before—"
His mouth slams down on mine, cutting off the words, and this time, I do melt against him.
An arm circles my waist, and he holds me close as he kisses me until my head is blissfully empty and my breath is ragged.
“You are the best at what you do, Gia. You’ll be amazing on that stage, and I’m going to help you practice. ”
“Okay,” I murmur, his words calming my nerves. His presence assures me in ways nothing ever has before. He takes out a remote from his pocket and restarts the music, those beautiful hazel eyes watching me with such confidence that leaves me no choice but to mirror it.
“I’ve got you, mia passerotta.”
Alright, here goes.
The music weaves around us, the morning light painting the room in a warm, ethereal glow as I start the routine.
My body moves in a practiced dance through motions I’ve memorized a hundred times over, alone and with another dancer.
This shouldn’t be any different. Yet, when his hand, warm and familiar, finds its place on my waist to guide me through a series of graceful arabesques, I feel my heart flutter in my chest.
I shut off my feelings and lean into his strength and the solid warmth of his chest against my back as he supports me in a soaring lift.
Our eyes meet.
The heat of his hand spreads to mine as we intertwine our fingers in a delicate pas de deux. A shiver traces down my spine as his breath ghosts across my neck during a slow dip. Our bodies connect in a way I have never connected with another dancer before.
I don’t know what I was expecting when we started to dance, but it’s not for Dante to play his role perfectly.
The timing of all the lifts and the movements—soon, I lose myself in the dance.
All the fear and insecurities melt away as we dance together, and it’s all so intimate.
Every time we touch, my body heats up, and the tension slowly builds.
I feel my nipples pebble behind my top, and my panties grow slick with arousal. By the time the music draws to an end, my entire body is hot and sensitive.
We’re both breathing hard when he finally puts me down, and little of it has to do with the exertion of the dance. I’ve practiced this dance so many times before without losing my breath, but now, I’m practically panting.
“So, how was that?”