Chapter Eight
Gia
The first time I stepped on the stage, I was seven.
The lights were blinding, but I could still see the faces in the audience.
I searched desperately for familiar ones, but none of them belonged to a Marino.
Later, I would learn that Sofia had tried everything to get there—she was only twelve but had begged the nanny, even offered to pay from her allowance—but our parents had forbidden it.
They hadn’t even told my sisters about my recital. Sofia had overheard them talking.
I remember the smell of hairspray, thick and cloying, the dance teacher fussing with a costume that felt heavy and starched against my skin.
I was supposed to be a bird, graceful and serene, but I felt like a clumsy, terrified girl.
One who was heartbroken that no one from her family had shown up for her first show.
At seven years old, I didn’t understand why.
I just knew I was alone. Still, at the moment, it was heartbreaking that no one was there.
And when the music started playing, I moved. My limbs were stiff and uncoordinated. Each step, each pirouette was a struggle. The other little girls around me were all so effortless, their movements fluid and elegant. But I was fighting the costume, the lights, and the fear.
I blacked out.
I remember the feeling of utter loneliness.
The spotlight was isolating me and highlighting every mistake I made on stage.
I longed for a friendly face, a reassuring glance, but I met only the critical gazes of the audience.
I wished my parents were there, but to them, this wasn’t a performance worthy of their time.
That night almost discouraged me from dancing ballet, but I stuck it out through the favoritism allegations and the jealous looks from the other girls. I knew the effort would pay off if I stuck with it, and eventually, my parents would come to see how talented I was and finally love me.
Perhaps that's what I was most upset about when Dante followed me to my European tour and decided to hide in the crowd. I could have used a familiar, friendly face to get me through the jealousy from the other dancers for having the lead role.
Knowing he was there but beyond reach…maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Thinking he was the stalker nearly broke me, and now, I have to worry about someone coming after me. It sucks that I don’t know who I can and cannot trust around me. Now I have to look at my colleagues with suspicion, worry about work, and wonder what I mean to Dante.
Christ, what are we?
Sure, we had sex, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world, but I still don’t understand what we are. Is this what people call friends with benefits…no, maybe roommates with benefits. Are we a couple?
“Ugh, I can’t deal with this right now,” I hiss, running a hand through my hair. I decide to push it off until the show is over and the stalker has been caught. Maybe then, Dante and I will finally have a proper conversation about what we are.
The door opens behind me, and I turn around to see Sarah, my understudy, enter the room, swinging her keys around her fingers.
She's only a couple of years younger than me, and the only other person with a key to my dressing room.
A skilled ballerina, she has always struggled to emote while dancing and is often criticized for coming across as emotionless and robotic, which is why she hasn't been able to secure a position beyond understudy.
Still, the upcoming show is as important to her as it is to me.
Being the understudy to the prima ballerina is the highest position she has reached so far, and I can tell she's under as much pressure as I am.
So I don't take it personally when she barely even acknowledges me. The show has everyone a nervous wreck.
I continue changing as she moves to her station when I hear another voice outside the door before it’s pushed open, and Eric, my dance partner and love interest in Swan Lake, steps in.
“Hello, Gia.”
“Hey, Eric,” I say, offering the man a small smile.
Despite Dante's wild jealousy, I find it amusing that he'd compare himself to Eric. They are nothing alike. Where Dante has this dark, dangerous Italian look about him, Eric has an all-American boyish look with blond hair and a dimpled smile that has most of the dancers swooning at his feet. As bright and handsome as he is, I find I prefer Dante’s darker looks. “I’ll be out in a minute, Eric. I just need to finish up here.”
"Is something the matter? You look…stressed."
Stressed?
I pat my cheeks, horrified. Christ, I can’t look stressed. I have a show coming up, and I need to look perfect.
"I'm fine," I say hurriedly, and I must not be a good liar like Dante claimed the other night, as Eric's perfectly trimmed brows lift in disbelief. So I try a different answer. “I’m just tired. I’ve been practicing hard for the show. I believe everyone has.”
Eric steps fully into the room and turns to Sarah. "You don't mind if I chat with Gia alone, do you?"
Something crosses Sarah's expression, but she nods once, grabs her bag, and walks to the door. She stops next to Eric. "Don't forget your promise to me. I’m tired of being your little errand girl," she whispers, but I hear her.
“Just go find the director and let him know that you’ll be dancing the role of the swan in the afternoon rehearsals.”
Sarah nods once and steps out, closing the door behind her, leaving Eric and me alone.
Something about the way Eric looks at me has me taking a step back, and I gasp when my back hits the dressing table.
"What was that about?" I ask, feeling my heart race.
"What promise did you make to Sarah? What errands was she talking about?”
“Forget about that,” he says, walking forward. “I want to talk about us.”
“Us?”
"Don't act clueless," he hisses. "It pisses me off when women pretend to be stupid.
You're not stupid, Gia, are you?" He kicks the wall before closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, seemingly to calm himself.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. It’s common for women to play hard to get and toy with men. I don’t have to like it.”
“Eric—”
“A real man doesn’t shy away from his feelings, so I’ll come out and say what we both know.
I’m in love with you, Gia.” My jaw drops to the floor but he’s not done.
“And I know that you’re in love with me, too.
I see it every time we dance together, and when you look at me, it’s like you want me to fuck you.
” Then his eyes darken and his mouth flattens into a line.
“Everything was perfect, but then you went and cheated on me!”
“C-cheated?”
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” he rages. “You think I don’t know about the guy you’ve been hanging around with these past couple of weeks? At first, I was sure he was just a friend, but you moved in with him. Did you fuck him too?"
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. My brain feels overloaded with the information, and my heart is heavy with emotions. “You’re my stalker?”
“I’m the man who loves you!” he roars, kicking the table.
“Eric,” I start, bringing my trembling fingers to my chest. “We’re…
just dance partners. Friends. When I… If I looked at you with loving eyes, it’s because you are Siegfried and I am Odette, two characters in a fictional story that are in love with one another.
I… I had to do it so the audience would believe our performance.
" I take in a deep breath that does little to calm my fears. “I look up to you so much, Eric. As a mentor and a friend, but we can’t be anything more than that.”
I scream and fall to a crouch when he grabs the chair and slams it against the wall.
"Fucking slut!" he yells. "You knew exactly what you were doing, touching me and looking at me like you wanted me!"
I scream again when he kicks the wall next to me.
"You knew I was sending you those flowers and letters. You had to know it was me. I signed my fucking name on the letters...”
Name?
The notes were signed with a rose… Oh shit. Eric Rose. I should have made the connection immediately. Maybe then I wouldn’t be crouched on the floor, fearing for my life.
“I gave my heart to you, picked the best fucking flowers I could find to gift you, and how do you repay me? By moving in with another man! Does he have any idea that you're a cock tease and a fucking whore?"
He’s ranting to himself now, so I take the opportunity to escape as I crawl past him and bolt for the door just as it flings open and I crash into a solid body.
I look up, panicked, to find Dante's wild eyes locked on the man in the room, but I don't have time to react before I’m shoved behind him.
But before he does, I see it in his eyes.
The danger. The venom.
My eyes drop to the gun in his hand, and my heart nearly stops as the memory of his words rings in my head.
I would kill for you, Gia Marino. I would burn the world for you or die trying, and doesn't that make me fucking insane?
Eric seems to have lost all sense of reality as he lunges at Dante, and I scream just as a shot rings out, muted and yet still incredibly deafening.
Eric cries out in pain and drops to the floor with a thud, and I try to think positively.
If he's screaming, then he's not dead. I'm shaking as I peek past Dante’s large body and to the man sobbing on the floor.
Dante walks to him and leans down to whisper something in his ear before using the butt of his gun to knock him unconscious.
The ease with which he shot Eric should scare me a little, but I find myself clinging to him. My face is buried in his chest, and I inhale his scent to calm myself as we wait for the cops.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“Home,” I whisper into his chest, fighting back tears that clog my throat. “Please take me home.”