Epilogue
Five Years Later
Dante
Saturday nights have always been hell for a city that never sleeps, so when an idiotic pedestrian decides to jaywalk and nearly gets run over by my car, I don't bother cursing at him.
The knee he knocked against my bumper should be lesson enough.
He flips me off and limps away as if it's my fault he walked in front of a moving car.
Usually, Gia would make some kind of noise or comment, asking if the guy is okay, but she remains quiet.
Something's wrong.
She's been awfully quiet since we left the theatre. No, it’s been this way for days now.
She's not been herself, and I can tell something's bothering her, but I know my wife well enough to know pushing will only result in a fight.
Typically, I wouldn't mind one if only to help settle her mind, but something tells me it's about her work.
That's always been a sensitive topic, so I decide to give her time until she was ready to discuss it.
I take my wife's hand and bring it to my lips, and that's when an idiot driver decides to blind me.
Now, I do curse when a blinding flash of headlights from a passing car momentarily steals my vision.
As my eyes adjust, I turn to Gia. Her face is illuminated, and the sight of it stills my breath.
It reminds me of the first time I saw her in that church.
Breathtaking, even under the headlights of a careless driver.
It still doesn't hide her worry lines.
Those lips I love to kiss are pressed in a tight line, and her eyes, the beautiful green of a forest, appear clouded with concern.
The tapping of her finger on her thigh indicates her head is miles away and that she hasn't even noticed the multiple traffic violations and near-accidents in the last couple of minutes.
"Gia," I call out, bringing her hand back to my lips, and that seems to startle her out of her stupor.
"Huh?"
Christ, she's breathtaking. How the fuck I was able to convince someone as beautiful as her to become my wife will always be my greatest achievement.
"What's wrong, mia passerotta?"
She brushes her hair from her face and turns back to stare at the road. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because I know you."
That seems to bring a smile to her face, and I can feel her eyes on mine as I drive to the parking lot. "Do you remember the night I got drunk and you had to carry me to your apartment?"
I don't call her out on her change of topic. "How could I forget?"
"I don't think I've ever told you why I drank so much that night," she says as I put the car in park. "I was sad and convinced you didn't have feelings for me. I was thinking, ‘how can he dance this way with me and not feel something for me?’”
"How could I dance the way I did with you that night and make you think otherwise, Gia?"
"I don't know. I guess I was scared to think like that and get my heart broken, so I got drunk on a few glasses of wine."
I laugh, climbing out of the car and rounding it to her door. "Do you want me to carry you like I did that night?"
"God, yes—my feet hurt. Tonight’s show was brutal."
"You looked magnificent on stage, mia passerotta," I say, lifting my wife out of the car. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."
"You weren't jealous of my dance partner, were you?" she asks with a sigh, pressing her face to my throat as she did that night, humming silently as she audibly inhales my skin.
"Barely noticed the guy."
"Me too," she whispers, nuzzling my skin. "The stage lights are so bright I can barely see past the first row, but knowing you’re out there somewhere...it helps. It always has."
She talks about the show with such melancholy in her voice as I carry her to our apartment. I head straight to the master bedroom and set her down on the edge of the tub.
I roll the sleeves of my shirt to draw her a bath, as it is our tradition now after every show.
Lately, she's been more exhausted than usual after shows, and I've been considering asking her to take a rest for a couple of weeks at least. It worries me when she works herself to the bone. After five years as a prima ballerina, I’ve noticed how the job has slowly started to wear on my wife a little, and I can't help but worry about her.
She loves it, and I am determined to stick to the promise I made to never ask her to quit.
No matter how badly I want to, if only because of the toll it’s taking on her mind and body.
I help her undress and slide into the water. I rub her shoulders, and eventually, I feel the tension melt away. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. I reach for her feet and massage them until she's relaxed. It’s only then that I break the silence.
"Are you going to tell me?"
She doesn't try to pretend that she doesn't know what I'm asking as she dips her head into the water and surfaces, combing her hair back from her face.
"I’m thinking of retiring."
The words are spoken in a rush, and it takes me a second to process them and even longer to accept that my ears didn't hear her wrong.
"What?"
Gia sighs and turns those pretty eyes on me, leaning against the tub. "I've been thinking of leaving the company and starting my own dance school."
"What? Why?" And then realization dawns. It's subtle, but I catch the way her fingers graze her stomach, and my heart threatens to pound its way out of my chest. "You're pregnant."
She nods, biting into her lip. "Yes."
"Fuck, baby," I cry, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her halfway out of the water, soaking the bathroom floor and my damn shirt, but I don't give a fuck. "How long have you known?"
"A few days, but I was waiting for the right time to tell you—"
"Now is perfect," I tell her, brushing my lips against her temple.
"You've just made me the happiest man in the world, baby—you have no idea.
" I squeeze her tightly before pushing back to look at her.
"Is that why you were worried? Did you think that I was going to make you quit dancing?
I would never ask that of you, Gia. I will always support your dreams. You can take a short break for the baby, then go back and earn back your prima ballerina spot. "
Gia shakes her head, pulling back completely. "I'm not quitting because I'm about to become a mom," she says before laughing. Actually, I’ve been thinking about this for months—maybe even longer. The pregnancy just made the decision clearer.”
She reaches for my hand and squeezes. "It's funny, isn't it. I was terrified that becoming a wife and mother would force me to give up dancing. But the truth is, I’m ready. I’ve lived my dream, Dante. I’ve danced Odette at the Met, toured Europe, and held the prima ballerina position for five years.
I’ve proven everything I needed to prove—to myself, to my parents, to everyone who doubted me. ”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but they’re happy tears.
“Now I have a new dream. I want to teach ballet to little girls who feel invisible, the way I did. I want to be the person who shows up for them, who sees them. A I want to raise our baby. This isn;t giving up—it’s choosing what comes next. "
"You should have told me all this instead of worrying alone."
"I know, but I needed to come to terms with it first."
"And have you?"
She flashes me a beautiful smile. "I have, yes."
I grin as I slide my hand into the water and down her slick skin. "So, no more dance partners?"
She rolls her eyes but moans when I run my hand down her body, massaging her breasts and teasing her nipples, yet another tradition that seems to help her relax after a show. "I thought you said you barely noticed him."
"I only had eyes for you, but even knowing he was there drove me nuts."
She laughs, but it quickly morphs into a moan when I slide a hand down her stomach and between her legs to rub against her clit. She cries out, and her back arches out of the water when I slide my finger between her slick folds and into her pussy.
“Oh God,” she cries out, grabbing the edge of the tub. My cock swells, aching to be released from behind my fly, but I can’t look away from my wife long enough to focus on my own needs. Fuck, what a stunning view she creates. Five years later, and I still can’t believe that she’s mine. All mine.
She throws her head back when I add another finger and start thrusting into her wetness, teasing her clit with my thumb as I fuck her tight little pussy. “Dante… oh!”
I lean forward and trail my nose up the side of her neck, “You like that, don’t you.
Fingering your tight little pussy,” I rasp, capturing her earlobe between my teeth and tugging gently.
Her hips rock forward, chasing the fingers sliding in and out of her, sobbing as I tease her closer to the edge.
I lean down and suck a nipple between my lips, and that sends her off the edge. She screams and the water sloshes around us as she thrashes about in the water. Violent tremors rack her body, and she chants my name through them, rocking into me as pleasure licks through every inch of her body.
Dante.
I grab her waist and yank her out of the water, pulling her down with me to the floor and onto my lap. Our fingers battle together as we both try to unzip my pants, and I groan when those wet fingers close against my cock, stroking fast and nearly making me come.
“Inside of you—I need you right now, baby,” I growl, banding my arm around her waist and pulling her up. She wraps her legs around my back, and we both moan when she lowers herself down, sheathing my hard dick with her warmth.
The rest is a blur of wet skin brushing against each other, panted breaths and a storm of need.
Mine.
The word roars in my head as I thrust upward, her need matching mine.
Her hips roll fervently over mine, and when she arcs her back and gives me a view of her small breasts, pink nipples glistening with water, I find my appetite stirred considerably.
I lean in and close my lips over the buds, licking the water off her skin and groaning at the velvety smooth feel of her skin.
“Dante—oh God,” she cries out, rocking her hips faster, her thighs trembling against mine.
I reach between us and flick her clit with my thumb, making her scream.
Her pussy clenches around me like a fist, sending me right off the edge along with her.
I still, groaning into her breasts as my cock twitches inside of her, ropes of my cum coating her insides.
Her legs shake violently, rough tremors rolling between us through the climax until I’ve emptied myself into her.
Gia collapses against me, running a hand down my shoulders and back. “Well, that wasn’t part of the usual routine,” she pants, dropping her head to my shoulder. “Sex on the bathroom floor.”
“I couldn’t wait,” I rasp, holding her tightly. “I just had to have you. I always want you, Gia Rossi.”
“Me too,” she whispers, and I am surprised when she leans back and cups my jaw before leaning down to drop her forehead against mine, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Dante."
"I could say the same thing about you."
"I haven't sacrificed half the things you have for me."
"You love me," I rasp, brushing my lips over hers. "Despite the dark obsession and the chaos that surrounds the life of a Rossi, you love me, and that is all I have ever wanted from you.” I reach down and place a hand on her flat stomach, already picturing our life with the child she carries. “And now, you’re about to give me more. A family.”
She drops her head back to my shoulder and nuzzles my neck. Whatever tension she’s been carrying finally melts away, and I feel her relax into my arms, where she belongs. “That day at the church…thank you for seeing me.”
“I’ll always see you, Gia. Only you.”
~The End
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