20. Nero
NERO
Closest to the aisle in the first row—because Vanessa may have helped me out with this—I claim my seat moments before the auditorium’s lights dim.
Admittedly, I don’t know what the fuck is about to happen. I’m no ballet-watching person, and my last attended performance was eleven years ago when I met the woman who’d haunt my future.
I grip the armrests tighter as the curtains part, and the stage decorations are revealed.
Something Christmassy, garnering a few oohs and aahs from those all around me.
Dancers join the set, beginning what I soon realize is an actual story.
Then Anastasia appears looking like the one thing I forbade myself to ever have.
A dream.
At intermission, I slip through the side entrance that Vanessa told me about and arrive at her dressing room seconds after she shuts her door.
Without knocking, I twist the knob slowly, holding the door in such a way it doesn’t creak as it opens.
Anastasia’s settling onto her vanity bench when I close it behind me.
Her gaze flits to mine in the reflection, wide like a bunny’s—but prettier than one. “How’d you get in here?”
“Your security sucks.” I stride forward before she can move, crowding her into the bench. I might be a dick for this, knowing full well she’s run from our interaction earlier by rebuilding those beloved walls of hers. Unfortunately for her, I won’t let her.
She swallows as I trace the edge of her tutu up her back until goosebumps sprout. To me, they’re confetti after a party. “You looked good out there.”
“Wonderful,” she retorts, full of that derision I adore. “Looking good was precisely my goal when I became a ballerina.”
Regardless of her attitude and sarcasm, I drag my finger up the back of her neck to the base of her hair, tempted to tug it free and see the waves of her hair shape her face. Of all things I can do that’ll earn me my death, her hair isn’t the hill to die on.
“What do you think of the show?” Her skin darkens with the question, gaze darting away from our reflection to the corner of the room.
It draws my attention to where I know tattoos are concealed.
While I see what she meant about the design of the dance not melding with her body art, I hate seeing a side of her covered at all.
“Once I figured out what the story was about, it was entertaining. Though, I’m literally only here to see you, so I really don’t give a fuck what’s happening beyond your dance.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would you fly all the way from Rome to watch me? We’re not friends, Amato, and we’ll never be more. Whatever game you’re playing, stop. Please. Save us both the trouble.”
The most intriguing aspect is that there isn’t a drop of venom in her voice. She’s not demanding with her usual malice-coated walls, but rather with the softness of an angel’s voice. The softness of a woman scorned—hurt by others.
I swallow, my hand sliding from her neck. Suddenly, guilt creeps up because if she knew the second reason I’m trying to do right by her, she’d be pissed. She’ll speak with that hurt voice again.
Turns out, I really don’t like it. No, I hate it.
No matter what’s next, I can’t hurt her in my journey to resolve Zeno’s past. How it’ll all balance out is something I don’t wish to consider yet either.
She’s staring at me with some expression of vulnerability I doubt I’ll ever get a peek at again. She’s expecting me to act a certain way, and bowing out now undoes so much of the progress that being here today has granted me.
“Curiosity.”
“Curiosity about…?”
Swallowing the remorse, I bend, placing my mouth in the area between her face and shoulder, but tip my head to watch her in the mirror. Watch the way her eyes darken and her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip—a reaction my body tightens at.
“You, of course.” My tone remains low, crooning—seductive. “Interest.” I move until my lips barely brush her skin. “Desire.” Then my tongue flicks at her pulse.
She jolts, but the table blocks any hope of escape. “What are you doing?” Fear clouds her eyes, so I pull back slowly.
“Answering you.”
“Hands to yourself. Intermission is nearly finished. You should return to your seat.”
There are still five minutes remaining, so she’s pushing me away. The purpose behind this trip has already been fulfilled, though. I’m getting beneath her skin, even if she hates it. I came as a friend, interested in her life and hobbies. For a moment, she wasn’t as cold as normal.
I’m winning her trust.
Her desire.
Her attraction.
So, hands lifted and eyes meeting hers in the reflection, I back away and allow her to win this round. “You hold all the power. Don’t think otherwise.”
She whirls in her seat, the tiara fused into her hair jostling with the quick motion. Nails dig into her vanity, the other into her knee. “What makes you assume I’m not aware of that?”
“Because I see you here.” I tap my temple. “You’re scared to let people in. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll prove why it’s not a bad thing. Why I can be that someone.”
With that revelation hovering between us, I open the door and leave without another word.