Page 11 of Slow Burn

I tried to arrange my face into a relatively approachable expression as Lira walked into the rehearsal room the next day, but, honestly, it was a struggle.

I was in a terrible mood, made worse by thoughts of my birthday and the sinking feeling that I should probably have had people to celebrate it with; people other than my mother who cared when it was.

I was pretty sure my dad only remembered because she reminded him.

And then, of course, Papa had gone and made everything worse by bringing up the vineyard.

I knew I was in a privileged position, with wealthy parents and a thriving family business.

And I knew my father thought I was being selfish, pursuing a dance career when really I should have been by his side, learning the wine business, preparing to take over the farm when he retired.

But the truth was, I had no real interest in that world; I never had.

I’ll admit it sounded idyllic, making wine in the hills of Tuscany, shipping it to some of the best restaurants in the world, employing a whole team of staff.

But all I’d ever wanted to do was dance.

And I knew that my time was limited; that a point would come where I would have to fulfil my familial duty.

Maybe then I would feel ready – I hoped as much, anyway. I just kept praying that I had time to achieve everything I wanted to in the dance world first. At least headlining a West End show was about to be ticked off my list.

‘Morning,’ said Lira, greeting Carlos first and then, reluctantly, dragging her eyes to me.

I wished I had pretended to be doing something that required me to keep my head down, because, God, why did she have to look so damn good all of the time?

Today, she was wearing a leotard that left little to the imagination, and a flippy little miniskirt that may as well have not existed for all the coverage it gave.

Her skin was glowing, and then there were her slim, muscular arms; the pretty face I had tried so hard to forget.

Those cheekbones, those eyelashes, the lips that were almost begging you to kiss them.

I felt an ache in my groin and almost groaned out loud, not because I was turned on by her mere presence – which I was – but because I was frustrated with myself for feeling this way. How did she manage to do this to me?

‘Morning,’ I grumbled.

‘Let us begin,’ said Carlos, pulling up his chair so that the three of us were sitting in a circle so small I could nudge my knees against both of theirs if I wanted to. Clearly I did not want to, on either count.

‘So. Dances. As well as the group numbers, which we will start rehearsing tomorrow when the entire company are here, we will need four duets.’

‘Four?’ said Lira.

‘Is that a problem?’ I snapped.

‘Not at all,’ she replied, just as snippily. ‘Which four were you thinking?’ she asked, purposely turning to Carlos.

‘We have decided on a soft and romantic classic American smooth waltz, a fun and sexy salsa, a very slow and seductive rumba – and then, of course, the highlight of our show: a fiery and dynamic Argentine tango. You will know some of the steps already from the audition.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ said Lira, shifting in her seat.

I felt a shot of smugness at the fact she looked uncomfortable with the idea of four duets.

I wondered which aspect of all of this was bothering her most. Surely, she should be grateful to have the gig at all, given her lack of recent experience.

And if I’d had my way, it would have been Daniella sitting here instead of Lira, even if I knew damn well that our performances would have been nowhere near as sensational.

‘We are very short on time now, as you know,’ warned Carlos. ‘Of course, I will oversee things, but you will have to polish and rehearse the numbers you have together in your own time. Evenings, weekends, whatever it takes.’

‘I do have some commitments to the dance studio…’ said Lira, looking anxious.

‘What dance studio?’ I asked, playing devil’s advocate. I knew she worked in one; it was where Carlos had met her.

‘I run the James Jive Dance Studio in Castlebury,’ she said, barely looking at me. ‘It’s my family’s business.’

‘So get somebody else to cover,’ I said.

Did she need me to spell it out for her? Her dance career came first, surely.

‘That’s a big ask,’ she said. Then, when she saw Carlos looking alarmed, she added, ‘But I’ll make it work.’

I turned to face her. ‘You do know what a big opportunity this is, correct?’ I said. ‘And that, if it had been up to me, you would not have been cast at all?’

‘Gabriele…’ warned Carlos.

‘No, Carlos, she must know how lucky she is to be here. Especially, when she has not danced seriously for years. There is a lot riding on this for me.’

‘And there isn’t for me?’ she countered. ‘Of course I’m grateful for the chance. And I will work harder than I’ve ever worked in my entire life to make this show – this partnership – a success. All I’m saying is that things at the studio are more difficult than they seem. I—’

‘I really do not care what you do with the studio,’ I said dismissively, wondering if I could stop being such an arsehole any time soon. ‘I seem to remember you have two sisters – let one of them help, because you are needed here .’

Great. Bravo, Gabriele. Now she would know that I had retained everything we had shared that night in Paris, about her family, about mine.

There had not been a lot of time to talk in between exploring each other’s bodies over and over again, but what I had learned about her, I had remembered: her mother was South African, she had met Lira’s father while performing in a show on a luxury cruise ship and she had fallen pregnant very quickly; Lira is the eldest of three sisters. That was all I knew.

‘I will be here, but I don’t need you to tell me how to run my business,’ countered Lira.

‘Enough!’ said Carlos, clapping his hands together. ‘We do not have time for this clash of personalities – you dance beautifully together and that is what you must recreate time and time again on stage. Whatever the problem is between you, sort it out.’

I sighed dramatically. ‘Relax, Carlos. We will make it work.’

‘And talking of problems, we are struggling to find somewhere for you to rehearse. Unfortunately there is no studio space available here for you to practice your duets. Perhaps that is something you can figure out between you?’ suggested Carlos.

Emily, looking as harassed as ever, chose that moment to scurry into the room.

‘I’ve rung every single studio in central London and nobody has evenings and weekends free at such short notice,’ she announced breathily.

‘We should have booked this earlier!’ I exclaimed, flying out of my seat. ‘Why are arrangements only being made now?’

‘Calm down, Gabriele,’ said Carlos. ‘We will find a place for you.’

‘We could use my studio in Castlebury?’ suggested Lira.

‘How would that work? And where the hell even is that?’ I asked her, the irritation obvious in my tone.

‘Twenty minutes from Victoria on the train,’ said Emily, rolling her eyes.

‘On an overground train?’ I asked, confused.

‘You can do the train, can’t you?’ said Lira. ‘Or is it only chauffeur-driven limousines these days?’

I gave her a withering look. ‘I am perfectly able to use public transportation. I would simply prefer not to.’

‘Well, sadly, we don’t all have that privilege,’ she quipped.

‘Right, we must begin. Let us start with the American smooth,’ said Carlos. ‘Emily – music, please.’

Emily scurried over to the sound system and I suddenly wished I was anywhere else but here. I had been so excited about this show, but the proximity to Lira, the realization of how much time we would have to spend together alone in a studio was becoming more and more difficult to manage.

I stood up, moving into the centre of the dance floor, feeling the music in my body as it piped out of the studio’s speakers. Lira joined me on the floor and we stood opposite each other, looking at one another without speaking, listening to the track, letting the ideas come.

‘Why don’t we start separately and then come together?’ suggested Lira. ‘Like this: you over there, me over here.’

She directed me to the far-left corner of the room, while she took her place on the right.

‘Something like this?’ I asked, marking out some steps.

She followed suit, executing them perfectly.

‘Each step should move us closer together,’ said Lira.

‘Always keeping eye contact,’ shouted Carlos, who was watching us with crossed arms.

And as she moved closer to me, and we added in step after step, I found myself longing for the moment I could feel her body pressed against mine again. Porca miseria! This was not a good start, and I had a feeling that things were going to get much, much worse.