Page 18

C ontessa

Thirty minutes earlier

“You sure you don’t want to come for pizza?” The rest of the girls are already on the street but Paige pops her head around the door.

“I’m sure, really. I just want to get this sequence right.” And also, I’m pretty certain my movements will be tracked by one of Bernadi’s men and there’s nothing like a dark faceless shadow following one around to make one look conspicuous.

Paige looks over her shoulder and seeing the coast is clear she steps back inside the room. She dips her chin and gives me a serious look with a lowered voice.

“You know why he’s hard on you, right?” My thoughts are drawn from one overbearing man to another: Antonio.

I turn back to my reflection in the mirror and instantly my focus is drawn to not-straight-enough legs, not-relaxed-enough shoulders, not-loose-enough limbs.

“Yeah. I’m not good enough.”

She groans and closes the gap between us.

I’m about to get into position to start the routine again but her arms wrap around my middle and her head tucks under my armpit like a cat.

“You’re better than all of us,” she says, squeezing me tightly.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling. “That’s not true.”

“Tess, he’s harder on you because he knows you can take it.”

I squeeze my eyes closed to stop any emotion from dripping down my cheeks. I’ve never felt so close to letting the wall collapse and the act fall away. I’ve spent years inside this armor, strengthening it piece by piece. I don’t know why but the last few weeks have drained me of the energy I usually reserve for maintaining this iron-clad front. It began with the death of my stalker and the realization he almost raped and killed me and I was completely oblivious to the risk.

I feel her face tilt upward. “Give yourself a break, Tess. You can do this routine in your sleep. Come and get pizza with us.”

I gently unwrap her hands and plant a small kiss on her knuckles. “You are very sweet for inviting me,” I say, with a lopsided smile. “But whether I’m good at this or not, I need to keep practicing for my own peace of mind.”

She shakes her head. “Okay. Whatever you need to do. But listen, call me if you want to join us later. Kelly’s uncle is opening a new bar tonight in the village. You should come.”

I nod with a tight smile. “I’ll let you know.”

Paige sighs and cocks her head to one side. She knows I won’t. As she turns to leave I feel a sudden sense of panic. “Paige?”

She spins around with a hopeful expression on her face.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

She frowns, unsure of what I’m talking about, but winks anyway before skipping out of the studio in pursuit of the other girls.

I follow them past the window then as my gaze pans back they catch on a familiar pair of eyes hooked on me from across the street.

I know for a fact the netting in front of the window is opaque. No one can see inside the studio, which is a good thing, because half the time we’re almost naked when we dance. Sometimes it’s the only way we can truly connect with our bodies—when they’re not obscured by cumbersome clothing.

I stand still and stare back. It’s strangely liberating and indulgently voyeuristic being able to look at Benito Bernadi knowing he can’t see me. Even more strangely, despite that fact, I feel the touch of his gaze like a warm beam of sunlight caressing my skin.

I click the button in my hand then slide it along the floor to the wall. The orchestral score to my favorite movie of all time trickles through the speakers. I hate Antonio and until four weeks ago I was convinced he hated me back. But when he chose Craig Armstrong’s Hotel Sayre as the starting music for my recital I had to wait until I was sitting alone in my car before I let the tears fall. It reminds me of my mama and papa. It speaks to my heart in a way no human being will ever be able to.

I close my eyes and lift my arms, feeling the air beneath them, floating them upwards. My body weight disappears and I rise to the balls of my feet effortlessly. I can feel Bernadi’s gaze burning through me and realize I have a choice. I can choose to feel the weight of it pull me to the floor, or I can allow the strength of it to lift me up. I choose strength.

I know Bernadi can’t really see me but part of me wishes he could. The familiar smugness tugs at me—the longing to show him what he ruined—but something else is squashing it down. Since he told me his version of the story, I find it harder to conjure up the same depth of hatred I’ve fermented him in over the years. And that’s further compounded by the touch of his gaze on my breasts when I stripped off my bikini top. As if remembering it too, my nipples tingle beneath my leotard as I twirl slowly, my calf muscles solidifying to keep my movements soft.

My collarbone warms with the recollection of his devilish breath skating across it when I left his apartment. My thighs clench at the thought of his bare chest with it’s beautiful curves and angles, the oppressive art that danced with every movement. I keep my eyes closed as the score ends and Florence and the Machine begins, driving a faster, more aggressive tempo. Then I lose myself completely.

Antonio makes no secret of the fact he can’t understand how I can keep dancing with my eyes closed. So much of our balance relies on sight. But confronting reality has the opposite effect on me—it knocks me off balance until I don’t know which way is up. When I dance with my eyes closed, the only thing guiding me, anchoring me, is gravity.

But tonight, as the music washes me away and the heat of a certain consigliere’s gaze is scorching my skin, I don’t even feel that. I’m airborne, and for the first time in my life, unafraid. My limbs unfurl and my spine uncurls. My hips take on a life of their own. My breasts seem to swell with every movement. Heavy and loose.

My hands trail up my throat to the tight knot at my crown, loosening the band, letting the length fall.

I lost my virginity three years ago but this is the first time I’ve ever felt like a woman . Feminine… sexual… and simply hot all over .

I dance like no one is watching and even though I can’t see myself I know it’s the best I’ve ever danced. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones. As the song draws to its conclusion I slow my movements, then just as I’m about to bring the dance to a choreographed dramatic close, a pop nearby knocks me to the floor.

My eyes open and focus on the mirrored wall. I’m sprawled on the floor of the studio staring back at myself. White as a sheet and trembling. Without moving my body, my gaze darts around checking every corner of the studio until I feel certain the gunshot didn’t come from inside. It was definitely outside.

The barbershop.

Bernadi .

I jump to my feet feeling an irrational sense of need. I need to know he’s still alive. I don’t know why, and I don’t have the capacity to wonder a whole lot about it right now, but I need to know Bernadi isn’t hurt.

I walk tentatively to the window, reaching it just as another gunshot shatters the silent neighborhood. Through the netting I can see Bernadi inside the barbershop. He’s seated, slowly withdrawing his arm. The sunlight catches on metal as he pushes something into his waistband, then he stands and walks away from the window.

I swallow and take a step backward.

I don’t understand what just happened. That dance felt like a dream. I let go of every single inhibition. I was guided purely by the music, by gravity, and by the illusion of Bernadi’s gaze. He couldn’t even see me, yet I just performed the dance of my life. I wipe a hand around the back of my neck and feel the sweat dripping down my leotard.

He couldn’t even see me .

So, why did I just perform the dance of my life?