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As if she heard my thoughts, the large doors to the left open again, and the room feels as if it grinds to a halt as she walks in.
She’s changed into a white chiffon evening gown that brings to mind her ballet costume and a statue of a Greek goddess all at once. Straps two-fingers wide hug her shoulders, the dipping neckline accentuating her sharp collarbones and small breasts, the waist of the dress nipping in before pooling down over her hips and down her legs. Her hair is still up in the tight ballerina’s bun, her lips slicked rosy with lipstick, her eyes only faintly shadowed, and her cheeks flushed. She doesn’t see me at first, her gaze sweeping over the room as she takes a glass of champagne, and hot jealousy burns in my gut for a moment as I wonder if she’s surveying her options.
There will be plenty of rich men here tonight looking to patronize the ballet. If Mila is tired of running drugs for me, if she wants to put an end to the chances of her being harassed by Adams, if she simply wants me out of her life—she will find options here tonight. The thought makes me feel as if I’m burning from the inside out.
I don’t want anyone else touching her. I can barely stand the idea of all of the eyes on her right now, taking her in, the men here who are imagining her naked. I want that to be only for me, and I know exactly how ridiculous that is when I’ve been offered just that, and refused it.
Because it wasn’t on my terms.
I shouldn’t feel like this. I’m self-aware enough to know that. But it feels like an obsession that I’m only barely maintaining control of. As if, at any moment, I could lose my grip on it.
She turns, her gaze meeting mine as she lifts the champagne to her lips, and she goes very still.
For a moment, neither of us move. Her glass rests on her lower lip, and I can imagine the bubbles fizzing across it, the tingle if I swept my tongue across that same spot. My muscles tense, my cock twitching eagerly. I want her, a feeling so close to need that it startles me as it sweeps through me while her blue gaze holds mine.
Slowly, Mila lowers the glass. She walks towards me, one foot in front of the other, a slow, graceful walk that mimics her movements on the stage. Everything she does is graceful, elegant. I’ve noticed it before, but never so much as I have right now.
“Lorenzo.” My name is a whisper on her lips, and I feel my chest tighten. “I thought you might be here tonight. I wondered if you wouldn’t come.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I keep my voice low, and even I can hear the tension in it. “My family patronizes the ballet.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t want to be seen near me, with heat on me. Who knows who else is here?” Her gaze sweeps the room, and I laugh, low in my throat.
“I promise you that no one from the LAPD is cultured enough to come to the ballet. Not even Dawson. And I had another word with him.”
“Did you?” She still isn’t looking at me. “I won’t hold my breath that Adams will leave me alone.”
The words feel like a twist in my gut. She doesn’t trust me to protect her, and the thought hurts more than it should. I want to protect her. I remember the brief moment in the ballet studio when she sank into me, when she seemed to want me to hold her, and my chest aches again. I want her to feel safe with me.
At that moment, it strikes me why I’ve never been able to accept her offer.
“Mila.” There’s an urgency in the way I say her name that startles her—I can see it in her face. The bland expression there drops for a moment, her expression turning serious as she angles herself to face me.
“What is it?” She tips her chin up, curiosity in her eyes, and a hint of confusion. “I can’t stand here and talk to you all night; I have to mingle?—”
“I know.” I swallow hard, my hand twitching reflexively with the urge to reach up and touch her, but I stop myself. “I want you, Mila. I haven’t stopped wanting you since the moment you walked into my office. And yet, I’ve turned your offer down, again and again, even when it means we shouldn’t be even as close to each other as we are right now. I keep asking myself why.”
“Because you have a moral aversion to paying for sex.” Her voice is still bland, but I can hear the hint of hurt beneath it. My rejections have hurt her; I know that. Even the moments when I’ve given in—when we’ve both given in, can’t entirely take the sting of it away. “I get it, Lorenzo?—”
“No. I mean, yes, it is that.” I see her gaze drift over my shoulder, and I speak more quickly, trying to explain before she’s pulled away from me. “I kept feeling—I keep feeling…that I want to protect you. I want you to feel safe with me. And how could you, if I could take everything away from you in an instant? How could you feel safe, in bed with me, in my arms, if your security depends on pleasing me, on my whims? It would never feel real. And I want?—”
“You can do that now, as things are.” Mila swallows hard, taking a step back. “If you don’t let me continue—” She looks up, her expression changing, turning to something pleasant and bland again. “Oh. Annalise. Let me introduce you to my instructor—this is Ms. Annalise Laurent. Annalise, this is Lorenzo Campano.”
The woman she introduces me to is small and slight, shorter than Mila, with greying brown hair pulled back in a similar tight bun and wearing a pair of high-waisted dark blue trousers and a white chiffon shirt tied with a bow at the throat, a matching blue jacket over it. She pins me with an appraising glance.
“Your family has contributed quite a bit to the ballet, monsieur Campano. I’ve met your older brother before, but never you, or your other siblings. Is the rest of your family here?”
“Aida is amusing herself by meeting some of your dancers.” I nod towards where my sister is engaged in a bright-eyed discussion with the male dancer I saw partnered with Mila. “Dante is here somewhere with his girlfriend.”
“Ah, yes. I remember he brought her here to the last showcase.” She nods. “Well, perhaps I’ll make your sister’s acquaintance. Mila, don’t stay too long with one guest.”
She moves on, and I glance at Mila. The moment between us is gone, and I wish I could retrieve it. “She’s certainly a character.”
“She’s terrifying.” Mila presses her lips together, clearly on edge now. “She could end my whole career on a whim. She’s on the board, and her word carries a lot of weight.”
“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about. Your performance was incredible.” I glance in the direction that Annalise has gone. “I can’t believe she remembers who Dante brought last time.”
“She doesn’t forget much.” Mila smooths her hands over her skirt. “I’m glad you liked the ballet. I’ll see you around.” She hesitates, her lips almost forming the shape of my name, but she doesn’t say it. And then she steps away from me, melting into the crowd.
