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“Not very well. I understand it better than I speak.”
“Oh, don’t be so humble, Levi,” Diana said. “He wants to be an astronaut, so he had to perfect his Russian. Right?”
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled. I couldn’t very well tell Diana that I’d given up on that dream like most of the others I had when we were younger.
We pulled up in front of an ochre-colored villa with dozens of tall, arching windows. Faces sculpted above the marble columns looked down at us as we stepped onto the private dock.
“And here’s our studio,” explained Helen Harris with a graceful sweep of her hand. The heavy doors opened into a space that could only be described as a grand ballroom. There were marble floors in a harlequin pattern, floor-to-ceiling gilded mirrors, and dozens of chandeliers hanging from the painted ceiling.
“Wow, this certainly isn’t the Twinkle Toes studio.” I whistled. The last place I’d taught was a dingy studio in a strip mall in Colorado with perpetually dirty windows and mold on the wall. There the view consisted of a few trees lining the parking lot. Here the windows looked out onto the canal.
Diana’s mouth hung open as she studied the birds painted on the ceiling. “This is magnificent!”
Her eyes met mine, and I couldn’t help but smile at her expression of unbridled joy. Then the doors on the opposite end of the room opened and a handful of women and teenage girls swooped in like a flock of hungry seagulls.
“Indy,” I said under my breath. “You didn’t say anything about teenage girls!”
“I may have left that part out. Sorry!” But she wasn’t sorry at all, there was a tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth.
At the head of the group, a tall, striking woman with silver hair walked with determined strides straight for me. “This must be our instructor. Ma che bello!”
She took me in her arms and pressed her cheeks to mine. “Ragazze, quanto siamo fortunate! Paul Newman ci insegnerà il tango!”
“Il piacere è mio, ragazze,” I assured them. Introductions were made all around and happily, almost everyone spoke English.
“So, tell me, what kind of dance are you interested in learning?” I tried to stay as calm as possible, suddenly overwhelmed by all the giggling, the perfume, the curious stares. I wound my hand around Indy’s wrist in case she thought she was going anywhere.
The leader, Claudia Visconti, who I figured out was the wife of the big philanthropist, explained in detail with many exuberant hand movements how the girls were preparing for the debutante ball in Paris. They needed to learn to waltz, to foxtrot, and to tango.
“Perhaps you could demonstrate something for us?” suggested Helen Harris.
“Sure, I’ll need an assistant.” I took Diana’s hand and pulled her closer. If she thought she was getting out of this, she didn’t know me. “Lucky for you, Diana is a fabulous dancer.”
Helen Harris clapped her hands together and winked at me conspiratorially. “But of course! Diana, you must step in!”
“No, no, no . . .” She shook her head. I wrapped my arm around her waist to gently lead her into the middle of the room, but she wouldn’t budge. It was like she was rooted to the floor.
“Don’t tell me you two have never tangoed before.” Helen laughed at her own innuendo.
“Never!” said Diana. “And I’m not about to start now. Levi, stop!”
“Do I detect a lovers’ quarrel?” asked Signora Visconti.
“She’s just shy,” I explained, slipping my hand around her slim waist. I wondered if, like me, she was thinking of the last time we’d danced together, at her homecoming when her stupid date—Derek Moorehouse—had stood her up and I filled in at the last minute. I’d tried to forget that night, but occasionally I’d remember it in flashes: her eyes glimmering with tears in the moonlight, my eyes on her parted lips, the downy softness of her cheek cupped in my hand . . .
Even now I was staring at her rosebud lips parted just so that if I leaned down . . . I shook my head to clear the unwanted thoughts my brain. The strains of Strauss’s “The Blue Danube Waltz” echoed through the room.
“The Viennese waltz it is then. I’ll show you the basic steps.”
Chapter 11
Diana
One, two, three. I closed my eyes and counted, trying to remember to breathe because being back in Levi’s arms after all these years stole the air from my lungs.
Dancing with Levi had always had this effect on me. When my mom had first discovered that he’d once been a junior ballroom dance champion and that his mother had owned a dance studio, she’d suggested he give us both lessons. It was her way of helping him navigate the grief of losing his mom.
I always looked forward to it, even though Josh always teased me about how clumsy I was. But Levi had convinced me otherwise.
