I grimaced. He was right.
“I’ve been taking ballroom dancing classes for eight years, so… if you’re not afraid, I’d be honored,” Marek cut in, offering me a hand.
“Just one song,” I said to Domenico, and we went to the dance floor.
Marek took me in his arms and a moment later the other dancers made space for us to show off our skills. He led expertly, with confident motions, a feeling of the music and perfect knowledge of all the steps. Everyone must have thought we had been dancing partners for years. A couple of minutes into the song, the dance floor emptied, and we whirled together, putting all our training to good use. When the music stopped, the entire room burst into applause. We bowed to the audience and turned in the direction where we had left Domenico. Instead of my young assistant, we saw Massimo standing in his place, surrounded by several men. As we approached him, they nodded with appreciation—all but Massimo. His face contorted in an ugly grimace of rage, and his eyes flared with fire. If looks could kill, I would have turned into a heap of ash. Not to mention my companion.
I stepped close to him and kissed him on the cheek. Marek took my hand off his shoulder, passing me over to the Man in Black.
“Don Massimo…” he said, bobbing his head.
They froze, looking each other in the eyes, and the air between them suddenly grew so cold it was hard to breathe. Not releasing my hand, Massimo turned to his companions and said something in Italian, causing general laughter.
“You know who he is?” I asked Marek in Polish, certain that Massimo wouldn’t understand a word.
“Sure. I’ve been living in Italy for a dozen years now.” The Pole winked at me.
“And you danced with me despite that?”
“What’s he going to do? Kill me? I don’t think so. Not here, anyway.” He chuckled. “Besides, he can’t really do that for a whole lot of reasons. So, I hope this wasn’t our last dance.”
He kissed my hand and disappeared among the tables. Massimo followed him with his eyes before turning back to me.
“You’re a great dancer. That explains the range of movement of those hips in… different situations.”
“I was bored, and Domenico isn’t much of a dancer,” I said, shrugging by way of apology. A rhythmic paso doble reverberated through the hall.
“I’ll show you how to dance,” Massimo said, throwing off his tux jacket and passing it to Domenico.
He grabbed me by the hand and led me back to the dance floor. The remaining couples hadn’t had time to crowd the floor yet, and seeing me appear with another partner, they left us some space. Massimo nodded at the orchestra to start over.
I was so tipsy and sure of my own abilities that I took a step back, lifting the hem of my dress, revealing my leg. God, what had I been thinking to go out without any underwear? The musicians played the first few chords. The position adopted by Massimo told me it wasn’t his first time with this dance. Our dance was wild and full of passion—perfectly reflecting Massimo’s authoritative character. This time it wasn’t just a dance, though. It was my punishment and my reward—the portent of what was to happen when we left the banquet and the promise of a surprise waiting for me later. I was spellbound. I wanted the music never to stop, and our dance to last forever.
The finale had to be spectacular and extraordinary, of course. I prayed that he didn’t lift my leg too high, thus revealing what I wanted hidden. The music stopped, and I stayed in Massimo’s arms, breathing heavily. After a long while the whole crowd roared with applause. Massimo gracefully lifted me from the back bend and allowed me to pivot a couple of times before we bowed. In a calm and assured gait, holding me by the hand, he led me off the dance floor and put on the jacket that Domenico passed him.
We took a French leave then, nearly running out. Massimo dragged me along hotel corridors without a word, his fingers clamped around my wrist like a vise.
“Marvelous show,” I heard someone say. A woman. Massimo stopped, as if rooted to the spot.
Slowly he turned around, keeping me at his side.
In the center of the hall there was a beautiful woman with blond hair, wearing a short golden dress. Her long legs ended around the level of my first rib. She had gorgeous fake breasts and an angelic face. She approached us, kissing the Man in Black.
“So, you found her,” she said, her eyes trained on me.
Her accent told me she was British, and her looks suggested she had just left the catwalk at a Victoria’s Secret show.
“Laura,” I introduced myself, offering her a hand.
She shook it with an ironic smile, staying silent for a while.
“I’m Anna, Massimo’s first and true love,” she replied finally, not releasing my hand.
Massimo’s hand, still clamped around my wrist, grew sweaty.
“We’re in a hurry. Forgive us,” he hissed through clenched teeth, pulling me with him down the corridor.
Taking a look back, I saw the blonde still standing in her place, spewing words in Italian. Massimo gritted his teeth. He released my hand and stomped back in her direction. Keeping his face carefully impassive, he replied something in Italian—a couple of sentences, maybe—and returned to me. He grabbed my hand again and we walked away, getting into an elevator and ascending to the top floor. Quickly, Massimo pulled out his key card, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind us. Without switching the lights on, he threw himself at me. His kisses were quick and hungry as his tongue slid into my mouth. After what happened downstairs, I was in no mood for that. I didn’t react. After a while, Massimo realized something was wrong. He stopped, controlling himself, and flicked the lights on.
I straightened up, crossing my arms. Massimo sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Jesus Christ, Laura,” he said, collapsing to a great armchair behind him. “She’s… the past.”
I kept silent for a moment, and he observed my reaction closely.
“I’m aware you had women before me. That’s perfectly all right,” I began, my voice calm. “I’m also not going to ask you about your past or judge you. But I am interested in what she said that made you decide to go back. And also: why was she so angry?”
The Man in Black didn’t respond, instead glaring at me.
“It’s all very new to Anna,” he said finally.
“How new?” I refused to back down.
“I left her the day you landed on Sicily.”
Well, that would explain a lot, I thought.
“I never lied to her. Paintings of you hung in the house for years, and nobody but me had ever believed that I’d find you. Her least of all. But the day I saw you, I told her to leave.” He watched me, awaiting a reaction. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
I said nothing, staring at him and thinking about my feelings. Jealousy is weakness, and throughout the years I had learned to eliminate weaknesses of character. Besides, I didn’t feel threatened, because I didn’t care about Massimo. Or, at least, that’s what I was telling myself.
“Say something, Laura,” he hissed.
“I’m tired,” I replied, sitting in the other armchair. “Besides, it’s none of my business. I’m here because I have to be, and each day brings me closer to my birthday and my freedom.”