Code of Honor

by Missy Johnson

  Some of them seem to already know each other, others look like me, and yet a few more seem to be focused on their own thing. Soon the whole room is full, a low murmur echoing throughout the studio.

  I turn my attention back to Marcus, who stands at the front of the room, talking to another instructor. They both look very serious. Is he going to be a hard instructor? From what I’ve heard, his days as a dancer were full of drugs and women. It was only after a breakdown midway through his career that he pulled his act together. Shortly after that he suffered a career-ending knee injury that led him to teaching.

  Marcus runs through what he calls “the housekeeping,” which is a series of rules. If we don’t follow them, we’re out. Most of them are pretty self-explanatory, but it makes me wonder how many dancers come here and don’t take it seriously. Most of these students, like me, would’ve put in thousands of hours of practice just to get here. Why would anyone mess that up by deliberately breaking the rules?

  “Pretty serious, huh?” says the girl next to me, rolling her eyes in the direction of Marcus. She lifts her hand to her face and tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear.

  “He’s making me more nervous than I already am.” I giggle.

  “I know.” She grins. “It’s hard enough moving here and not knowing anybody. I’m Ana, by the way.” She drops her head as Marcus stops talking and raises his eyebrows at her.

  “I’m Lucy,” I whisper back as soon as Marcus is out of earshot. I immediately feel more relaxed and able to focus.

  The rest of the morning flies by, with some of the senior dancers coming in to talk to us and show us a routine. I recognize it from a performance they put on last year, and the thought that one day it could be me up on that stage makes me crazy with excitement.

  We break for lunch, and Ana walks over to me, a shy smile on her face.

  “Want to have lunch together?” She holds up a small tub of fruit salad and yogurt. I immediately feel bad about the peanut butter and honey sandwich I shoved in my bag this morning. As a dancer I should be watching what I eat a lot more than I do.

  “Sure,” I reply. We walk outside and find a shady tree to sit under. The first thing I learn about Ana is that she loves to talk.

  “You’re not from around here either, are you?” she asks, licking her spoon. Her bright green eyes study me as I retrieve my lunch.

  “No, born and raised in Chicago. What about you?”

  “Michigan.” She grins. “It’s a big change, but I’m good with it. I come from a huge family. I’m the oldest of six kids so I’ve been looking after myself for years. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asks.

  “Nope. Just me and my dad.” And Pietro. “My mom died when I was six,” I explain.

  “That must’ve been hard, growing up with just your dad. You get along well?” she asks.

  “Most of the time.” I grin. “He can be a little overprotective at times.”

  “My parents are the opposite,” Ana says. “I’d have killed for them to notice me more when I was growing up.”

  After we finish our lunch, we make our way back inside for our afternoon session. It’s a full day, but much better than I expected, and just meeting Ana made the whole thing so much easier. As I dance, I feel relaxed and in my zone. With every minute that passes, my confidence rises.

  By six thirty I’m back at my apartment, wishing someone would fix dinner for me. My legs are so tired, and I’m starving. I find a Chinese place with decent reviews that delivers, and order myself some kung pao chicken and fried rice.

  My stomach growls as I wait for my food. I try calling Bell, but I get no response. My dinner arrives, and after paying the delivery person, I take my food over to the sofa and slump down. While I’m eating, I get caught up in a movie that’s playing on cable. It’s so bad, but I can’t stop watching it. Before I know it, the movie has finished and I’ve lost nearly two hours of my life. Glancing at my phone, I see I have a message waiting from Pietro. After our flirting last night, I feel kind of awkward. I blush, imagining how embarrassing it’s going to be to see him face-to-face again. God, even the thought of talking to him on the phone makes me feel sick.

  I sit down on the sofa to read the message while sipping a glass of water to stave off my hunger.

  Pietro: Have you recovered from your big night out last night? Hope your first day went well.

  Laughing, I press CALL. I’m too tired to sit here and text or mess with Siri’s misspellings, and I realize the sooner I speak to him, the easier it will be to deal with the shift in our relationship.

  “It was Bell who had the big night, thank you very much,” I say when he answers. “I’m surprised she made it to the airport on time.”

  He chuckles. “I’m pretty sure every night is the same for Bella. How was your first day?”

  I sigh and lay back on the sofa, a smile on my face.

  “It was amazing. I can’t even explain.” I shake my head. “I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a little girl and it’s finally becoming real.”

  “I’m happy for you,” he says. “How do you like being away from home?”

  “I love the freedom of not being watched every second,” I joke. “But seriously, I miss you guys. I miss the familiarity of Chicago, but I’ve only been here a day. I’m hoping it gets easier.”

  “I’m sure it will. Find things to love about New York and focus on them when you feel homesick. That’s what I did when I moved over here.” I hear a twinge of sadness in his voice. He doesn’t often talk about his life back home.

  “Will you ever go back?” I ask softly.

  “I’d like to. But even after eight years it still feels so raw. I still miss home, though. That never goes away.”

  “Maybe going home will give you the closure you need.”

  “Maybe,” he murmurs. “I’m keeping you up, Luce. You need your beauty sleep.” I want to argue, but he’s right. I can barely keep my eyes open.

  “Okay,” I begrudgingly agree. “I’ll go to sleep but only if you promise to call me tomorrow.”

  “Deal,” he says, laughing. “Sleep well, stellina.”

  Chapter 8

  Pietro

  New York City. Not a town I particularly like, but, I have to admit, I’m glad I’m here. I exit the airport and head straight to the taxi line, my suitcases in hand.

  “The corner of Sixth Avenue and Fourteenth, thanks,” I say when the cab pulls up, and I slide into the seat. The driver nods and speeds off. I’m surprised at how little traffic there is, but that all changes as soon as we near the city. Chuckling, I observe the gridlock of cars around us. It’s going to be next week by the time I reach my apartment. I pull out my phone and try calling Giovanni to let him know I’ve arrived, but I get his voicemail. I leave a quick message and end the call. Staring at my phone, I click on Messages and select Lucy.

  Me: Hope you slept well?

  She replies almost right away, which surprises me, considering she’s probably in the middle of training.

  Lucy: I always sleep well. It might never feel long enough, but it’s always deep.

  Me: Now there’s a sentence that would have many guys confused.

  Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I gaze out the window.

  I know nothing of my new place other than it’s very close to Lucy’s, and that hers is opposite the ballet studio. Tapping my hand against my thigh, I begin to get impatient. We’ve been sitting at the same set of lights for what seems like forever.

  “How far is it if I walked from here?” I ask.

  The driver shrugs. “Five minutes, maybe?” I laugh and dig out my wallet, throwing him several twenties.

  “Keep the change.”

  I get out in the middle of the street and rescue my bags from the trunk. I’m a little nervous about being spotted, but I know chances are slim, considering Lucy is at training. I glance up and down the street, my jaw twitching nervously.

  My feet hit the pavement and I wa
lk, dodging around people, clutching my two massive suitcases. They’re hard to wrangle, but I somehow manage it, finding my new apartment building in about eight minutes.

  I stand at the front and look around, trying to get my bearings. I can see the studio, and what must be Lucy’s apartment building. There are people everywhere and they don’t stop for anyone. I get more than one angry glare as people dodge my baggage. I take the hint and wander inside.

  After collecting my key from the doorman, I make my way up to the top floor. Letting myself inside, I’m impressed at how nice this place is. It’s fully furnished, so I don’t need to buy anything. I instantly feel at home. The oversize sofa looks cozy and inviting, and the kitchen boasts state-of-the-art appliances—not that I plan on doing much cooking. I open the fridge and see that even that is fully stocked with all my favorite foods. Giovanni sure has gone out of his way to make sure I’m comfortable. Unfortunately, it doesn’t lessen the guilt I feel lying to Lucy.

  I can’t believe I’m here.

  I’m less than a few hundred yards away from Lucy, and she has no idea. That familiar feeling of guilt ripples through me. I sit down on the sofa and drag out my phone, going over our old texts. I’ve stepped over the boundaries. What was I thinking, flirting with her? The first few times it happened by accident, but when she reciprocated I knew exactly what I was doing. And then again today. It’s like I can’t fucking help myself. I check my phone again for a reply and see no unread messages. I hope I haven’t made things weird with my stupid comment, but something tells me I have.

  You’re playing with fire, Pietro. Think about what you’re doing.

  But no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull away from her. And the tiny glimmer of hope that just maybe she feels something for me is enough for me not to trust myself. After unpacking and a shower, I call Giovanni again.

  “You arrived,” he says, sounding pleased. “Have you seen her yet?”

  “No, I’m just at my apartment. She’d be training now, anyway,” I point out.

  “Good, good,” he says. “I want you to call me to check in every day, okay?”

  “Sure,” I reply, still getting my head around the idea of spying on her. “Are you still tracking her phone?” I ask carefully. The thought just hits me; if he’s tracked her phone in the past, how much further will he go? Is Lucy right?

  Is he listening to her calls and reading her texts and emails? What about cameras? I glance around the living room, a feeling of unease washing over me. Calm down. He has no reason to have bugged this place. Lucy’s, however, I’m not so sure about.

  “It’s for her own safety, and my piece of mind,” he growls defensively.

  “Is that as far as you will go?” I press.

  Maybe Lucy was right to be suspicious.

  “What is that supposed to mean, Pietro? Are you asking me if I invade my daughter’s privacy? Surely you know that even I have boundaries. I’d never step over the line like that. And if I did, why would I need you there?”

  He has a point, though the idea of Giovanni knowing any boundaries makes me want to laugh.

  “Okay, well, I better go. You can get me anytime on my cell. Try to have some trust in her, okay?”

  He grumbles in response. Hanging up, I head back outside. I need to learn my surroundings. If I’m going to keep an eye on her without blowing my cover, I need places to be able to do that from.

  I walk up and down the street, stopping just short of the studio. I’m not game enough to venture past. It would be just my luck that she’d glance out the window at just the right time and see me.

  I find myself standing inside a small coffee shop near our apartments. Unless she’s changed in the last week, I know Lucy avoids coffee, so I decide this is a good place to start.

  The waitress takes my order, and I choose a table by the far back wall, right next to the men’s restroom. I need an escape just on the off chance she does come in. From where I sit, I can see the studios clearly. There is no way she could leave and me not see her.

  “A coffee and French toast?”

  “Thanks,” I say, pushing my laptop aside. The pretty brunette waitress places my food in front of me. She nods, and then walks back to the kitchen.

  After I’ve had my breakfast, I spend the next few hours working on my master’s thesis. I get so engrossed in what I’m doing that I forget why I’m here in the first place. She could’ve easily wandered over here and caught me. I need to be more careful.

  “Can I get you another coffee?”

  I look up and into the eyes of my waitress. Her cheeks tinge pink and I realize I’m staring.

  “Please.” I nod. “And also a ham and cheese sandwich?”

  “If you’re after something sweet, the apple pie is pretty good. I know because I made it,” she adds with a grin.

  “Then you better give me a slice of that too,” I say, winking at her. As she walks back to the kitchen I glance over at the studio. I have no idea if Lucy eats lunch over there or what. I guess I’ll find out.

  The waitress comes back with a tray carrying my sandwich, coffee, the apple pie, and a glass of soda.

  “The soda is on me,” she says, setting it all in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a mouthful. She nods again and leaves me alone to eat. I’m half through my lunch when I hear my name being spoken, which scares the life out of me. I look up and see Benito. My mouth drops open. He was once my closest friend and is a very distant relative; I haven’t seen him since my parents’ funeral. It’s been eight years, but I’d recognize him anywhere. I smile, the tiny jagged scar that frames his right eye a reminder that my mother was right—some trees should be left unscaled.

  “Holy shit. Pietro, is that really you?” he asks, walking over to me. I stand up and extend my hand, still trying to process what I’m seeing.

  “What are you doing here?” I mumble, throwing my arms around him. He grins, shaking his head, obviously as shocked as I am. “Getting coffee.” He winks. “Oh, you mean in America? I moved over here after college and loved it so much I stayed. Fell in love, you know.”

  “Are you still with the girl?” I ask. Even at fifteen, Benito was a heartbreaker. I couldn’t imagine him settled down with a woman until a transfer student came onto the scene. From America, she managed to get under his skin like no girl ever had. The two of them had been inseparable. I’d heard they’d become engaged at eighteen, but I had no idea if they were still together.

  “Yep, married now with two kids. A girl and a boy. Twins, would you believe?” He shakes his head. “What about you? Lucky lady in your life?”

  “Not for me. Not yet, anyway.” I grin. I can’t help but notice my friendly waitress standing by the till, hanging on our every word. “Do you work around here?”

  He points to a building down the street. “Just over there. I own a deli with my father.” He shakes his head again, like he can’t believe he’s run into me. “He’ll be so happy to hear I ran into you. What are you doing Friday night? You should come over for dinner. I know Carrie would love to meet you, too.”

  “Sure, that sounds great,” I reply. And it does. Getting out and away from Lucy for a few hours will be just what I need by then, I bet.

  He hesitates as we exchange numbers, a serious look on his face. “I wanted to contact you when I came out here, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want the memories, you know?” He shifts awkwardly, his eyes avoiding mine.

  I chuckle. “I would’ve loved to hear from you, Benito. Not all my memories of home are bad. See you Friday.”

  I leave him to pick up his lunch. Just as he leaves, I see Lucy leaving the studio. Perfect timing. I pay my tab, promising the waitress I’d be back. After Lucy is safely inside, I walk across the street and down to my apartment building. I’m about to call Giovanni to tell him about Benito, but something stops me. I can’t explain why, but my gut tells me to keep it to myself. For now, at least.

  My phone pings. I pick it up, expecting
it to be Benito with his address, but it’s Lucy.

  Lucy: I’m a bad friend. I just realized I didn’t respond to your message earlier.

  I chuckle and tap back a response. I was convinced I’d stepped over the line. Maybe I could still save this.

  Me: I thought I must have scared you off. Sorry if I was getting a little full on. Probably best we keep this in the friend zone, huh?

  She doesn’t respond right away, and I’m left wondering again if I’ve misread the situation. All I’m trying to do is make her feel comfortable, but I keep putting my foot in it.

  Lucy: You didn’t scare me off, but you’re probably right. Your friendship is important to me. I’d hate to jeopardize that.

  I decide the best thing for both of us is a change of subject. I ask her how her first few days have been. The next few messages from her are full of excitement about her dancing and a new friend she’s made.

  Satisfied, I smile. I think we’re back on track.

  Chapter 9

  Pietro

  Between the constant calls from Giovanni checking in, and following Lucy, I feel like I don’t have a moment to myself. Even though I know she won’t be going anywhere for a good eight hours when she enters that studio, I can’t bring myself to not be there in case she needs me. So I sit for hours in the coffee shop, waiting, filling my time by working on my thesis and drinking an endless cups of coffee.

  Is it any wonder I have trouble getting to sleep at night? It’s not even ten a.m. and I’m on my fourth cup.

  “This is the fifth day in a row I’ve seen you here.” I look up and smile at the pretty waitress as she refills my cup.

  “Beats writing this thing at home,” I reply. She peers over my shoulder to look at the screen.

  “Looks riveting,” she says. I study her face. I think she’s being sarcastic, but I can’t be sure. “Seriously, it sounds really interesting. I was studying economics before I had to drop out to care for my nan. I’ll get back to it one day, though. Where are you studying?”