by Sienna Parks
Me: Forget I said anything. You’re right. I have a performance to focus on.
How many times am I going to throw myself at Logan Fitzgerald and have him turn me down, all the while telling me that he wants me? It’s confusing, and I can’t keep feeling like this. My life is regimented and simple. I know where I stand in all things. I need to let this go and move past it. I switch my phone onto silent, place it back on the side of the bath and slowly immerse myself under the water for as long as my lungs will allow. When I emerge, I try my best to leave behind the sadness, and the negativity that I feel. I don’t even glance at my phone as I grab a towel and head for the bedroom.
Two hours, and a lot of makeup and hairspray later, I find myself dressed and ready to do my final warm-ups before the curtain call. Luca is hounding me about my mood, and I know he means well, but I just want him to let me get through tonight and go to bed. My ankle is still hurting and my heart is heavy as the music begins.
There is an electricity backstage in the minutes before a performance begins. A mixture of nerves and excitement, fear and anticipation. It’s what fuels each and every dancer to give their all; to dance every night and every show as if it is the most important of their lives. Tonight, I can’t feel it. For the first time in my career, I feel flat, and Luca can see it; he can sense it.
“Vittoria… bella. What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this at show time. Talk to me.” I rub my hand reassuringly over his bicep.
“I’m fine. Sorry. Just a little tired tonight, and my ankle is a little sore, but nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be fine when the curtain goes up. You know me…” I don’t have the words to end that sentence, so I leave it hanging in the air. No one really knows me. I let them see what I want them to see.
For Luca, he sees a calm, confident dancer, who thrives under pressure. The reality is that I don’t feel pressure when it comes to dancing. It doesn’t matter if I dance for a room of thousands, or no one at all. I dance for me. I would rather not have the attention that comes from being on stage, but it comes with the territory, so I deal with it.
My parents see a daughter that was broken, but has faced adversity head on and pieced herself back together. They think I’ve moved on with my life. They see what they can bear to see. If they really looked, really saw me, they would see just how broken I still am. They ignore the signs and cling to the positives. I don’t blame them. Sometimes I almost convince myself that I’m okay.
Carter will always see me as his kid sister, who needs protecting. What I love about him, is that he’s always been that way. He didn’t change the way he treated me because of what happened, it’s just who he is, but I’ve always felt so guilty when it comes to my big brother. He may not have changed the way he is with me, but the way he’s treated women over the years has everything to do with what happened. He kept his distance, not getting emotionally involved, he guarded his heart against the bad, but it also stopped him from letting someone really love him. That was, until he met Addi. She has transformed him; she’s had an impact on my relationship with him. I don’t need to carry around the burden I once felt; the guilt of him missing out because of me. The moment I saw them together, I could see it. The look in his eyes, the way his demeanor changed only for her. They’ve had a really rough time in their relationship, but I know that they’ll get through whatever life throws at them. They are perfectly imperfect for each other. So alike and yet so complementary. They just… work. And they give me hope that I can have that someday.
When it comes to Logan, I have no idea how he sees me, or what he thinks of me. He says he loves me, but he can’t see the part of me that is screaming out to him; calling to the Dominant inside of him, and begging for him to claim me as his own. He thinks I’m his best friend’s perfect little sister, innocent and unmarred by the evils of the world. If only he knew…
I don’t want him to know. I hope he never finds out. But, I do want him to see me for who and what I really am – a submissive who so desperately wants to be his. He challenges me in ways that I both love and hate in equal measure, and I think I challenge him, too. I’ve forced his hand more than once now, and I can see that it unsettles him.
I’m brought back to the present by Luca’s voice in the distance, and yet, he’s standing right beside me. “Showtime. Get your head straight.”
The music begins, heralding my entrance and just like that, Luca sweeps me into the air and out onto the stage.
My concentration dances between the ballet I’m performing, and Logan, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The fanciful stage that I’m gliding across, and the departure gate at Heathrow Airport. My heart just isn’t in it tonight, and as I perform a basic pirouette, my footing falters and I land awkwardly on my already sprained ankle. The crowd gasps, and Luca rushes to my side before the other dancers on stage improvise for a moment until my understudy takes to the stage. He lifts me into the wings, setting me down gently, and returns to finish the show.
I can’t put any weight on my ankle, and I know my own body so well, I can tell that I’ve torn the ligaments before the company doctor even looks at me. I lie heartbroken when he confirms my worst fear. I’m looking at up to three months’ recovery time, six weeks without any form of training whatsoever. I’ve never gone that long without dancing. I don’t know how I’ll survive it.
Luca stayed with me while they wrapped my ankle and set me up with a set of rather cumbersome crutches. Then, he helped me back to the hotel where we booked my flight back to New York. I shouldn’t have travelled on my own, but I couldn’t face staying in Prague and watching everyone perform while I sat on the sidelines.
Now I’m back in New York, in my apartment, and I haven’t told a single soul that I’m here. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours sleeping, thanks to some very heavy painkillers. When I finally come around long enough to be aware of my surroundings, I grab my phone off the nightstand to check the time. I forgot that I’d switched it off after texting Logan… it must be three days ago now.
I slump back down onto my pillow and power it up, watching as it immediately starts beeping and chiming. Emails, texts, missed calls and voicemails. Half of them from Luca wondering if I got home safely, a handful from my mom asking how the tour is going and if I’m eating enough! And then there’s the name that catches my eye. I have a message from Logan and a single missed call from his number.
I throw the phone down on the bed, unable to face whatever he has to say to me. I didn’t exactly leave things on a friendly note with the last text I sent. I’m so frustrated by how crazy I am over him. We’ve shared one very hot, very intense night which ended too quickly, a handful of kisses, and a few intense moments when I thought that we were really connecting. I’m not this girl. The one that goes gaga over a guy from the get-go, but I know it’s different with Logan. We’ve known each other for nine years, and I’ve been aware of my feelings for him since the beginning, but I still hate what he turns me into. A silly school girl who can’t concentrate on her own life, obsessing over what a boy thinks of her. It’s everything I hate. Everything I’ve never let myself be. I never give second chances, but with him, I seem to give them unconditionally.
Maybe he’s right, maybe I should stay away from him. But I can’t. Something inside of me keeps telling me, over and over again, that if I just break through his exterior, and he understands what I want in a relationship, then we could be amazing together.
I decide to call Luca and my mom before I brave looking at the text from Logan. I spend thirty minutes listening to my mom going on about Prague and all the things I need to see while I’m there, and I can’t bring myself to tell her I’m back in New York. She would fuss and worry and smother me for the next six weeks. Luca gives me an earful for not calling sooner, and then he talks about everything except the show. He knows that I live and breathe dance, and how much it will kill me to be away from it for so long, but not talking about it feels so fake, I can’t stand it.
&nb
sp; When I hang up the phone, my stomach starts to churn as I open the message from Logan. I look at the time it was sent, realizing it was three hours after I had sent my last text to him. It said only two words.
Logan: I’m Sorry
Tears well in my eyes at the simplicity of his message.
I quickly dial my voicemail and brace myself to hear his low rasping voice in my ear, and a chill runs through me at the sound of my name on his lips.
Vittoria. Fuck. I don’t even know why I’m calling. We’ve said everything that needs to be said. I’m so sorry for hurting you. If I could take it back… I’d love to tell you that I would… but it wouldn’t be the truth. It’s selfish, and wrong, but I wouldn’t give up a single second that I’ve had with you. The feel of you coming apart beneath me, has ruined me for anyone else. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, and it wasn’t really my intention to say any of that. Fuck!! This is what you’re doing to me, Tori. You have me twisted and conflicted, and I want you so badly my body burns, every minute of every day. I need to put the phone down before I beg you to tell me where you are so I can come and get you. It was never meant to turn out this way. You’re my Nyx. You always have been. You are beautiful inside and out. You excite me and terrify me in the same breath. Take care of yourself. I promise that if we see each other again, I will keep my hands to myself, and I won’t make this any harder on either of us. I’m so sorry.
I’m calling his number before I even know what it is I want to say.
“Vittoria?”
“Hi, Logan. I just got your message.” The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening, but I can hear his breathing, labored and erratic. “I know it was a goodbye speech, but when you said that you were close to begging to come and get me… Logan… I need you right now.”
“I… I can’t.”
“I’m not asking for love, or forever, or even sex. I’m…” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. “I’m back in New York.”
“What happened? I thought you were in Prague for three weeks.”
I can feel my voice thick with tears as I say it out loud. “I got injured. I can’t dance for at least six weeks.” I breakdown into a flood of tears as I let myself feel the weight of it all bearing down on me.
“Oh shit. Tell me exactly what’s going on.”
I take a deep breath before I continue. “I’ve torn the ligaments in my right ankle. I’m pretty swollen, strapped up, and on crutches for the next few weeks. I won’t be able to even begin training again for six weeks or I risk permanent damage. I can barely walk right now, and the thought of not dancing for so long… destroys me.”
“I’m so sorry. What can I do to help? Who’s with you?” I hesitate, knowing he’ll be annoyed. “Vittoria. Who. Is. With. You?”
My voice is a whisper. “No one knows I’m here, or that I’m hurt. I can’t face them. They would be all over me, and wanting to talk it to death. I just can’t deal with that. I’m holding it together by a thread as it is.”
“Not even Carter?”
“Especially not him. He would have me moved into his apartment immediately and I would be on bed rest with him fussing over me. He might even be worse than my mom.”
That makes him laugh. “Well, I don’t feel good about hiding this from him. It took me a long time to earn back his trust.” I can feel the pangs of guilt, strangling my insides, but I just can’t face him right now.
“Please, don’t tell him. He’s done enough worrying about me to last a lifetime. He has enough going on with Addi and Verona, and work. I am NOT adding to that. Please.”
“Fine. But I’m coming over to look after you. My flight gets in late tonight, so let your doorman know I’m coming.”
My heart skips a beat. “You don’t have to do that. You said you didn’t want to be around me.”
“I know what I said, Vittoria. Don’t argue with me. I’ll be there around 11 p.m. You shouldn’t wait up for me, you need your rest, but I’ll be there when you wake up.”
I pause for a moment. Letting his commanding voice wash over me. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Now go and rest. I’ll see you soon. Bye.” He hangs up the phone before I have a chance to say goodbye. My head is spinning as I lie back down on the bed. Logan is coming here, tonight. He wants to look after me. I feel terrible for imposing on him, but more so, I’m elated that I’m going to see him again.
I spend the day drifting in and out of a drug induced slumber; dreams and visions of Logan dancing in my head. I don’t even get out of bed to eat. I simply take the painkillers the doctor gave me, with a sip of water, and let myself be pulled back into the darkness. I feel comfortable there. He’s there. My dark defender.
I feel like my flight took twice as long as it should have. Normally I can sleep from takeoff to landing without a problem, but today was different. Not only do I have the boys from Flaming Embers flying back with me, high on the anticipation of their future success in the U.S.A., but my mind is racing with the knowledge that I will be seeing Vittoria tonight. My focus should be solely on the band. I’ve worked so hard to get this deal together, and it will be huge for them, and for the label. I need to give them my full attention, and yet, I’m already preoccupied.
I couldn’t let her stay in that apartment alone, not telling anyone that she’s injured, or even that she’s in the country. Dancing is everything to her, and if she made her ankle worse by struggling through without help, I could never forgive myself for knowing and not doing anything. I should have called Carter, but the pleading tone in her voice stopped me, and she was right when she said that his plate is full with all things Addi. Those two are the perfect storm. So good together, and yet toxic in their own self-sabotage.
Once I get the guys settled in their new apartment, I stop at my own to drop off my luggage and grab a quick shower, before packing an overnight bag and heading to Vittoria’s apartment.
When I arrive in the lobby, the doorman is waiting with a key and a smile, telling me to let him know if Miss de Rossi needs anything else. I thank him and make my way to the elevators. I’ve never actually been inside Vittoria’s apartment in all the years I’ve known her, and I’m curious to see her little piece of Manhattan, but when the elevator stops on the twenty-fifth floor, I’m reluctant to step out. I know that I must exercise complete control while I’m here. I can’t give in to the way I feel when I’m around her. She needs me to be strong enough for both of us.
I quietly turn the key in the lock, trying not to alert her to my arrival. It’s well after midnight now; the apartment is silent and dark except for a small lamp in the corner of the living room, which she must have left on for me. That small gesture isn’t lost on me, and I take a moment to take in my surroundings.
The air is infused with the light aroma of her perfume, tantalizing my senses, intoxicating me.
I’m torn from my reverie when I hear muffled noises coming from down the hall, and my body reacts in an instant. I’m drawn to her. My heartbeat races and my pace quickens. A tiny sliver of light creeps out from under the door, lighting my way, as her noises become louder and more urgent. She sounds pained. I don’t want to scare her, so I slowly open the door and slip into the room.
She is a vision of beauty in the center of the bed, but she’s restless and unsettled.
I’m reluctant to wake her in case it makes the nightmare she is obviously having, any worse. Instead, I make my way over and slowly sit on the edge of the bed beside her. I can’t make out what she’s saying, it’s too jumbled and frantic, so I gently reach out and stroke her hair, hoping that it will calm her down. She reacts to my touch almost immediately. Within minutes and without waking, her body relaxes, her rambling stops, and her breathing evens out. It’s only then that I realize I was holding my breath. I take a moment to relax, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension, before kicking off my shoes and lying down beside her. For someone so small, she manages to take up a lot of space in a king size bed! I find m
yself balancing on the edge, certain that I’m going to fall on my ass at some point during the night, but I don’t want to leave her here alone. I can’t.
I lie on my side, staring at her for the longest time, wondering what terrorizes her in her sleep. I think about how much pain she must be in both physically and emotionally right now with her injury; the crutches by the side of the bed, a devastating sight. My mind is racing with thoughts of our time together, and the last time I saw her. I still don’t know how she found out about me, or exactly what she knows. Her texts hinted that she runs in the same circles as me, but if that was the case… I just can’t believe that she is a Dominatrix or even a submissive, and I’ve never seen her in the clubs. I would have figured it out.
Then it hits me – what if she’s a Dominatrix? Surely not. She is so submissive with me, but she is strong and assertive. She was the one that pushed in Verona. Maybe she was giving me what she thought I wanted. If she is, then we are even more incompatible than I thought. I need to believe that isn’t the case. I told her we can never be together, but the moment she said those words, when she called me Master, I let a small part of myself hope.
I have talked myself out of being with her for so many reasons, so many times. She’s Carter’s sister, and it’s taken me a long time to regain his trust after last year. He’s never going to accept me as the guy for her. I still believe that she is too sweet and innocent to be open to what I have to offer. I know that what I do isn’t wrong, but I know that I’m not good enough for her. I can’t be everything that she needs, but ever since the airport, I keep coming back to the same thought, over and over again, until it drives me crazy.
I crave her with every fiber of my being, and if there is even a chance that she is a submissive, then I will make her mine at any cost.
Consequences be damned.
The thought of her with any man makes my blood boil, but with another Dom, that makes me feel downright homicidal. I feel so conflicted that it’s a physical pain in my body. I throw my hand up over my face, lying flat on my back as I struggle with the images that plague my mind. I must have disturbed Vittoria, because she moves toward me, her arm sliding across my abs as her head finds that spot between my chest and my arm where she fits perfectly, as if she was made for me; the missing piece. I slide my arm around her, pulling her closer. If I were exercising complete control, like I told myself I should, I would extricate myself and go to the guest bedroom, but it feels so fucking good to have her in my arms. I’m selfish and greedy for anything and everything I can get when it comes to her.