by Kat Walters
It was thanks to her mother that they had been offered a place at this prestigious dance festival. It was a fantastic opportunity for a new dance company. When Mariela Catelli, the event organizer, had heard what Isabella was doing, she had dropped everything to fly to London to see them perform.
An old friend of her mother's, Mariela, had kept in touch with Isabella over the years. After watching Isabella's performance, Mariela had insisted on finding a place for the dance company at the festival. Isabella couldn't believe her good fortune. After a difficult and challenging year, the company was finally getting the attention it deserved. She had worked so hard for this. At last, it felt like everything was going to be alright.
Yes, her heart still ached for Alessandro. Yes, she still dreamt of him most nights. She still thought about him every day, but as the months passed, she managed to convince herself that it was getting easier. She was dancing again, and that was all that mattered. Isabella repeated that mantra to herself whenever she was weak enough to think about him.
Like now. Isabella took another deep breath to steady her nerves. This was more than her usual anxiety before a performance. You're back in Rome, Izzy. That's all this. Alessandro isn't out there. He doesn't know you're here.
"Isabella? Are you ready?" The theatre's director was standing at her side, a concerned frown creasing his brow. She smiled brightly to reassure him.
"As ready as I'll ever be." She knew the theatre was taking a chance on an unknown dance group. She only hoped they didn't disappoint everyone.
Isabella sucked in a breath and prepared for her entrance. He doesn't know you're here. Even repeating that to herself, she couldn't dismiss the shivers chasing up and down her spine or the tingling awareness that washed over her. A tingling awareness that she had only ever felt in Alessandro's company.
Alessandro was aware of the theatre lights going up. He was mindful of the crush of people. The excited babble of a satisfied audience. He was even aware of the strange looks he was receiving, but there was simply nothing he could do to hide his reaction to seeing Isabella.
When she had first moved onto the stage, the impact of seeing her again had been physical, a fierce punch to the gut that left him breathless, and he still felt like that an hour later.
Isabella.
How had he lived his life without her? The pain of losing her was as fresh now as it had been two years ago. She was gone. And yet… here she was. As breath-taking and sensational as she had always been, maybe even more so. There was no sign of the shy, awkward woman she had been when he first met her.
This was a different Isabella and yet still… his. A ragged breath escaped his lungs, and he sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands. His? Was she his? Could she be his again? The only thing he knew for sure was that he was hers. He would never love another woman the way he loved Isabella.
He left the theatre in a state similar to sleepwalking, or so he imagined. He had no recollection of leaving the theatre or how he got home. He lay in his bed for hours that night, unable to sleep. When he finally did sleep sometime in the early hours before dawn, he dreamt of Isabella. He dreamt she was dancing. For him. Only for him. His heart soared. Then plummeted straight to the ground again when he woke and realized it was a dream.
Alessandro spent all morning trying to work while his mind spun in circles, trying to find a way to win her back. He had hurt her. Badly. How was he going to make it up to her? He didn't even know if she would see him. With that in mind, he called a florist and had them deliver a dozen red roses to the theatre. A simple note to tell her how sensational she had been. He didn't sign it. She would accuse him of playing games, but it was the fear that she would take one look at his name and throw the flowers in the bin. At least this way, he hoped that she might pause to smell the roses, to enjoy them.
Isabella loved flowers. That was something he remembered from their time together in Sardinia. She might think of him, wonder if they were from him. Alessandro sighed impatiently, annoyed with himself. Whatever way he looked at it, he was still playing games. He should have signed his name. He was a coward. The day dragged by until finally, it was time to return to the theatre. If he could not have her in his arms, all he wanted was to be in that darkened theatre watching her dance.
He was one of the first to arrive. He took a seat at the back, watching everyone, listening to the excited talk, and he felt so proud of her. Isabella had done this. All on her own. She had put together this incredible dance company. He might have given up on work that day but instead, he had spent his time reading all he could find about Isabella Ferrante and her dance company.
He had spent the last two years working hard to avoid thinking about her. She had been working just as hard. Isabella's dance company was spectacular. The reviews were unanimous in their praise. Fresh, innovative, breath-taking, vibrant. Every word was accurate. Every word described not only her dancing but Isabella herself.
Gio's photos of Isabella were equally mesmerizing. Gio, the humblest artist Alessandro knew, always claimed that the subject made the photo, not the photographer. Alessandro had never agreed with him before, but… Isabella. Her beauty shone through in those pictures. She was as captivating on-screen as she had been in his arms.
The article that accompanied those photos compared Isabella to her mother, Elena. Alessandro wondered how she felt being compared to her mother; and how she felt having her private life splashed across the papers. Her love for her mother was a personal, cherished memory, and now to share it with so many… There had even been a photo of them together when Isabella was five years old. A little girl in a pink tutu holding her mother's hand, smiling for the camera.
The photo had made him ache for a life he didn't know he wanted, a life that she might never offer him. A little girl in a pink tutu, a little girl who looked like Isabella. His chest squeezed tight. He wanted that life. He wanted Isabella, and he wanted a family. Isabella would never leave her children for another man. Isabella would never leave him, not if she loved him.
Alessandro slipped away before the lights came on. He didn't go straight home but wandered across the street to a little wine bar. There, he found himself a stool beside the window and ordered himself a glass of wine. Soon the audience was spilling out onto the street. The wine bar was filling up, but he kept his eyes on the theatre. One more glimpse of her, and then he would go home.
He didn't have long to wait. The dancers came out together, a small group of five. Three women and two men. All of them excited, talking loudly, all of them that is, except Isabella. Even from across the street, she looked subdued, distracted.
He wasn't the only one to notice. One of the male dancers, the blonde one, said something to her and then wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest. He said something to the group, and the others laughed at him; even Isabella laughed then. But it wasn't until she pushed away from him that Alessandro felt his fists unclench. He had been ready to punch the man. His body still felt poised to attack, to defend what belonged to him. Belonged to him? Alessandro hung his head for a moment, despairing. Isabella didn't belong to him.
The group remained on the sidewalk a few minutes more. Clearly, they were trying to talk Isabella into going somewhere with them. The blonde dancer took her hand and tugged her closer, and when she laughed and placed her hand on his chest, Alessandro actually found himself up on his feet, his fists bunching at his side. Isabella placed a light kiss on the man's cheek and stepped back with a smile.
For reasons Alessandro couldn't explain, the image that flashed through his mind at that moment was of the time they made love against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her tongue in his mouth. Isabella, hot and sweaty from dancing, hungry for him. For him. Her kiss had been insatiable and demanding.
Just like that, the tension melted from his body. Isabella wasn't sleeping with this man. There had been no fire, no passion in her touch. And he knew Isabella. He knew she wouldn't settle f
or less than the passion they had shared. Alessandro watched her say good night to the others just as a taxi pulled up, and then she was gone.
"Look who has flowers again!"
Her face must have looked a picture because Eddie burst out laughing and quickly snatched up the note before she could reach for it. Isabella tried to glare at him, but it was impossible to be mad at Eddie. Instead, she tossed her handbag down onto the nearest chair.
A quick glance around the dressing room ensured they had everything they needed for their next performance. The costumes had been washed and hung neatly on the rail. Her emergency bag of makeup and hair accessories was waiting for her on the counter in front of the mirror. Exactly where she'd left it the night before.
More flowers? The first bunch was the reason for her distraction in the first place. She still didn't know who had sent the roses the previous evening. She had wondered… but quickly dismissed that thought. Eddie was holding the note up high, smirking at her.
"You have an Italian admirer, Isabella." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Is there something you're not telling us?"
Cara laughed at Eddie, but in sympathy, she snatched the note out of Eddie's hand and passed it over to Isabella.
"Ignore him."
"I always do."
Eddie flopped across the small couch in a dramatic imitation of a faint. Isabella rolled her eyes and glanced down at the note in her hand. She was almost too scared to turn it over. Breathe. It's not from Alessandro. Her eyes strayed back to the flowers, and she leaned closer to inhale their sweet scent. Where did she know that smell from?
A memory sharp and sweet slid beneath her breast bone, piercing her heart. These were the same flowers that grew on the terrace of Alessandro's home in Sardinia. It's a coincidence. It doesn't mean anything. Eddie was watching her closely, so she forced herself to breathe. It had to be a coincidence.
"If you're not going to read it, then give it back." And he snatched the note out of her fingers.
"Eddie." Both Cara and Isabella cried in shocked unison. He only grinned and flopped back onto the couch. Sure he had their attention, he paused dramatically.
"You'll have to excuse my accent,"
"Just read it, Eddie!" Isabella sighed.
"Patience," he tutted before reading the note out loud. "Izzy, your show is spectacular. Your mother would have been so proud. Meet me after? I'll wait for you at Luca's."
For just the tiniest moment, everything went black. She couldn't see. Could shock do that? Alessandro had been to see her show. Isabella felt suddenly light-headed, dizzy. She couldn't make sense of what Eddie was saying to her. She blinked and tried to focus.
"Luca's?" Eddie repeated, his eyes as wide as she had ever seen them. Isabella blinked, then she couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped her. It was so like Eddie that even in a new city, he would know the hottest celebrity watering hole. "You do realize that you have to be married to royalty to get in there, right?"
Isabella's eyes crinkled in amusement, but she didn't know what to say to Eddie. How could she even begin to explain Alessandro? Alessandro had sent her the flowers. Why had he sent her flowers? Her brain felt fuzzy. Had he sent the roses the day before? Why would he do that? Why would he send her flowers and not sign his name? He had been in the audience. He had watched her dance. Somewhere in that dark theatre, Alessandro had been sitting… alone? Was he on a date? Had he known what or rather who he was coming to watch?
"Well, is he?" Eddie interrupted her thoughts, and when she turned blank eyes his way, he continued. "Is he royalty?"
It still took her a minute to understand, and when she did, she answered distractedly. "Not royalty. Luca is his brother."
"Contacts." Eddie sighed again and waved his hand in front of his face, fanning himself. "How come you never told me you know Luca DeLaurentis?"
"I don't, not really." Isabella turned back to the flowers, staring at them as though they might poison her if she leaned in too close. Her fear must have shown because Eddie's light-hearted mood slipped away. He exchanged an anxious look with Cara before turning back to Isabella with a worried look in his eyes.
"It's him, isn't it?"
Startled out of her own thoughts, Isabella tried to smile, tried to be flippant. "Him who?"
"The man who broke your heart. The one you never talk about."
The smile slipped from her face. "I don't know what you're talking about." She pushed past him, reaching for her costume. She was trying so hard not to cry or look at those damn flowers.
"Okay." Eddie's hands were on her shoulders. "Sit. There." He guided her into a chair. "Now, take a breath."
Isabella looked up then, startled to realize that Eddie had caught her and placed her in the chair. Her legs felt boneless and had simply gone from underneath her. Eddie gently pushed her head down between her legs.
"Breathe, Isabella."
She did as he said, and slowly her head cleared. Alessandro. Her heart ached. She wanted to believe the affection she heard in his note. She wanted the message to mean something.
"Isabella?" There was concern now on Eddie's face. "Are you going to be able to dance?"
She forced herself upright, gave him a tight smile, and managed to nod. She had a show to put on. She had to pull herself together. Later. She could think about Alessandro later. She couldn't afford to fall apart now. Reluctantly her gaze swung back towards the flowers. Eddie followed her gaze.
"They look wild. Do you think he picked them himself?"
Isabella burst out laughing at the thought of Alessandro picking her flowers. She reached out, her fingers brushing the soft petals, and just touching them brought back the scent of Sardinia. The memories of dry heat and... she refused to allow her thoughts stray any further into the past.
"The flowers are from his garden in Sardinia."
Eddie was quiet a minute watching her. "And are you going to tell me why he sent you flowers from his garden in Sardinia?"
"Sardinia is where I fell in love with him," said so quietly, almost as if she was talking to herself. "It's a message."
"And the message is?"
Tears were running down her face, and she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to hold them back. "I don't know," she whispered, frustration clear in her voice. She knew what she wanted them to mean, but she wouldn't be fool enough to believe that. Never again. She had lost her heart to Alessandro once already. She couldn't let it happen again.
Chapter 10
Alessandro glanced impatiently at his watch. Was she even coming? It was almost midnight, and he'd been waiting since ten. He'd started off the waiting with a glass of Luca's best brandy, something to steady the revealing tremble in his hand.
A tremble he was aware of even now. He clenched his fists at his side, keeping them out of sight, wishing Luca would come out from the kitchen to keep him company. Sitting alone at the bar had been too much of an invitation for more than one woman in here. And the last thing he wanted was for Isabella to see him with another woman when she arrived. If she arrived.
Alessandro allowed himself a slow perusal of the restaurant, a cool, measured glance. It was still busy, but most of the customers were relaxing now, making use of the dance floor and the sultry three-piece band playing in the corner. They were a new group, their music an original blend of blues and North African rhythm. They suited the restaurant, nothing Luca did was ever traditional, and it showed in every aspect of his restaurant.
Thinking of his brother Alessandro allowed himself a fleeting smile but immediately regretted it when a stunning blonde three tables away took it as an invitation. Just the type of woman he used to date, he thought with a frown. He deliberately schooled his features into arrogant disdain as the woman sashayed towards him and slipped onto the empty barstool beside him.
"I've been watching you all evening," she murmured, leaning in closer to him. Her perfume was cloying, overpowering, and he found himself leaning back. "And I couldn't help
asking myself what a man like you," he felt her gaze travel lazily over his body, "is doing here all on his own."
How did he ever find this type of woman attractive? Easy. There was no challenge with a woman like this. There was no intimacy, no love. He knew that he could have her in his bed within the hour and never have to see her again afterward. Where once that thought would have held appeal, now it only left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Isabella had ruined all other women for him. There would be no satisfaction in that kind of casual affair. Not anymore. He looked down as he felt the blonde slide her hand over his where it rested on the bar. Deliberately he lifted her hand off his, placing it far enough away from his own. When all this action elicited from her was an amused smile, he eyed her coldly.
"So stern," she murmured, leaning closer again, so close she was almost in his lap. His frown deepened. "I like stern men," and she smiled suggestively. Biting back what he really wanted to say to this woman, he looked up, and his eyes locked on Isabella.
She stood in the doorway, watching him. Watching him and the blonde. He started up out of his seat, ignoring the startled gasp from the other woman. Isabella. She couldn't leave, not like this. Her eyes held his across the room, and he saw doubt flit across her expressive face.
Alessandro started to walk towards her, his eyes holding her still, pleading with her not to go. Isabella seemed to hear him, for she took two steps towards him, but something clouded those beautiful eyes, and she turned abruptly, walked out the door.
No.
He was almost at the door when Isabella stopped. She looked shaken and pale but determined. He longed to take her in his arms but knew he couldn't. Not yet. He closed the distance between them until he stood so close he could feel the heat from her body.