An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (6 page)

I
shove up against Luca’s chest, pressing my body into him in a way that makes us
appear like we’re actually being more intimate than what’s really going on.
Luca, being the natural playboy that he is, automatically wraps his arm around
my waist, even though his eyes have narrowed. A knowing smile is spreading
across his lips as his gaze moves back and forth, to the person standing behind
me and my face.

Pozhaluista.
Please just play along.

Don’t
disappoint me.

“So,
I’ll see you at Black Butterfly tomorrow. We still need to discuss those, um,
concerns,” I say, stretching my eyes and trying to keep my sexy smile at the
same time, hoping I don’t come across as too desperate.

“What
plans, signorina?” At first, he frowns but, the light goes on and his already
striking blue eyes brighten up. “Ahh, I see. Of course, little Maia. I cannot
wait for the chance to see what a ship sailing upon an ocean of sadness shall
deliver to my door.” Finally, I get my answer to the question about the tongue
ring. He kisses me, lightly at first, a hint of the beast hiding inside the
man. I respond at once, surprising myself. It doesn’t last long, but I’m sure
it’s just enough to do what I need. If we’d gone on any longer, I do believe I
might have passed out from feeling winded. I don’t completely understand why
his kiss has affected me this way, but I do know I like it.

“Wow,”
I murmur, taking a slow step back. I get a smile that lights me up inside, even
though I know Nikolai’s watching us.

Of
course Luca lifts my hand and kisses it, never once removing his eyes from my
face. I’m doing this weird thing where I’m holding my breath and trying to act
sexy at the same time. I think I can feel a bit of the steam coming from
Nikolai standing silently behind us, and that’s the only reason I’m not doubled
over laughing right now.

 “What?
No Juliette for me?” I ask sarcastically, thinking of the way he has greeted
and said good-bye to the last few women I’ve seen him talking to, including
Ines.

He
leans close to my ear, his warm breath sending shivers through me. “There is
nothing common about a woman who has eyes that hold enough color and emotion to
rival the Mediterranean’s glory. You are special. Always remember that.”
Lifting his lips to my cheek, he brushes them gently across my skin. I think I
just stopped breathing. S-H-I-T! I’m speechless. Honestly, I didn’t expect him
to say something like that. I can see how he gets his way with women. “You owe
me,” he whispers, and assists me with getting out of the pool.

Nikolai
clears his throat for about the tenth time since he entered the area. Holding a
towel in his hand, he proceeds to wrap it around my body just after I make my
way over to where he stands, bundling me tight so my head sticks out like a
baby. His movements are jerky and he refuses to look in my eyes. Instead, his
gaze remains locked on Luca the entire time he’s wrapping me up.

“I
see swimming was … beneficial to you today,” he says to me, his words clipped
and gaze hard as it slides back to me.

“Very
much so. I rather enjoyed the attention,” I answer.

His
gaze darkens and he jerks my towel closed a little harder than I think he
realizes. “I have been waiting outside for quite a while. I thought something
might have happened.”

“Well,
I’m all in one piece, obviously,” I reply, shrugging the best I can considering
I’m trapped in a towel cocoon.

“Indeed.”
His gaze slides from my face to the man standing behind me. “Luca Martuccio, is
it not?” he asks, moving around me and offering Luca his hand. He’s ticked off
and I’m not so sure I’m enjoying his reaction as much as I thought I would. He
might look a lot like a model, but I don’t ever make the mistake of forgetting
that he’s every bit the killer raised by a family that makes mine look like a
group of saints.

“The
one and only, yes.” Luca narrows his eyes a bit before he says, “But I do
believe you already knew this.”

“Nikolai
Belikov. A pleasure to have a moment with the man my boss hired to design for
my troupe. I should think you would be out working hard on those creations,
seeing that you only have a matter of weeks to complete them.”

“I
think I can handle your deadlines.”

“Good.
That will be all you will need to be handling. Do we understand each other?”

“Sure
we do, Signor Belikov.” Luca shrugs, his bright smile never faltering, even
under Nikolai’s icy glare. The way my bodyguard focuses on someone’s face
without blinking unnerves me, so I’m impressed by Luca’s ability to hold his
ground. Some silent thing happens between the two men as they continue to stare
at each other for the longest, most intense minute ever, and I can’t help
feeling a little flattered that this moment’s centered around me.

“I
should think we’re intruding on your swim. I look forward to seeing those
designs,” Nikolai says, beaming a forced smile at Luca. Turning to me, he holds
out his hand, directing me toward the door, his eyes hard although his smile
captivates me. “Shall we, Adriana?” This conversation isn’t over, I can tell. I
grab my bag and stalk toward the door, contemplating the best way to set
Nikolai straight. He can’t just ignore me, and then threaten other men who show
interest in me.

Just
before I step through the door, I turn back toward Luca and smile, hoping that
my eyes offer the thanks I can’t speak right now. Shaking his head, he returns
my questioning gaze by mouthing the words, “No problem.”

I
glance up at Nikolai, giving him my most innocent I-got-you look I can muster.
Score one for me, the clumsy ballerina, and it doesn’t even matter that I’ll be
scrubbing tutus for the next half of the year.

Later
that night, I lay in bed thinking about the way Luca kissed me, and more
specifically, how my traitorous body reacted to his touch. Nikolai surprised
me. Not a word was said about what took place at the pool. I kind of expected
him to run and tell Mother or Alek, but obviously he didn’t tell either of
them. My phone whistles, scaring the crud out of me. It’s the tone I set just
for Nikolai’s texts and I can’t help but think of how much it really does sound
like a bird. Lis and her stinky romance books. I sit up and glance at the
screen, my heart racing as I read the pink bubble.

N:
Are you awake, Adriana?

Me:
Yes.

N:
What is with you and Alek’s designer?

Me:
Nothing. We just met today.

N:
WHAT????? I could not tell. I should report you both.

Me:
Don’t care.

Me:
Whatever makes Sir Belikov happy.

A
long pause, and then ... the bird whistles through my phone’s speakers. I fight
a strong urge to ignore it, or maybe I can shove a huge thorn through its chest
and silence the damn thing for good. Again ... Lis and her romance novels. Ugh!

N:
What are you doing right now?

Me:
Texting you.

N:
What else?

Me:
Reading.

N:
Reading what?

Me:
A novel Lis let me borrow.

N:
What is it called?

Me:
You’ve never heard of it.

N:
Stubborn. I did not know you were into reading.

Me:
There are lots of things you don’t know about me.

N:
Obviously.

Me:
What’s that supposed to mean?

Another
long pause.

N:
What are you wearing?

Whoa!
What a completely unexpected response. This time I’m the one who’s swallowing
hard and stalling for time just before I position my fingers back on the keys.
Has Nikolai lost his mind? Am I dreaming? It doesn’t matter. I want more, so I
seize this rare moment.

N:
You still there?

Me:
Yes.

N:
And the answer to my question would be ...

Me:
A Hello Kitty sleeping shirt.

What
a completely not sexy response. Regardless, I’m sure there’s a logical reason
for Nikolai’s sudden interest in my clothing.

N:
Is your hair pinned up?

Okay.
Maybe not so logical of a response.

Me:
No. It’s loose. I hate tying it up at night. Don’t want to lose my hairline the
way other ballerinas do as they age.

N:
Laughing out loud.

Me:
It isn’t FUNNY. Notice I used all caps, too.

I
get about a three minute pause this time.

N:
Are you wearing underwear?

Yes,
I’m slapped speechless. Yes, those four little words mean more than the
thousands of other ones I’ve heard throughout the day. Yes, I’ve been waiting
for this side of Nikolai to show himself to me for the longest time. Yes, the
thought of actually hearing his sexy voice asking me that question causes my
stomach muscles to tighten, warmth firing through me like a flame headed toward
a stick of dynamite, aiming straight for the goal—the sweet spot between my
legs. No, I’m not going to sit here like an idiot and let him get away with
asking something like that.

Me:
What do I get if I answer that question?

N:
Nothing. Forget I asked.

N:
Goodnight, Adriana.

~Luca Martuccio

I
don’t know what’s more exciting: that my little ballerina with the huge,
expressive blue eyes actually stopped by my shop this evening, or that she’s
the daughter of one of the richest, most scandalous Russian families around.

The
word sexy does no justice for her. I could see how much she cares for the
Andrej Peijic look-alike with the dancer’s body—Nikolai Belikov. According to
the tabloids, he’s one of Russia’s most accomplished male ballet dancers,
someone who no one knows anything about except the Dostovskys, the family that
adopted him after rescuing him from a life of neglect by his real family. He’s
also the man with a fire in his eyes, more specifically, a flame aimed toward
me because of the little ballerina walking around Black Butterfly’s design room
right now.

“Don’t
forget to send the contracts out tomorrow, Luca,” my assistant, Carla, reminds
me as she heads out the door.

“I’m
almost certain I’ll forget. Fantastic job tonight,” I add. “And I’ll do my best
to get those bills out tomorrow.”

“I’ll
send a text to remind you,” she says, giving me a knowing look as she passes a
quick glance at Adriana. Raising my eyebrows, I wave, hoping to hasten her
departure.

“Behave,”
Carla says.

“Never.
Now go,” I urge and she does, leaving me alone with Adriana Dostovsky … at
last.

Wearing
a brown skater’s dress, light colored tights, and white leg warmers, even
though it will get close to eighty degrees outside on this July afternoon in
Milan, Adriana Dostovsky creates a simplistic vision of loveliness, a girl
who’s naturally curious and naïve and built like a goddess. I can’t help but to
wonder if the shop looks good enough for her.

Our
attempts to brighten the dark walls comes in the form of picking art work that
has splashes of red in the black and white designs. How many women have walked
through these doors? Plenty. And not one time has a Juliette been able to force
me to second guess the quality of my shop. The women in my life come from all
walks, every class, and I have never given a second thought to what they might
be thinking of Black Butterfly … until today. I don’t quite understand what’s
going on with me.

Stay
focused.
Belikov’s words
were clear: work on the design and not the dancer. More specifically, his
dancer. He might not have realized it, being that he seems to be the type of
man who doesn’t let emotion cloud his judgment, but I could almost see the
jealousy rolling off his body in waves.

I
also know Signor Belikov’s inability to hide his temper was the exact reaction
my little badass ballerina wanted to pull from him. If I’m not careful, I just
might find myself out of an assignment, which would ultimately affect everyone
at Black Butterfly. I’ve screwed up enough in the past, and I don’t think my
big brother, Rafe, or my newest designer, Erin Angelo, would like to see all of
our hard work trashed because of my inability to keep my insatiable desires
under control.

“I
love this place. It’s so unique,” Adriana says as she walks around, taking
extra time to linger on the artwork, pictures of a woman posing in various
locations throughout the canals of Venice, some of my best work.

“Wow.
Look at this one,” she exclaims, stopping in front of a piece I consider my
greatest work. It’s a portrait of a woman with skin as white as milk, ruby red lips,
and hair that reminds me of an onyx. She’s wearing a zebra pattern fur that
makes her bright green eyes stand out. The background behind her consists of my
interpretation of the old Venetian opera house before it burned down in the
1800’s; and she’s the ghost that haunts it.

“
La signora più triste a Venezia
,” I say,
hoping she doesn’t ask me to explain anything further than the type of paint I
used to create the portrait.

“The
saddest lady in Venice,” she translates. “Who drew these?”

“I
did,” I answer, stifling an urge to lie. There’s a story behind
La Signora
in my painting, and I’m not ready to share it yet.

“You
know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she states suddenly, grabbing my attention
at once.

“I
can only imagine.” I try to keep my cool, but I’m dying to know what she’s
about to say.

“I’ve
always wanted to have someone paint my portrait. Just like that guy Jack did
for Rose in that
Titanic
movie. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever
seen.” She has this bright-eyed look that makes me want to help make her wish
come true right away. However, I can’t help wondering who’d be the lucky
recipient of her portrait. I don’t think it would be me.

Sighing,
I smirk. “Why does every female in the world obsess over that movie? Americans,
Italians, British girls. No matter. They all go crazy for Jack Badly Stitched
Coveralls Dawson.”

“Because
he’s sexy. That’s why.”

“Are
you trying to tell me you want me to paint your naked body? I don’t know how
the boss would feel about me tainting her daughter, but we can work something
out.” I flash her a devilish grin.

She
gasps and blushes. “Boy, you don’t hold anything back, do you? I’m saying it
would be neat to experience something like Rose and Jack’s adventure.”

“Ah.
I see. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I
get a wide-eyed smile just before she takes a step back away from me and
stumbles over a cord sticking out from behind one of the display tables,
forcing me to catch her yet again.

“Careful,
signorina. How can a ballerina be prone to such catastrophes?” I ask, my body
suddenly aware of the way her petite, but firm, frame is pressed against mine.
My nostrils can’t help but inhale the fresh scent of roses drifting from inside
her hair.

Easing
out of my arms, she straightens up her body. “Mother says I have her coordination
challenged genes and my father’s determination. Meaning I have to practice more
and watch my steps. My determination to overcome my clumsiness is crazy insane,
and that’s how I’m able to do ballet.” I can tell she’s lost in some memory.
Those gorgeous eyes of hers are focused on my painting, a sadness filling them.
I want to know more, but I realize nothing can happen between us that way.
Flirt. Joke around. Take your ass home. That’s my motto where Adriana’s
concerned.

“I
am sorry, but I have to prepare for tomorrow’s show. You wanted to talk to me
about something?”

“Right.
Yes. That. Hmm.” She places a finger against her cheek, frowning as though
she’s in deep thought. Just as I figured, she didn’t really need anything. I
should send her home. Now. I can’t, though. This is that defining moment with
the little ballerina from the other side of the neighborhood, that place I
always come to with a woman, the one where I decide to either take her on a
ride with
La Dolce Vita
or send her home. Option two is the road I know
I need to take with this girl, but I don’t.

“I’d
love to see a live fashion show. I’ve never been to one before,” she says
suddenly, avoiding my question. “I mean, I’m used to big performances and
things, but not anything fun like a fashion show.”

She
reminds me of a child with her wide-eyed enthusiasm. I could take her right
here in the shop—I’ve done it to many women—but I can’t bring myself to use
this girl in that way. Never mind that her Russian bodyguard would probably
rearrange my body parts before having me fired. I’ve faced worse, and Belikov’s
threat doesn’t bother me. Right then, I decide road number one, the player’s
alley, probably isn’t going to be the way I go with this one, either.

“I
know what you’re doing,” I begin.

“What
do you mean?” she asks.

“You
were trying to make your bodyguard jealous yesterday at the pool.”

Twisting
her mouth up, she starts lacing and unlacing her fingers. “No, seriously, I did
need to talk to you …”

I
decide to play along, even though I know I’m right about her intentions. “All
right. Go on, finish your story,” I urge, unable to conceal my grin.

“I’m
busted, right?”

“Don’t
feel bad, Maia, you can use me anytime.”

“Maia?
You know, I think Juliette’s a much better name,” she says as she holds back a
grin.

“Maybe
this is true.” We stare at each other a brief moment, and then we both burst
out laughing. I’m having a normal conversation with another female, one that doesn’t
include a poetical metaphor or a reference to something sexual in every other
sentence. This is
not
good; time to send my badass ballerina away. Too
late. The shop’s entrance bells chime through the room, stealing my thoughts,
but giving me hope that whoever has decided to crash this moment might provide
the distraction I desperately need.

My
older brother, Rafe, along with my mother enter the shop and she’s headed
straight toward Adriana.

“Is
this the girl you told me about, Rafael?” she asks Rafe as she beams a smile at
me, her dark eyes filled with happiness. “She’s beautiful.”
What did my
brother do this time?

Adriana
turns around in time to find herself wrapped up in Mama’s embrace. Behind their
backs, I shake a fist at Rafe. In return, I get a devious grin. Things have
always been this way between us. Me trying to live carefree and commitment
free, while my older brother has made it a mission to ensure that I’m unable to
do the very thing I’ve been working toward.

Mama
pulls back, turns to me, and states, “Son, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been holding
out on me.” Adriana gives me a questioning glance, but surprisingly, she plays
along with my brother’s deceit. He has obviously led our mother to believe that
Adriana is my new longtime girlfriend.

“What’s
your name, dear?” Mama asks.

“Adriana.
Umm—”

“Adri-ana.
Such a pretty name for an equally lovely girl. I’m Simona, Luca’s mother.
Rafael has told me all about my youngest son’s secret,” Mama says, glancing at
me with a knowing look of pride. She looks so happy. I hate to destroy this
moment for her, but I know it’s only fair for me to do so.

“Well
then, Luca and girlfriend, Adriana,” Rafe interrupts before I’m able to say
anything, “I’m sure you won’t mind bringing her to dinner this evening.”
Asshole. He knows I can’t say no. We both share the same goal: to make sure
Mama stays as happy as possible these days. Unfortunately, she has made it her
personal goal to make sure I’m good and settled down by the time I turn
twenty-eight in three years.

I
find myself at the mercy of one of my Juliettes for the second time in my life,
and I have no fucking idea what to do about it. The first time I allowed a
woman to capture my heart turned into an utter disaster, a fiasco that my other
brother, Giovanni—a MMA fighter and sometimes designer who lives in New York
City—won’t ever allow me to live down.

Locking
gazes with Adriana, I can almost see the debate brewing behind her big eyes as
she decides whether to play along or bust my ass. Luckily, she says, “Sure, I’d
love to come.” Then she bestows upon me a genuine smile.

Every
muscle in my body loosens up. I want to pull this girl into my arms and have
mad, primal sex with her right here and now. Erase those thoughts. She’s your
boss’s daughter. Hell no, I won’t wipe out anything about her. If I had any
doubt about this being my defining moment before, the one where you know you’ve
met someone who’s about to change your life in some significant way, then it
has been completely erased now.