Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (2 page)

“Sam.” He shook his head. “I know you woulda been fine with anything. But I wanted to treat you. Besides, I couldn't take you to get cheesesteaks with you lookin' as beautiful as you do. It's fine. I want you to get whatever you want.” His went over her slowly, drinking her in. “By the way, have I mentioned how stunning you are?”

Sammi flushed, and turned the full power of her dimples on him, her smile so radiant it made his chest ache in a funny way. “Once or twice. You better stop before that goes to my head.”

“I'll do my best.” He couldn't help it. Everything, from her pretty pink dress to her shimmering dark waves his fingers itched to touch, to the flush of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, took his breath away.

Her eyes searched his, and his chest ached again—that familiar painful pulse that was in no way unpleasant. With it came a deep sense of yearning, a need to be as close to her as possible.

Sammi broke his gaze as her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. Reluctantly he turned to follow her stare. A group of four people as dressed up as they were sat at a table not far from theirs.

“You know them?”

Sammi shook her head, looking away from the group. “No. I could've sworn I heard someone say 'Giselle'. They're probably going to the ballet after they eat. They're so dressed up.”

“Maybe they're just enjoying a fancy dinner, like us.”

She gave him a half-smile and shrugged. “Maybe.”

The waiter reappeared with a tray holding a glass of red wine, a squat tumbler with ice, clear liquid, and a wedge of lime, and a small basket of warm, freshly baked bread with a little dish of herbed olive oil on the side.

“May I take your dinner orders? I'll start with the lady.”

“I'd like the eggplant parmigiana with the pumpkin risotto.”

“Very good. And for you, sir?”

“Steak for me, please. Medium.”

“Right away.” The waiter collected their menus with a bob of his head and rushed off to the kitchen.

Cillian reached for a piece of bread, tore it in half, then tore the half in half. He grinned at the scornful expression Sammi flashed him as she snagged a whole piece.

“So at the risk of bringin' up a sore subject, what's that ballet all about, anyway?”

Sammi dunked a piece of bread into the olive oil. “
Giselle
is about this beautiful peasant girl who meets a duke, who's disguised himself as a fellow villager because he sees her and falls in love with her, even though he's engaged to someone else. Giselle falls in love with him too, and eventually meets his fiancée, not knowing who she really is, or who he really is. When she finds out, she dies of a broken heart.” Sammi smiled dreamily. “That's all just the first act. The second act is about her spirit rising from the grave to find the duke and forgive him for his deception.”

“Sounds interesting. Maybe if it's a traveling show, you'll get to see it in another city sometime.”

“It's okay. Like I said, I've seen it before. I just love that ballet so much. I saw it for the first time when I was a little girl and it inspired me to grow up and become a ballerina.” She shrugged, sighing. “Anyway. Are you getting excited for the tournament?”

“Nah, just focused. And honestly, ready to get it over with. I sparred with Matthews last night and it went all right.”

“He fights?”

“Used to. He teaches combatives in the Army too, but a while back he did some MMA fighting. He's won some big fights, too. He's pretty good. “

“Well, if you can beat him, you can kick anyone's ass, right?”

Cillian laughed. “I guess we'll find out next weekend.”

Their dinner orders arrived, and Cillian looked over his plate with anticipation; the portion sizes looked good, not too big but enough to fill him up, and his steak looked like it was cooked to perfection. He glanced at Sammi's plate, and it looked pretty good, too. Although, what “good” eggplant was supposed to look like, he had no idea.

She caught his eye and smiled, then lifted her wine glass. Cillian raised his glass as well and touched it to hers.

“Can I do a cheesy one?” she asked.

“Please.”

“Here's to health, success, and happiness. Here's to new beginnings and new opportunities. And here's to great food, great wine—and water, I guess—a great night, and a great...friendship.” Her eyes met his over the rims of their glasses, the candlelight making them shine.

He smiled. “I'll drink to that.”

As they dug into their meals, Cillian suppressed a groan of appreciation. After weeks of nothing but chicken, fish, whole grains, and a mountain of vegetables, a real steak, especially one as good as this, was like heaven. Sammi was making headway with her eggplant, and neither spoke for a little while as they enjoyed their meals.

“So,” she said after she slowed down, and he glanced up at her. “I, uh—I talked to a lawyer about the subpoena.”

“What'd they say?”

“That unless I want to possibly be arrested and pay fines, I have to appear in court.”

“Damn.” Cillian frowned. “That's messed up. You shouldn't be forced to be in the same room as him. What do you think about that?”

Sammi pursed her lips and shrugged, dragging her fork through her risotto. “The last thing I wanna do is look that man in the face. But I'm also not interested in getting arrested, so I have to go. And...if I want him convicted, I have to testify.”

“You could probably work somethin' out with the prosecutors so that you wouldn't have to talk about it in court.”

“Yeah, but without my actual testimony in court, the chances of him getting off or a reduced sentence go up.” She shrugged a shoulder, staring down at her plate. “As long as I'm already there, I should do it. So...I'll testify.”

He let a small, proud smile cross his face. “You're really brave. I'm proud of you.”

She smiled at his praise, even though it didn't reach her eyes. “No, I'm not that brave. I'm only doing it because I basically have to. Honestly? I'm terrified.”

“He can't hurt you ever again,” Cillian said softly. “You got nothin' to be afraid of. And I'm sure your family will be there for you, right?”

“Yeah, they will. It's just made all this negativity resurface, like it's happening all over again. My dad's been really upset. I had to make him promise that he wouldn't call any of his cousins in Bensonhurst to ambush the man outside the courthouse.” Cillian laughed, but Sammi merely blinked at him. “Seriously.”

“Well, shit. Remind me not to piss off your dad.”

“Yeah. Always a bad idea.” She focused intently on a grain of risotto on the tip of one tine of her fork. “It—um. Okay. I'm gonna make things weird.”

“Try me.”

“It, uh, would mean a lot to me if you were there, too. If, you know. You wanted to come.”

He blinked in surprise. “You want me there?”

“It's the Tuesday right after the tournament, in the city. I know you'll be really tired and it's a three-hour drive from Albany, which is really kinda far for a favor. But...you've been so supportive and encouraging about this shit-show, so that's why I'm asking. But if you can't make it or if you don't want to, I
totally
—”

“Sam.” Cillian held up a hand. “You want me there, I'm there. That's it.”

Sammi caught her breath and bit her lip. “Thanks. I know it's weird that I asked you. It's just...” She blushed and dropped her gaze. “You're a—a good friend to me and I just thought—”

She was doing it again, so Cillian reached over and rested his hand on hers to get her attention.

“You got me at 'it would mean a lot to me'. I'll be there.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Their server came to check on them and offer the dessert menu. Cillian saw Sammi's eyes light up at the mention of dessert; he wasn't huge on sweets but he agreed to split one with her. She selected a decadent Italian lemon cream cake and they each ordered an espresso.

As Sammi picked at the cake, Cillian watched her and sipped at his espresso, an idea forming in his head.
Talk about making things weird.
“Hey. Since we're on the subject of being supportive, what do you think about comin' with me to the, uh, tournament?”

Sammi looked up at him in surprise, the fork slipping from her fingers and clattering noisily onto the table. “Shit. Um, really? You want me to come? I don't know anything about MMA.”

“You don't have to know anything about it.” He swirling the curved ribbon of fresh lemon zest in his espresso with a small silver spoon. “My dad and sister and Matthews are going. Baz, of course, since he's my trainer. It'd be cool to have you there, too. It should be a good time—well, for you guys, anyway.”

Sammi nodded and delicately licked whipped buttercream off the tines of the fork. “Could I—do you mind if I think about it?” She bit her lip. “I know that makes me sound like an asshole, since I asked you to come to my thing, and you said yes right away, and now you're asking me to go to
your
thing and here I am asking to think—”

“Take all the time you want.” He paused. “Well, not
all
the time. I'm leavin' in a week so I'd need to know before that to make hotel room arrangements for you. So...you could take until Tuesday.” He shrugged. “Besides, you should probably meet my family first, anyway. You might decide they're too crazy to hang out with.”

She smiled. “Crazier than mine? Yeah, right.”

The server popped by a final time. “Can I bring you two anything else?”

Cillian shook his head. “Just the check, please.”

“Whenever you're ready.” The server set down a black leather folder and bowed his head again. “Thank you for coming to La Cucina. Have a good night.”

When the server left, Cillian flipped the folder open to check the bill, suppressing a reflexive urge to wince. It was easily more than he spent on food in a week.

You budgeted for this. Mel's okay, the kids are okay, and you'll figure it out until payday.

He reached into his pocket for his cash, leaving enough to cover the bill and a nice tip, then snapped the folder shut. He caught Sammi looking at him, the little line between her brows creasing her forehead.

“What's up?”

“Do you—” Her hand hovered over her clutch. “I mean, I can leave the tip—”

Cillian shook his head and smiled. “Thanks, but no way. I got it.” He took a final sip of his espresso and checked his watch. “We should probably get going. Show starts soon.”

He got up from his seat and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair, waiting until she rose to her feet before he helped her slip into it. He couldn't help eyeing the expanse of her back, exposed through a generous cutout in the dress. His fingertips itched to touch her skin to see if it was as soft and smooth as it looked.

Outside in the cool evening air, Cillian offered his elbow, and Sammi took it. When they neared the movie theater, he kept walking.

“Cillian.” She frowned in confusion, tugging his arm. “The theater's right here.”

“Let's take a walk. It's nice outside. We got a little time, I think.”

“All right.” Her hand cupped the crook of his arm as he led her down the sidewalk. “Which movie are we seeing, by the way?”

Cillian glanced both ways before crossing the street, falling into step with a big group of people heading in the same direction.

Sammi looked up at him like he'd lost his mind. “Where are we going?”

Cillian stopped on the sidewalk in front of the Orpheum Theater and looked up at the brightly lit marquee with “Giselle” on it in huge black letters. He turned and smiled down at Sammi as understanding dawned in her eyes.

“What—”

“Did I say movie?” He shook his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry. I meant, ballet.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise as her eyes shifted over the letters on the marquee, over and over. Finally, her gaze slid up to him, filled with wonder and gratitude. A slow, sweet smile spread across her face.

The yearning ache pulsed full force in Cillian's chest. He couldn't help himself, and leaned down to brush her cheek with his lips.

“Showtime,” he murmured into her ear.

Sammi's face hurt from smiling so much.

Tonight was already excellent...and now, it's perfect.

As Cillian's warm lips left her cheek, and he took her hand in his to lead her into the theater, her heart broke in the most wonderful way.

It wasn't that she was going to get to see Giselle, after all. It wasn't that he'd taken her on a fancy date, treating her to a delicious meat at her favorite restaurant in the city.

It was that he thought enough of her to go out of his way to make her happy.

“Ready, beautiful?”

All she could do was nod, because the lump in her throat wouldn't allow anything but air to get by unscathed.

Their seats were located orchestra center, giving her a perfect view of the stage, and close enough to be able to see all the details she loved—the costumes, the cut of muscles on the dancers, their facial expressions, the sweat on their foreheads. She loved to be close enough to hear the
thunk-thunk
of pointe shoe boxes on the hard surface of the stage.