An Aria in Venice

Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Matter of Thinking He’s the One

Adriana

I burst through the door to my dressing room, my breath coming out in heavy gasps.

“Adriana, would you wait?” Nikolai says as he rushes through the door and stops beside me, breathing heavily because he’s been chasing me. I throw my arms around his neck and inhale his scent, a mixture of cologne with a hint of spice, a bit of soap, and that raw scent of male that drives me wild. He hesitates a few moments before lifting one arm, circling it around my waist, and using the other one to cradle my head. I, in turn, allow my body to go limp in his muscular embrace, the anger I felt minutes ago quickly turning to shame. The tension of the moment I just experienced eases out of my body, making me feel somewhat normal in the head again.

“I screwed up,” I say into his neck, finding it hard to believe Nikolai isn’t blasting me out about my pitiful excuse for a dance and my moment of insanity in the end. He has put as much effort into sculpting me as any formal trainer I’ve had in the past. Tonight was our moment to shine, and I’ve screwed up.

“Hush now. Everything will be all right,” he assures me. I lift my head and stare into his face, chiseled and noble, something I could gaze into and get lost inside every day, a mask hiding a boy who has suffered through more than any human should be allowed to experience.

“Wait. Was that you standing off to the side of the stage, or your ghost?” I ask.

“You did just fine. I am certain you have this role. It does not matter that you cursed at your boss. I think she will recover. Any fool can see how talented you are,” he assures me, smiling as he tugs me up against his chest, treating me like that ten-year-old girl he used to patch up every time she fell off her bike. I pull back and stare into his eyes, a misted bluish-gray wave of shadows hiding the soul of a man wading its waters, lost in the past that still rules his life. I know he feels something for me.

“Do you see me? The real me?” I ask, my chest heaving. It’s a loaded question intended for an answer I don’t think I’m about to get.

He stares at me a short moment before he answers, “Of course I do. Alek and Katerina are waiting at Maggiano’s. Where are your clothes?” When he takes a tissue from the Kleenex box on my makeup counter and tries to wipe my eyes, something inside of me snaps.

“I’m not a baby anymore, Nikolai,” I say, shoving his hands away from my face.

Sighing, he closes his eyes, but quickly opens them and looks back into my face, locking gazes with me. For the tiniest bit, I get a glimpse of a different kind of emotion, a gleam in his eyes that says he does see me as something other than a child. Unfortunately, it turns in on itself and gets replaced by that stony wall, reminding me that inside this gorgeous man’s body lives a killer, someone who won’t think twice about doing things the rest of us could never imagine. I’ve watched that side of him take over before. I know it could easily happen again. “Adriana ...”

I don’t give him time to finish the sentence. I’m done with being the cutesy little sister of Aleksandr Dostovsky, the world famous Maestro, the girl with the rich mother who still sets up her twenty-something-year-old kids’ dates, and the billionaire father who disappeared because of a business deal gone bad among his circle of Russian Mafiya friends. I want Nikolai to see me, to feel me, to understand how I ache inside each time he touches me as though I’m still a little girl and not the woman who has grown to admire him for the man he has become.

“We certainly don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” I unsnap my tutu, ripping it in the back, not caring one bit. Ines can send the bill to Mother. The delicate fabric floats to the floor. At once I start yanking at the straps to my leotard, pulling them down and removing the whole unit. The outfit is just a reminder of the job I’m not about to get anyway. I let the entire thing fall to the floor, exposing my chest and bare ass ... again.

Nikolai’s eyes bulge, his gaze raking over my naked body, his eyes darkening as he does so. He’s trying really hard to keep that blasé look on his face only he knows how to do. Too late! I saw what he just did. My drama moment has hit the spot.

Moving his gaze back to my eyes, he orders, “Put some clothing on.” His voice is deceptively calm and deep. “A lady should not behave in such a manner. Katerina would disapprove of this.”

My anger makes me forget all about my nudity. “That’s all I am to you, aren’t I? A kid. Alek’s little sister, a chess piece, a pawn to make Mother happy. Tell me. Does this look like a little girl’s body?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he scolds, grabbing hold of my forearms, but not hurting me. I get a look that’s a cross between a frown and something else that’s hard to explain ... admiration, shock, lust maybe? Stop dreaming, you girl of desperation and madness. His shoulders tense and his face reddens. I’ve ticked him off. Good. A reaction. I’m finally getting results, something other than the bodyguard syndrome. However, I can also tell I’ve affected him in other ways, too. The evidence lies in the details such as his flushed face and the way his breathing has increased, the hungry look in his eyes. Releasing my arms, he bends down, picks up the robe draped across my chair, and starts trying to cover my body. I’m ten shades of embarrassed, and I just know my naturally dark olive skin looks about as red as a strawberry right now.

Feeling stupid, I snatch the robe and put it on. We stare each other down a little longer before he sighs and says, “I’ll get the car.” Behind Nikolai, the door flies open. Lis stumbles into the room, her eyes raking over the two of us, her brown skin turning rosy in the cheeks as soon as her gaze meets Nikolai’s. My friend has a crush on him, too ... as does every ballerina in Aterballetto and every other opera house, especially since the great Nikolai Belikov started his own dance troupe under Mother’s new company. He’s totally ambitious for a twenty-four-year old man, and I both love and hate that about him.

“Hot damn, Adriana! You rocked the socks up outta the house, girlfriend. Buuuut did I hear you tell Ines to go f**k herself?” She moves toward us, stopping in her tracks once she takes in another eyeful of me standing there in my robe and Nikolai looking flush-faced and guilty. “Okay, you’re interrupting something, Lis,” she says kind of to herself as well as to Nikolai and me.

“No, you are not,” Nikolai corrects, smoothing back a strand of hair that has fallen into his eyes. He turns to me with that damn controlled but still sexy look back on his face. How does he do that, turn his emotions off that way? I could use some tips and pointers. “I will drive you to Maggianos. Be ready in ten minutes.”

“Don’t bother. I’m not a baby. Lis can take me.” We lock gazes and hold them; the muscles in his jawline working so fast somebody might think he has a heart in his mouth. Wait! That would be my heart he’s eating, the girl who can’t seem to keep from offering it to him every chance she gets. Finally, Nikolai steals a quick glance at Lis, purses his too perfect freaking lips in that way that makes him look both sexy and dangerous, and says, “Suit yourself. One of us needs to be the one to warn Katerina about her daughter temporarily losing her mind. Might as well be me. See you at the restaurant.”

Grr! Such a turncoat. He turns and stalks out the door, leaving me alone with a friend who gives the Inquisition a run for the money when questioning someone in order to get the dibs on something newsworthy. My standing there half naked with Nikolai storming out the door—clearly bothered by my boldness, let me happily add—the tension swirling around us like the buzz from an angry nest of bees, gives her all the ammo she needs to fire up her question machine.

“And that was all about what?” Lis asks, her face beaming. “Did I just interrupt a ‘he’s about to bang me’ moment? ‘Cause I’m so sorry if that’s what I did. Especially since it was Nikolai Insanely Hot Belikov.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “It was about nothing. Nothing at all.” I swallow the knot of whatever’s sitting in my throat as I stare at the door where Nikolai just exited.

“If you say so,” Lis answers.

“I do. Meaning, I don’t want to talk about it,” I add, looking around for my dinner clothes.

She holds her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Subject change it is, then. We can talk about the demon that got inside you out there in the auditorium.”

“One question. Were you sleeping during the audition? Did you not see my major screw up? I fell on my ass.” Even more humiliating than bouncing across the floor was that Nikolai saw me. I’m scarred for life. I feel my skin flush all over again as I recall the way I felt when I took my tumble down the hill of the most insane in my head moment ever.

Lis shrugs. “So what?”

I want to shake her. No, not because I’m one of those kinds of girls, the mean ones who abuse people for fun or stick tacks inside someone’s tutu just before a major audition. This would be the get the hell out of here because I can’t believe what you just said kind of shake. “She’ll never choose me. I told her to go f**k herself, Lis.”

“I know. My girl!” she says and lifts her hand, waiting for me to slap a high five on it. After validating my insanity, I burst out laughing and so does she, and it’s the holding your sides until you hurt and cry and snot all over the place kind of giggling, too. Our temporary relapse doesn’t last long, though.

My whistling cell phone slices through our moment, and I think my heart just dropped into my banged up, ballerina feet. I’m pretty sure it’s Mother calling to chew me out. She and Ines Barilla are tight and have been friends for years. Somehow, Ines’s ties to several notable politicians were of some assistance to Mother the night she planned our escape. I never asked how or why, mainly because I didn’t care. I was angry and numb from going through something neither Mother nor Alek, or even Nikolai, bothered to tell me. As usual, my family was too busy protecting me to see how much leaving my father behind, the tyrant I knew him to be, had affected everything I held true. I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to hear of my bad girl behavior.

However, the text isn’t from Mother; it’s from Nikolai. This is what he does, sends messages when he’s too angry to speak his mind. Unlike Alek and me, who practically grew up living in both Russia and America, Nikolai doesn’t express himself in English as well as he writes it. And from what I’ve seen of his temper when one of his dancers arrives late to practice, the text-my-thoughts option is probably for the best.

N: What is with you?

Me: You’re the one who stormed out.

N: You threw me out.

Me: Er, you humiliated me.

N: I did not.

Me: Did too.

N: YOU ARE INFURIATING!!!!!

Me: Then stop acting like you don’t want me.

There. I said it. Well, I kind of did, anyway. A long moment passes as I stare at the screen; my eyes focused on the little pink box, which identifies the voice of the person I’m texting and stalking with the eagerness of a hawk that’s waiting for the chubby little field mouse to come out of the tree. No pink bubbles, no snarky comeback. Nothing. I cannot believe I just said that to my brother’s best friend.

Fingers snap beside my head, jerking my attention back to the room. Lis waves a hand before my face and says, “I’ll get the car while you two thorny birds are cyber arguing.”

“Thorny birds?” I ask, smirking.

“Yep,” Lis answers, smiling as she stuffs her leotard and tutu into her giant black bag and heads toward the door.

“I get the thorny part, but what could possibly be birdlike about all of this?”

“Because that’s what you two remind me of, the couple in that book the Thorn Birds. It’s about a priest who wants to screw the hell outta the girl he’s watched over all his life, but he’s too damn stubborn to admit it. Great book. A bit dated and stuffy with the romance, but still pretty damn good. You can borrow it.”

“Lis, did I just hear you confess to reading a romance novel?” A smile slowly forms on my lips.

“Nah. I think you heard me say I’m going to get the car now.”

“Looks like Byron is getting to you.” That would be her hunky, Shemar Moore look-alike boyfriend she met at a Christmas party we attended last year.

“Yeah, you would know, Miss Strip Me Bare.”

Picking up my tutu, I toss it at her. “Low blow, friend of mine. Payback time.”

Lis picks up my mutilated outfits, stuffs them in my giant bag and gives me one last grin as she heads out the door, creating a chance for me to check my phone one final time before we leave. Still, no new pink message bubbles.

Guess I must’ve pushed my bird’s thorn in too deep, because I’ve obviously crippled him with my words.

Lis drops me off at Maggiano’s, my brother and mother’s favorite restaurant. Walking into the eatery frequented by celebrities on a regular basis always makes me feel as though I’ve entered one of those Roman baths like the Caesars always used. Marble columns are in every corner and separate the various sections in the restaurant. The walls are a light bluish-green color that have white wainscoting running along the bottom, and the marble boards are covered in painted on vines and cherries that look real enough to pluck right out of the design. An arched doorway leads to the V.I.P. section, the place Mother always reserves whenever we eat here. Boxes of flowers line the edges of the walls that separate each table. Real flowers. Tons of them. A peppery fragrance fills the air in here, making me want to sneeze. The Italians don’t believe in skimping on anything, and my mother couldn’t have picked a place that’s more representative of her personality than a restaurant where each plate costs more than my Gucci bag.

As soon as I walk under the arched entry, I see him ... Nikolai, and he’s texting someone on his golden Blackberry my mother had custom made for him. A stab of jealousy hits me, but I refuse to let him see how much his ignoring my last text bothers me.

You can do this thing, Adriana. You will not let him see how much he affects you. You will not turn into one of those women.

Yeah, sure. I slide through the restaurant, walking around a hundred or so round tables covered in silky red cloth and make my way over to where Mother, Alek, and Nikolai sit in back.

Both my brother and Nikolai stand and greet me as I approach the table. I slide into survival mode, the part of me that knows how to be positive even when I’m screaming on the inside. “I think I got the lead role in Seraphine,” I lie, sitting down and ignoring Nikolai’s cutesy remark about my outfit—stretch leggings, an oversized tunic, and a fancy brown jacket to make it all look acceptable, but hardly classy—the clothing I wore just to prove a point to Mother, as though she’ll even notice. I play along, smiling wide and doing my bubbly thing, even though I’m fuming inside.

“That’s fantastic, darling,” Mother says to me as she downs another glass of peach schnapps and turns her attention back to Alek.

“I was kind of thinking you’d show up for this one,” I say, ignoring the way Nikolai is staring at my profile.

“You got the role. There was no need for me to be there to make you nervous. You’ve always done much better on your own.” So she hasn’t heard about my moment of insanity. Right now, I’m barely an afterthought. She and Alek are passing annoyed glances at one another. Seems all they ever do lately is argue. This time the subject of my dysfunctional family’s conversation is my brother’s girlfriend. That would be his ex-girlfriend, Nadya, a fashion victim and money piranha whom I couldn’t stand the moment I first laid eyes on her. I agree with my brother’s decision, and I wish Nikolai would quit staring at me that way when he thinks Mother and Alek aren’t paying us any mind.

At once Alek perks up, his gaze focused on a group of people all decked out in black who are walking through the main area. At first, I think someone must’ve died and that he’s about to head over to their table and offer his condolences. Nope. These must be the designers Mother hired, the group that’ll be working to create an entire line of ballerina costumes based on all things Gothic. That sounds so freaking awesome! I must meet them. I have to. In a past life, I’m pretty sure I was either a designer or a journalist.

“Excuse me,” Alek says to no one in particular at the table, his gaze locked on the really pretty female with the dark hair and expressive eyes walking among them. I’m assuming she must be the new designer, Erin Angelo. He stands and heads over in their direction. The temptation is too much. Why does my brother get to have all the fun? So, I stand and trail behind him. Turning around at the halfway point, my brother harasses me for a minute just before we reach their group, but even his alpha-brother type ‘A’ personality can’t keep me away from that table. And specifically, he can’t stop the gorgeous site filling my eyeballs, caressing them with sweetness as I drink in the man candy sitting at the head of the only rectangular shaped table in the restaurant. I move around Alek and head straight toward the guy wearing the royal blue shirt, the only one among the group who has dared to wear a splash of color on his clothing.

“I’m Adriana Dostovsky.” I hold out my hand to him, and oh-my-God, he has eyes that give Nikolai a run for the most intriguing blue irises ever ... and they are only the beginning.

Dark blond hair that’s wavy and swept back from his face reminds me of one of those broody stars from the 60’s that Mother loves so much. The chiseled jawline and sculpted nose makes me think there’s Roman blood somewhere along his family ancestry. His shirt fits well enough to show off broad shoulders and well-toned abs. However, the thing holding my attention right now happens to be his lip ring, a silver hoop situated right in the middle of his full bottom lip, something that looks pretty cool on my other roommate, Jojo, but is insanely sensual on this man. When he opens his heart-shaped mouth, something gold on his tongue glitters in the light. Up until that point, my imagination had done a pretty good job of behaving itself, but as soon as the tongue ring appears in this picture, I set my thoughts free. My imagination is creating some pretty raw images of what he might be able to do with his chosen combination of, eh-em, body jewelry. Italy’s known for its achy-hot designers, but this guy sets a bar so high that I don’t think many other rock stars of design will stand a chance of tilting his podium.

And then, he introduces himself.

Or rather, he greets me by using another woman’s name.

“Ciao, Juliette,” he responds, and I’m not sure whether I should be annoyed or flattered. “Luca Martuccio.”

“I said Adriana, not Juliette.” Right. Maybe he needs a little work in the manners department.

“Yes, I know,” he answers. “A ray of sunshine such as yours can only possess uniqueness in a name as equally beautiful as the sun rising over the sea.” His gaze locks on mine. “A girl who has an ocean swimming inside her eyes.” Hmm. He’s obviously a player, but then, I get a mischievous smile highlighted by dimples and a genuine earnestness inside his eyes.

Wow! He’s a professional, even better than my brother ... and Nikolai. Coming from anyone else, such remarks might be considered lame, like top of the line silly, too. But on this man, the authenticity in his words, the way he stares into my eyes as he wraps that tongue—highlighted by the flash of the gold ring embedded in the tip—around each gorgeously accented syllable triggers something in me that’s hard to explain.

Suddenly, I’m glad I combed those bangs back off my face just before leaving the theater. I would never have wanted to take a chance on missing out on the way Luca Martuccio is staring at me right now.