Chapter Nineteen
Allegrezza: joyfulness, cheerfulness
Charlie
A knock on my practice room door pulls my head up and around to see Damian’s face peeking in the window. He’s smiling. I smile back and squeeze around the piano to push the door open.
“Hey! You done?”
He nods, pulling me close for a hard kiss. “Done.”
“I take it you’re happy with the recording.”
“Yes. That’s the best I’ve ever played the Dvořák.”
Still propping the door open, I pull back an inch. “Perfect. I’m sure you’ll make the short list for the contest.”
He chuckles, a sound of self deprecation. “I don’t know about that. These things are fiercely competitive. But I should have a fighting chance. My cello professor was thrilled with my performance, so that’s good.”
“That’s awesome. Hang on. Let me grab my stuff and put away the piano. Then we can go celebrate.”
Damian stands in the door, propping it open while I slide my glasses back onto my face, pack my books and loose sheet music into my bag, close the keyboard cover, and fold down the music stand. “Alright. Let’s get out of here. Go crazy. We need to blow off some steam. Between midterms and you recording your audition, I have a ton of nervous energy I need to burn off. You?”
He grins. “Sounds good. What did you have in mind?”
Stepping past him as he holds the door for me, I look him up and down as he pulls it closed, testing to make sure the handle is locked before we head for the stairs. “How do you feel about dancing?”
He laughs, the sound echoing through the open staircase and wide lobby that’s more concrete walls and hard tile, giving plenty of hard surfaces for sound to bounce around the space. “It’s been a while since I’ve been dancing. But I’m up for it. Any particular place you have in mind?”
I nod, threading my arm through his as we walk down the stairs. “I found a salsa club downtown. They have lessons for five dollars and then open dancing. I’ve always wanted to learn to salsa. Let’s go. My treat.”
His grin is pure happiness. “Look at you, big spender.”
I shrug. “I don’t hear you turning me down.”
He laughs again, leading me to my car. “I’ll meet you at your house in about half an hour. If we’re going dancing, I need to change into something better. You should change too. Wear something with a twirly skirt.” His eyes skate down my body, bringing heat everywhere it touches at the possessive glint in his eyes. “If you have any of those tiny yoga shorts, wear those under the skirt. Unless you have an exhibitionist streak I don’t know about and you like flashing your panties while you dance.”
His voice dips low on the last sentence, making me want to squeeze my thighs together. “Thanks for the tip. I have some of those shorts.” My exhibitionist streak is strictly limited to quick costume changes backstage and the tiny, sparkly outfits picked for me for my shows. But all of those are designed to stay put so there aren’t any wardrobe failures in the middle of all the singing and dancing. I do not want pictures of my private parts splashed all over the internet. While my mom is always after more publicity, that isn’t the kind of publicity she wants either. I can’t say any of that out loud, though.
He nods. “Good. I’ll pick you up in thirty. We’ll grab a quick dinner, take the dance lesson, and go dancing.”
He waits until I’ve buckled myself in before he leans down, kisses me deeply, then pulls back and closes the door. Standing off to one side, he lifts a hand as I pull out of my parking spot and head for home.
Lauren’s car is in the driveway when I pull in, but she’s not in the living room when I get inside.
“Lauren! Do you have a twirly skirt? I don’t think I do.”
She pops out of her bedroom, eyeing me up and down. “A twirly skirt?”
“Damian and I are going dancing. He recorded his audition for the Gem State Concerto Competition today. He said it’s his best performance of the Dvořák yet. So we’re going out to celebrate.”
A few different emotions cross her face in the span of a second. “Good for him,” she says softly.
I stop in the middle of putting all my things away to really look at her, and it dawns on me what her problem is. “When do you record yours? Are you guys competing in the same category?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah. Strings. I record tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Damn. I want them both to do well. But if they’re in the same category, if one wins, that means the other loses. I swallow. “Well, good luck.”
She flashes me a tight lipped smile. “Thanks.” Then she seems to shake off whatever combination of things she’s feeling, morphing back into the sparkly Lauren everyone knows. Does anyone else notice that that’s mostly an act? Or do I only recognize it because I do it too? “Twirly skirt, you say? What kind of dancing?”
“Salsa.”
“Ooh. Fun. Let’s go look in my closet and see what we can find. How long do you have?” She turns and heads for her room, and I follow behind her.
“Less than half an hour.”
She glances at me over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Seriously? That’s not much time.”
I shrug. “We’re going to grab dinner first. Then the lesson at six. The open dancing starts at seven. No time to waste.”
“No kidding,” she grumbles as she starts sliding hangers around her closet. She takes a couple off, hooking them over her fingers. Tapping her fingers on her lips, she stares into her closet for another moment, then looks me over with a calculating eye. She grabs one more thing and marches to the door. “Come on. We need to look in your closet too.”
I trail after her as she takes decisive action to get me ready. Mostly I dress myself these days, which is a level of freedom I didn’t realize I’d missed while under the thumb of my mother and her chosen stylist. My stylist was awesome and she took my preferences into account, but everything I wore had to fit the Charlotte James brand. Now I don’t have to worry about that. I can try new styles, new colors, even if they don’t fit with my “signature look.” But it’s nice to have someone else tell me what to wear to make sure I look my best sometimes.
By the time Damian knocks on our door, I’m dressed in a short, flouncy skirt that’s made of layers of light pink and fuchsia paired with a slim-fitting black tank with a deep V neck that highlights my newly abundant cleavage with just enough sparkle.
Lauren answers the door as I buckle on my nude T-strap heels and double check my makeup. Swiping a few stray crumbs of mascara off my cheekbones, I admire the smokey eye Lauren did in record time, all bronzes and pinky browns that make my light blue eyes bright and striking. That woman could seriously get a gig as a makeup artist on tour with me. She has a good eye for color, a steady hand, and she’s lightning fast. I’ve never had a flawless smokey eye done so fast. The rest of my face is subtle—light pink blush and ice pink lips to compliment my skin tone and outfit.
Damian’s back is to me when I enter the living room, dressed in his slim black dress pants and a navy blue button down shirt, the sleeves cuffed at his elbows. He’s chatting with Lauren, who’s leaning against the arm of the couch. When she glances at me, he stops talking and turns. His eyes flash hot as they rake over me, taking me in from head to toe. God, I love when he looks at me that way.
He holds out a hand, and I place my fingers in his, letting him draw me closer, his hand lifting and twirling me slowly, making my skirt flare out as I execute a turn.
“You like?” I ask when I come to face him again.
“Very much.” His voice has that low pitch to it he gets when he’s suggesting something dirty. Or when he’s buried inside me. My cheeks flush and my breath comes faster just from that tone of voice and the way his eyes hold mine.
“Well.” Lauren’s voice is loud in the crackling silence between Damian and me, reminding us that she’s in the room. “You kids better get a move on if you’re going to have time to eat dinner before your dancing lesson.”
Damian blinks like he’s coming back to himself, and his chest rises with the deep breath he takes. “Right. Good point. You ready, Charlie?”
With a pleased smile at his reaction to my outfit, I nod. “Let me just grab my jacket.”
He nods, releasing my hand and grabs his own jacket off the back of the overstuffed chair, his eyes still lighting a fire under my skin as he watches me pull my jacket out of the coat closet behind the front door.
“See you guys later,” Lauren calls after us as we head out.
“Bye, Lauren. Don’t wait up,” I throw back over my shoulder.
She laughs as she closes the door behind us.
Damian leads me to the car, looking me over from head to toe again before he opens the door. “Damn, Charlie. You sure you don’t want to just stay in?”
The small smile that’s been on my face since I left my bedroom grows wider. “We’ll have plenty of time after we go dancing. We always stay in. We need to go out to celebrate properly.”
He lets out a deep sigh, like taking me out is a huge chore, but the spark in his eyes and the tiny curve of his lips gives away that he’s teasing. “If you insist.”
“I do.”