Chapter Five
Emi
“Emi, where are you going?”
Shit. I was hoping my dad would still be in his office and I’d be able to slip out unnoticed. Instead, he’s in the breakfast nook eating a grilled chicken salad; a salad he finds to be personally offensive, if the disgruntled twist of his mouth is any clue. It’s nothing new. Since his heart attack a year and a half ago, he’s made his resentment of his overhauled diet well-known, but I don’t care. He can pout all he wants as long as he stays away from all the pasta, rich meats, and oil-drenched bread that put him in that hospital room and nearly made me an orphan in the process.
Popping my phone and lipstick into my black clutch, I smile and try for a casual tone. “Just out with a friend, Daddy, it’s no big deal.”
His rapier gaze takes in my appearance before he raises his famous dubious brow. Okay, so I don’t exactly look like I’m about to meet Graham, one of my instructors and friends, for a non-fat latte at the nearest Starbucks. If that were the case, I’d be in yoga pants and a comfy top with my hair in a messy bun and no makeup. As it is, I’m wearing a little black dress, heels, and gave myself a blowout and a smoky eye. I’m trying to at least appear like I belong with a hot-as-hell guy like Austin. Sue me.
The look I’m getting from the all-knowing Vincenzo DeLuca is that he knows I’m full of shit but is choosing to remain silent because it doesn’t need to be said. Which is to say, he doesn’t approve of my “friend” date. And to underscore this fact, he brings up the one thing that’s sure to put me in a sour mood.
“I have good news about Marco.”
Marco Moretti: only son of my father’s oldest friend, my childhood playmate turned tall-dark-and-handsome CEO-in-training…and my betrothed.
I mentally wince every time I think of the B word. Who knew arranged marriages were still a thing well into the 21st century? Although, I suppose “arranged” isn’t exactly accurate. More like emotionally coerced.
“His father tells me he will be back in Chicago at the end of July.”
End of July? I thought I had longer. His paid internship at the Italy branch of my father’s company wasn’t scheduled to end until September.
“Why is he coming back so early?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
Dad sits back and picks up his glass of red wine—one of his habits that he’d been allowed to keep once daily—and waves dismissively with the hand holding his fork. “Everything is fine. In fact, he has excelled in the program. There is nothing more he can learn there that he cannot learn here.”
“That’s great, Daddy. I’m not surprised, he’s a smart man.”
“Sì, he will make a good husband for you. I cannot wait to finally see the two of you joined together, piccola principessa.”
Little princess. The smile on his face and his childhood endearment for me is made of the stuff that sealed my fate. I love my father with all my heart, and when I thought I was going to lose him…God. Blips from the ambulance ride and those awful hours in the hospital hit me. Residual fear still rises whenever I think about it. I’d do anything to make him happy and free of the stress the doctors warned could bring on another heart attack. Even agree to marry a man whom I love as a friend with the hope that I can grow to be in love with him someday. After all, it’s not exactly like I have a ton of other prospects—I’ve had zero luck in the relationship department—and Marco is an amazing man who’s had feelings for me since we were seventeen. A life with him won’t be anywhere near horrible.
But it also won’t be the fairytale I’d always hoped for; the kind my parents had and the kind my father used to want for me before he decided he needed to write my happy ending for me.
I shake off my concerns and give myself permission to worry about that later. My father has agreed to not pressure me about starting a “relationship” with Marco until he returns. That means I have—I do the math in my head—eleven weeks, give or take, to be single and sow my wild oats. Not that I’d planned on doing any sowing, but that was before my world was turned upside down by an insistent man with golden-blond hair and light green eyes.
“Emi, did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry, yes, I did. You’re right, that’s great news. I look forward to seeing him,” I say with a smile like the dutiful daughter I am. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“No,” he says gruffly. The reminder I’m going out has made him surly again. “Do not stay out too late. There is no reason to be out at all hours of the night.”
Loosely translated that means “don’t go having an adult slumber party with your so-called friend.” Apparently agreeing to my freedom and voicing his opinions about it are very different things.
“Certo che no, Papà.” Of course not, Daddy. I’m not above using the few advantages I have when it comes to my father, and speaking “the tongue of the mother country” always smooths his ruffled feathers, just as speaking French did for my mother when she was alive. I cross the room and lift his wrist that holds the health monitor he wears for “his overbearing daughter’s sanity.”
“I’ll be fine, I promise. No stress, remember?” He grumbles before relenting so I can check his blood pressure. Once I’m sure it’s in a safe range, I say good night with a kiss on his cheek, then make my way to the opulent two-story foyer to wait for Austin. My watch says ten till, but I plan to meet him outside as soon as I see him pull up. No way am I letting him get near my father if I can help it.
Austin… I still don’t even know his last name. I don’t know anything about him other than he has a Texan accent that gets stronger the more flirtatious he is, he’s friends with the girl I met backstage at Cardinal Sin, and he’s proficient in Google searches. That’s not much to go on. Am I crazy for even entertaining going out with him?
Maybe. But my curiosity is getting the better of me, because I can’t seem to say no to him.
I’d been so caught up in dancing last night, I hadn’t noticed him walk in. I was startled and scared when I felt myself spin into someone, but only for the split second it took me to realize whose arms were banded around me. Then all that adrenaline turned into molten heat and a jolt of desire so strong that it set me off balance. I tried playing aloof in an attempt to convince us both that he didn’t affect me. It was an epic fail. At least I had a small victory when it came to the date negotiations.
At five till seven, an SUV pulls into my semi-circular brick paved driveway. I’m already outside by the time he stops in front of the door and walks around to meet me. He’s wearing black slacks and shoes, with a pale-green dress shirt that matches his eyes. It stretches across his broad chest and big arms, tapering at his trim waist, making my mouth water.
“Damn, Emi,” he says, stopping at the bottom of the stone steps to study me. “The way you look is worth me breaking out my wedding-slash-funeral attire.”
I laugh as I walk down to him. “Not many other occasions to get all dressed up?”
“Darlin’, when I go out, it’s for beer and hot wings, neither of which requires a collared shirt. But I’ll wear one every time if it means you’ll be on my arm looking as stunning as you do.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr…?”
“Massey. Austin James Massey, at your service.” He raises my hand and places a soft kiss on my knuckles, the quaint gesture somehow more lascivious the way his lips linger as though on my mouth. Butterflies erupt in my belly as I feel a blush steal into my cheeks.
“Then we’d better go, Mr. Massey,” I say, continuing our faux formality. “Our reservation is for seven thirty, and I do so hate to be tardy.”
“Right this way, miss.” He makes a wide sweep with his free arm, gesturing to his truck. “Your 2004 Chevy Tahoe with minor rust around the wheel wells awaits.” I laugh and hop into the passenger seat, using the running board and his hand to steady me. After sliding behind the wheel, he glances over at my castle-like, Tudor-style mansion, and his smile falters. “If I’d known I was courting royalty, I would’ve borrowed my friend’s Beemer.”
I chuff in amusement. “My family is less God Save the Queen and more Godfather Part I, without all the messy illegal stuff.”
“You mean all the murder-y stuff?” he clarifies with a smirk as he pulls onto the street.
“Exactly. And as for cars, they’re meant to get us from point A to point B. They’re only status symbols for the extremely pretentious or men who are overcompensating.”
Laughing, he says, “I can’t wait to tell Roman he’s overcompensating. So then what do you drive, girl-who-lives-in-a-castle-on-a-lake?”
I blush, embarrassed about where I come from for the first time that I can think of. “My father’s the pretentious one. That’s his house, and I still drive the Land Rover he bought me. Nothing but the best for his little princess,” I add wryly.
“Aha, so you are royalty. I knew it.”
“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Kinda,” he says, throwing me a wink before returning his attention to the road. “So, your dad bought you a ninety-thousand-dollar vehicle.” He lets out a low whistle. “When I turned sixteen my dad got me a new fishing pole.”
“It wasn’t for my sixteenth birthday,” I say defensively. “I was twenty-two and it was his way of rewarding me for making principal dancer.” I’m not mentioning the brand-new Mercedes I’d been given for my sixteenth. In fact, I need to steer this conversation in a different direction. I’d rather find things we do have in common than don’t. “Do you and your dad do a lot of fishing together?”
Austin slides me a wry grin. He knows I’m changing the subject, yet he doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, it was how we bonded. I didn’t even know my dad until I was fifteen. Before that I was raised in a small town outside of Dallas with my mom. My dad never even knew I existed until my mom was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer and she decided she had to tell him.”
“Why did she keep you a secret?”
“They were young and in an ‘off period’ of their on-again-off-again relationship when she realized she was pregnant. When she told my dad, he panicked and mentioned maybe terminating the pregnancy. My mom, coming from a very religious home, never considered that an option. She decided to tell him she’d been wrong about being pregnant and moved back to Texas to be with family.” Something shifts in his expression, a flicker of sorrow maybe, but then it’s gone. “Anyway, after she passed away I moved to Chicago to live with my dad. But we had a hard time adjusting to each other.”
He falls silent for a minute, and my heart breaks a little for him. I still sometimes feel like I’m reeling from losing my mother three years ago, and I was an adult who didn’t have to go through other life-altering situations like he did. “I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you.” I lay my hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Austin.”
Turning earnest green eyes on me, he replies softly, “I’m sorry about yours, too, sweetheart.” My mouth parts in surprise. He shrugs almost sheepishly as he turns his attention back to the road. “I read about her when I Googled you before.”
“Oh, right. Thank you,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile and light squeeze of my hand. It wasn’t what I’d meant by finding things we had in common, but knowing we understand each other’s loss is an odd sort of comfort.
“Anyway,” he continues, “one day he told me to get in the truck and he took me to Lake Michigan. When I started to give him attitude, he told me to shut up and put a damn line in the water. So I did. Something about staring out at the water as we sat holding our poles allowed us to let our guards down. A few hours later we’d talked through our issues, and we had a stringer of brown trout and a new understanding of each other. Fishing’s been our thing ever since.”
“It’s nice when you have something like that with your parents,” I say, thinking of my mom. We’d done everything together; the ballet version of the Gilmore Girls.
“Yeah, it is.”
He pulls into a parking space at the wine bar and orders me to stay put. I wait patiently for him to come around and open my door, then accept his hand to help me down. Austin tucks my hand into the crook of his arm as we walk, and I’m struck by what a gentleman he is. I’m very accustomed to this sort of treatment, growing up in the formal circles as I did, but with Austin it feels different. More…special. It feels like something he does without question because he believes in why he does it and not because it was drilled into him at cotillion as a kid.
Smiling down at me, he leads me into the small bistro I chose for our date. The decor is sleek and modern, with the entire back wall acting as one huge wine rack. There’s a bar off to the right, and the left half is for diners, some of the seating being normal tables and some with a lounge arrangement. A small band is playing live music in the corner near the front windows, and the place is near capacity with people enjoying good food and drinks while laughing with friends.
The hostess seats us at one of the lounge settings, two low armchairs with a round coffee table between us. He orders a whiskey sour, and I order a glass of Pinot Noir with the charcuterie and cheese platter as we’d agreed upon last night. I honestly don’t care what we eat, but I’d felt compelled not to give in to everything he wanted when he caught me so off guard at the studio. And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.
He smiles, drilling those swoon-worthy dimples into his cheeks. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting, or my knees might have made a fool out of me when they caused one of the most graceful people in Chicago to topple to the floor.
“Tell me something about you, Emi. Something I wouldn’t find on Google.”
“Am I to assume you’ve already read everything about me on Google, then?”
“I take my research very seriously.”
The waitress sets our drinks down, and I take a sip of mine before answering with a grin tugging at the corners of my lips. “I enjoy fishing, too.” His eyebrows wing up in clear disbelief, making me laugh. “Okay, fine, I only did it once, but I had fun.”
“Don’t stop there,” he says, picking up his glass. “I want to hear all about the ballerina princess and her fishing trip.”
“I told you, I’m hardly a princess. Though if my father could justify locking me away in a tower I’m sure he would.”
“If that ever happens, you can count on me to come to your rescue.”
I chuckle at his playful wink. “That’s very reassuring, thank you.”
“Hey, I might be more of a stableboy than a gallant prince, but us stableboys know how to have a lot more fun.” The green of his eyes heats with the kind of prurience that causes me to shiver in anticipation of what’s to come. If only I have the courage to chase it.
The waitress breaks the spell when she shows up with the food, and I force myself to take in a deep breath. Slow down, Emi. Clearing my throat, I busy myself with choosing slices of duck prosciutto and manchego cheese and place them on a slice of crusty French bread. For the next half hour we enjoy ourselves and make small talk. I share the story of my one and only fishing trip with my uncle when I was nine. He had told my parents he’d bought us tickets to a matinee showing of Beauty and the Beast downtown, so they let me skip my training that day, then he took me out on his charter boat instead. I spent the whole afternoon fishing, laughing, and eating junk food. We thought the theater had been the perfect alibi until I returned smelling like fish and lake water. I’d gotten grounded for a month, but it had been totally worth it.
“Dance with me,” Austin says out of the blue.
After managing to not choke on my wine, I look over at the small floor space in front of the band, who just started playing a cover of “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur. “No one else is dancing.”
“That’s no reason to let a good song go to waste.” He rises, extending his hand. “Dance with me, Emmélie.”
My breath catches at the way he says my full name. No one except my mother and grandparents in France had ever used it. It’s always sounded too formal and less like me. But the way Austin’s mouth wraps around the syllables speaks of an intimacy that shouldn’t exist between two near strangers…and yet it does.
I place my hand in his much larger one and let him lead me to the open space that’s to be our makeshift dance floor. He pulls me in close with his free hand splaying between my shoulder blades. His posture is impeccable, his form utterly perfect. Then, to my shock and delight, Austin Massey, man of mystery, leads me in a sensual rumba.
“Don’t look so surprised, princess,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Even stableboys can learn to dance like the royals.”
“Stop referring to yourself as a stableboy before my knee connects with your family jewels.” His eyes widen, but I’m not fooled. He’s not the least bit worried I’ll follow through with the threat, and he’s right. I’d never do something like that unless I feared for my life. Something I can’t imagine happening with this man. “If anything,” I continue, “you’d be the strong and valiant knight, which I much prefer to the pompous princes anyway.”
He leans in to speak into my ear. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
Erotic tingles race through my body, and it’s only the steps of the dance that keep me grounded enough to carry on the conversation. “Where’d you learn how to dance like this?”
He spins me out and back in, to the oohs and ahs of the audience we’ve attracted, but he doesn’t miss a beat as he answers. “My mother was a competition ballroom dancer before she had me. Then she stopped competing and switched to giving lessons. She taught me from when I was little, and once I was tall enough, she used me in her classes as her partner.”
“That’s amazing.” I let him spin us in a full rotation around our small area. “My mom put me in ballroom classes when I was in high school. She thought it could help with my ballet.”
“And did it?”
“Absolutely. More than that, I really enjoyed it. It was so much more freeing, with all the different styles. I thought we should add ballroom classes at the studio, but my mom wanted to keep it strictly ballet. Now that I’m running things, though…” I let the sentence trail off, still finding it hard to admit that my mother is no longer around.
“I think it’s a great idea, Emi. I know you love ballet, but sometimes the things we love aren’t the same things that feed our soul. I’m a firm believer that we need both to truly be happy.”
His words would sound cheesy coming from most people, but the sincerity with which he says them resonates with me on a deeper level. I get the feeling that both of us are lacking the things that feed our souls, and I can’t help but wonder if those things might be something else we have in common.
The song comes to an end, and he punctuates it with a dip so low I can see the tips of my hair trailing on the marble floor. People clap and whistle, but all I can focus on is his warm breath skating along my neck. I want him to chase it with a line of kisses and I want the kisses to turn into so much more. I haven’t felt this kind of need in so long I think I’d forgotten it even existed.
Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, Austin slowly pulls me back up. I expect him to release me so we can return to our table, but as the band segues into a much slower song, he holds me flush to his body and begins to sway like we’re back in junior high. If in junior high the boy I was dancing with had the body of a Greek god and sex appeal of all the Hollywood actors named Chris put together.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Why do you show up once a month to dance on a pole for a bunch of horny assholes?”
I arch a brow. “You have something against pole dancing, or is it just strippers you have a problem with?”
A wide smile reveals his straight white teeth. His model-like beauty and sheer magnetism take my breath away. “Neither. Considering my line of work, that would make me a huge hypocrite.”
My eyes flare wide as I try to think of what else he could mean other than what I think he’s implying. “You’re…a stripper?”
“And a fireman, darlin’. Sometimes I take my clothes off for money, and other times I slide down a pole and put more clothes on,” he says with a wink, a hint of his Southern drawl making an appearance.
“Wow, I have so many questions. Also, since you’re a fireman, I’d like to point out that I was right about the gallant knight thing.”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re not talking about me right now. My only point was that as someone in my part-time profession, the last thing I’m doing is judging you for your occasional moonlighting gig. I’m just curious as to why you do it. I have my suspicions, but I want to know if I’m right.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you think the reason is, and I’ll tell you whether you’re off base or not.”
Austin appears to consider this, or maybe he’s considering me, before moving a hand to the side of my neck, burying his fingers in my hair. His thumb strokes possessively over the line of my jaw, and his eyes capture mine with his intense gaze.
“I think there’s a side of you no one knows exists. One you keep locked away from the rest of the world in a gilded cage. But keeping her in there causes a pressure to build inside of you, and it grows and grows until you feel like you could split wide open from it. So you found a way to let her out, to let her taste freedom. It might only be for a few minutes, but it satiates her; calms her enough that you can put her back in that cage, at least for a little while.”
My heart beats pick up speed. How does he know? He’s a virtual stranger and yet he sees into the deepest, darkest parts of me. He sees me. It’s just as comforting as it is unsettling.
At some point, other couples had joined us, slow dancing on this lazy Sunday evening. And somewhere along the line, Austin and I stopped swaying to the beat as everyone else was doing. His words had become the center of my universe, with the rest of the world and all movement in it fading away.
“Am I right?” he asks in gruff voice.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You’re right.”
I expect his cocky grin to make an appearance, for him to issue a smug “I knew it” or some other totally guy thing to say. But his intensity never lifts, never even wavers. If anything, it’s only grown with my confirmation. It feels heavy, like a weighted blanket draped over my petite frame, and I welcome it.
“Tell me to kiss you, Emi.”
I expel a sigh of relief as though I’m being offered life-sustaining magic. “Kiss me, Austin. God, please kiss me.”
In a heartbeat his lips seize mine, claiming them as his in the middle of all these very nice, very proper people. His hand plunges deeper to the back of my head, fisting my hair at the roots until a sharp sting fires off sparks across my scalp and between my legs. I open to him, welcoming his tongue as it plunders and takes—
A deliberate clearing of a throat severs our connection with the sharp realization of our surroundings.
Austin lets out a soft curse, then apologizes to the couple next to us who’d issued the warning. They don’t look upset, more conspiratorial with their knowing smiles and a wink of understanding from the older gentleman. I stifle a giggle as we resume our slow dancing, but the look on Austin’s face is hard to read. He doesn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed about PDA—frankly, he seems the type who wouldn’t think twice about fucking with an audience—but he seems almost bothered by the fact that we momentarily forgot where we are.
Placing a hand on his cheek, I turn his face toward me. “Hey,” I say, waiting until his eyes land on mine. “Let’s get out of here.”
Relief flashes across his handsome face, and in minutes we’ve gathered our things and settled the bill. As soon as we’re outside, he stops me on the quiet sidewalk. “I got carried away in there, and I’m sorry. I never meant to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me, Austin. I was the one begging for you to kiss me, remember?”
“Kiss, yes. I’m sure you didn’t intend for me to practically maul you in public. Not in a nice place like this.”
Stepping in close, I trail my fingers across his strong jaw, reveling in the way his five o’clock shadow tickles my fingertips. “I liked being mauled by you,” I say softly. “Take me back to your place.”
“Emi…” My name sounds like it’s being ground into dust between his clenched teeth. “Are you sure?”
Am I? Do I really want to go home with a man whose mysterious understanding of my darker self causes me to feel unsettled and on edge? If I were normal, if I didn’t have that darker self, the answer would be no. But I’m not normal. I’ve known this about myself for some time now, and I’ve come to accept it, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. So my answer to his question is an irrefutable and unequivocal… “Yes.”