by Melody Grace
I hold onto that thought for the rest of the day. By the time 6:00 p.m. rolls around and Karla and I head back over to studio, my heart is in my throat.
“I can’t look,” I whimper, letting Karla drag me up the stairs. Gilbert said he’d be posting the cast on the board outside the studio, and already, I can see a cluster of other dancers huddled around, checking for their names. “You do it. I can’t.”
Karla charges ahead, jostling her way through the crowd. She freezes, and my heart sinks, then she turns back to me, her whole face lit up with joy. “I got Copelia!” she whoops in triumph.
“What about me?” I brace myself for the worst. Maybe my audition wasn’t enough. Maybe it was too late, after my underwhelming season.
“Swan Lake, bitches!” Karla sweeps me into a hug. “Odette and Odile!”
“Both of them?” I gasp, overwhelmed. The two characters are meant to be dual identities, two halves of the same role: the light and the dark. It’s amazing and terrifying all at once.
I check the board myself, but there it is: printed in black and white.
Odette/Odile - Annalise Taylor.
I let out a scream. “Oh my god!” The reality sinks in. This is big. Huge! The chance I’ve been waiting for, my opportunity to prove I can be the best. “I can’t believe it, holy crap! Do you know what this means?” I grip Karla’s arm tightly, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. There’s no way my mom can be disappointed in me now, not after this. To dance both roles for the company, here in Rome...
“It means we’re fucking awesome!” Karla crows. “Oh yeah, oh yeah.” She breaks into a victory dance, grinding right there in the hallway.
“Ugh,” Lucia shoves her aside. “Show a little class, why don’t you?”
“You can keep your class, I’ll take a solo, thanks!” Karla laughs.
I watch Lucia elbow her way to the front of the line to check the board. Her face doesn’t change, but I see her jaw tremble.
“Please,” she murmurs to one of her friends. “Like we ever stood a chance. Not with Taylor’s mommy running around calling all the shots.”
I tense.
“Don’t listen to her, she’s just jealous.” Karla pulls me away.
“But what she said ... Is that what people will think?” I blink, anxious. “That I only got cast because of Mom?”
“Who cares what they think?” Karla shrugs. “Once they see you perform, it won’t matter anymore.”
I calm myself. She’s right: I danced my heart out, and won that role fair and square. Let Lucia bitch about it all she wants, it won’t change a thing.
“Damn, I’ve got that extra partnering session.” Karla checks her watch and frowns. “We won’t have a chance to celebrate.”
“We can celebrate for the rest of the trip!” I laugh, reassuring her. “Go, don’t be late.”
“See you back at the dorms, superstar!” Karla beams, then sprints away, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I catch my breath, then duck out of the doorway, and hurry down the stairs. My whole body is glowing with happiness, and there’s only one person I want to share it with right now – the person who inspired my dancing, and helped make this dream a reality.
Raphael.
8.
I text Raphael that I have news for him, and he tells me to come meet him at Luca’s family restaurant, where he’s just getting off his shift. It’s only a twenty-minute walk away, but I’m still worried about my ankle, so I quickly change into a simple wrap skirt and top and hail a taxi.
I’m still buzzing from the news, my cheeks aching from smiling so much. I should call my mom, I know, but she would just want to talk about training regimens, and how I’m going to live up to the responsibility of the role. I have a ton of work ahead of me, but tonight, I just want to savor my success.
I find the restaurant buried away down a winding street, with packed tables set outside on the edge of a tiny piazza square. It’s picture-perfect Italy: there are lanterns strung up over the entrance, and a heavy dark green awning above faded gold lettering etched on the windows. Gino’s Trattoria. People are talking loudly, smoking cigarettes and drinking red wine, and a couple of harried-looking waitresses dart in and out of the main doorway, balancing huge plates precariously on their arms.
I push open the door, and step into the cozy main dining room. People are crammed on rustic-looking benches, with barely room to move, and everywhere, there’s the sound of laughter and conversation. Immediately, I’m overcome with the delicious smell of garlic and rosemary, and other things I can’t even identify.
I spot Raphael, back behind the tiny bar. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and pants, mixing cocktails as he chats to Francesca.
I pause. Francesca is leaning up against the bar, laughing flirtatiously. She’s wearing a low-cut black dress and lipstick, looking like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine. As I watch, she laughs again, and runs her hand down Raphael’s arm.
He glances up and sees me. “Annalise!” He pulls away from Francesca and rounds the bar. “How did it go?” Raphael reaches me, grabbing onto both my hands. He presses them against his chest, studying me. “Did they say anything? When will you know about the part?”
“I got it!” I exclaim.
He lets out a whoop that the whole restaurant hears, picking me up and spinning me around. I gasp, shocked by the sudden heat of his body against me, and the ease with which he carries me, light as a feather.
Gently, he sets me down.
“I knew it,” he declares. “I knew you would do it. Tell me everything.”
He ushers me out of the dining room, into a narrow back hallway, and I tell him all about the audition: my dance, the applause, and getting both the prize roles in Swan Lake as my reward.
“It was incredible, Raphael,” I tell him, still giddy from the news. “I’ve never danced like that in my life.”
“We have to celebrate!” he declares. “Luca!” Raphael yells back towards the kitchen, and a moment later, Luca sticks his tousled blonde head out of the steamy entrance. “Where’s the wine? The good stuff, not the one we serve to tourists. Annalise here just landed a huge part, we need to drink to it.”
“Congrats!” Luca grins. “It’s down in the basement. I was saving it, but, I guess we better drink it while we can.”
He gives us a look that’s part affection, and part regret, then he disappears.
I turn to Raphael, quizzical. “What was that about?”
Raphael exhales. “I told him. About wanting to leave, maybe join a professional company.”
“Oh...” I look at him anxiously. “Did it go OK?”
“As well as can be expected,” he nods. “He says he understands, that he supports me. “There’s an open call next month, here in the city. Francesca even offered to partner for me, for my audition.”
“But that’s great!” I exclaim. “It sounds like they really support you.”
He gives me a sad smile. “I know, it’s just...the end of an era.”
“The start of something new,” I correct him. “I know you feel guilty, but you shouldn’t. They’ll understand.”
“Enough about me,” Raphael cuts me off, “Tonight is all about you.”
“No—” I protest, but he gives me a look so darkly intense that the words die on my lips.
“Yes,” he corrects me, pulling me close. He kisses me; a hot, hungry kiss that leaves me gasping as he gently pushes me back against the wall. For a moment, he’s pressed there against me, the length of his body hot and hard against mine.
“You’ve worked hard,” he murmurs, a wicked smile on his lips. “You deserve a reward.”
“What kind of reward?”
My head spins as I breathe him in. The feel of him is overwhelming, and my body aches for more.
“You’ll see.” Raphael dips his head to kiss me again, slow and sensuous. His tongue probes into my mouth, licking against mine.
Dear Lord. I shudder, heat las
hing deep inside me. The way he’s kissing me is filthy, making me want things I can’t put into words.
His tongue exploring other, hotter places. That mouth licking low between my thighs.
Raphael finally pulls away. “Ready?” he whispers.
Ready? I’ve practically melted onto the floor.
“To celebrate,” he clarifies with amusement, and it takes everything I have to pull myself together.
“Of course,” I smile. “What did you think I meant?”
He chuckles. But just as I’m pulling away to head back to the restaurant, his voice comes, low and sexy in my ear.
“Just wait until I get you alone, mia cara. I’m going to make you come for days.”
After that kind of promise, it’s a wonder I can walk straight. But the guys find a bottle and glasses, and then we settle at a table outside. Raphael drags his chair close to mine, draping his arm around my shoulder as he raises his glass in a toast.
“To dreams coming true,” he announces, giving me a private smile.
“To dreams!” We all toast. And so the evening unfolds. Friends and more of Luca’s relatives stop by the table to chat, customers come and go, somebody brings plates of food: fragrant fresh bread, oils, spiced meats. More people pull up chairs, their names lost under the sound of the music, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a chaotic scene of noise and laughter, matching the wild happiness beating in my chest.
I sip my wine, my heart racing. It’s not just the solo; it feels like a dream to be sitting here, a world away from my everyday, stressed, anxious life. I’m locked in the circle of Raphael’s embrace, the cool evening breeze mingling with the last of the summer blossoms. My heart is pounding from his nearness, but I’m not nervous or tense anymore, just heady with delight, savoring every moment by his side.
“You good?” Raphael checks quietly.
I nod and smile. He smiles back, reaching to twist a lock of my hair around his fingertip, twirling it to bring me closer, closer, until he can land a soft kiss on my lips.
It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the sensuous pleasure in the hallway, but I still feel the shivers radiate out from his touch, all the way to the very tips of my toes.
Then a voice breaks through the dreamlike haze. “Rafa, c’mon.”
We look over. Luca and a couple of the other guys are on their feet. They’re part of the dance troupe too, gesturing to Raphael to come join them. The music changes, and Raphael laughs reluctantly, letting them haul him up and out into the space that’s been cleared in the middle of the tiny square. The audience whoops and cheers as they begin a routine I’ve never seen before, a vibrant, pulsing mix of traditional Latin dance moves and street hip-hop edge. By the time the song ends, everyone is on their feet, dancing together: Luca’s eighty-something Nona does a sedate slow-dance with one of the teenage busboys, Francesca and her friends strike sultry poses in the middle of the crowd.
Raphael comes over and pulls me to my feet. My protests are quickly drowned out as I’m pulled into the fold. It doesn’t matter what I dance, or how, I realize; nobody cares about the steps, or how good I am. This is dance as community, shared and spontaneous, full of laughter and life. Raphael swings me around, capturing me against his body in an old-fashioned ballroom move, making sure to keep the weight off my ankle. “When do I get to see you dance?” he asks, smiling down at me.
I blush. “Not here,” I reply quickly. “I can’t ... Not in front of a crowd.”
“My apartment is not far from here,” Raphael murmurs in a low voice. “Will you dance for me there? Alone?”
Alone…
My heart pounds. Every wicked promise he’s made echoes in my mind. I’m nervous, but more than that, I want him.
I want him to show me everything.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”
9.
Raphael drives us to an industrial-looking building, all crumbling red brick and steel columns. He taps a security code, and holds the door open for me, ushering me inside. I look around as we step into the steel cage elevator. It’s like something you’d find in New York, or Brooklyn, maybe: a redeveloped old factory building, with some of the original features still intact.
“I know it’s kind of rough around the edges,” Raphael says, sounding apologetic as we step out on the fifth floor. “But the space... Well, you’ll see.”
He leads me to the end of a hallway, and unlocks the door, heaving the heavy steel plate aside.
I step inside, and gasp.
The apartment is one huge room, a soaring loft-space stretching across half the building. There are bare brick walls, full-length windows, and polished wooden floors, with steel girders and beams for support. To one side, there’s a neat galley kitchen and breakfast bar, and over by the corner windows, a bed sits on a raised platform, with a perfect view of the city’s lights.
I turn away from the bed, already blushing, and focus on the real highlight of the room. The space: an open dance floor, flanked by a wall of mirrors. A studio, all of his own.
“When I saw it, I knew it would be the perfect rehearsal space.” Raphael stands back by the door, watching me take it all in.
I kick off my shoes, and walk to the center of the room, feeling the glossy bare boards beneath my feet. “Lacquer?” I check, sweeping my toes over the surface. A dancer knows you need a sturdy platform, with no nicks or splinters to catch in your precious soles.
He smiles at my focus. “I coated it half a dozen times.”
“It’s amazing,” I breathe, slowly spinning around. Even with dark outside the windows, the spotlights make the room bright and inviting, the floor just crying out to be used.
“Pick something,” Raphael invites me over to the sound system in the corner. He has his iPod rigged up, and now he holds it out to me. “I want to see you dance.”
I feel a tremor of nerves, but I go to him, scrolling through the library to find a song to use. He has everything: jazz, rock, even classical ... I find an album by Tchaikovsky, the music from Swan Lake, and for a moment I think about dancing my audition piece from earlier today: the light, joyful romance of the steps, the breathlessness I’d felt, imagining he was there.
But something stops me, and makes me skip forwards to select a different movement instead. Odile’s dance, from later in the ballet, when she’s fooling the Prince Siegfried into believing she’s Odette, tempting him to declare his love – and thus break his vow and curse the Swan Queen forever. It’s a dance of seduction, brilliant and demanding, and although I’ve practiced it in private a hundred times, I’ve never performed it for anyone before.
I set the music to play, and pace slowly to the middle of the floor, stretching as I go. “I can’t go en pointe without my shoes,” I apologize, but Raphael just watches me, walking over to sit on the long couch in front of the windows. He relaxes back, his dark eyes roving across my body, and I feel a thrill slowly shiver through me.
I’m used to dancing in front of audiences, big and small. It’s always a rush to perform. But this is something different. The way he’s watching me, waiting. As if I’m the most important thing in the world.
I take a deep breath, slowly close my eyes, and begin.
I don’t lose myself in the ballet, not tonight. No, this is a very different kind of dance. I dance for Raphael, I perform only for him, to him, meeting his eyes across the room as I move and twirl, using my body as Odile did: to tempt and entrance. For the first time, I understand the power in the movements, the intention that shimmers through every line and lift. The dance is weaving a spell, ensnaring the prince, and tonight, Raphael is my Siegfried.
I dance for him, because I want him. Because the thought of his hands on my body makes my heart skip and my blood run hot in my veins. Because ever since the first night we met, I’ve fallen asleep with the memory of his kisses burning in my mind.
He’s cast a spell on me, and now, it’s my turn to make him feel what I’ve been feeling, make him want me even ha
lf as much as I long for him.
I dance with purpose, with glittering passion, throwing myself into every movement. I don’t feel a single moment of pain in my ankle until the last strains of music fade away, and I’m left, breathless, face-down on the floor, my heart racing with shock and exhilaration over what I’ve just done.
10.
Raphael
She’s perfection.
The grace of her body. The purity in her soul. She dances like a tempting angel, luring a man to sin. Every part of me strains to possess her. My hands on her skin, my mouth on those lips.
My cock driving deep into her slick sweetness, feeling her body clench and break.
Lust pounds through me, demanding satisfaction. It takes all my self-control to hold back.
I promised I would teach her, one sensual lesson at a time.
She doesn’t yet know, the pleasure her body can reveal. But I will show her. Inch by inch, I will claim her, until there’s no part of her that isn’t mine. Body and soul, I will take her.
It begins now.
11.
Annalise
I catch my breath, still in the middle of the floor. The music moves seamlessly to the next track; it must have been set to ‘shuffle,’ because the sounds that emerge from the speakers now are sultry and slow, a jazz track, with a seductive female vocal.
The exhilaration leaves my body. Raphael is still watching me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his face unreadable, his eyes locked on mine. The intensity in his gaze makes my heart stop. There’s a naked hunger there, consuming, and I feel it ripple through me, an answering ache rising low and deep inside.
A beat passes between us, a single heartbeat, and then he’s on his feet, slowly crossing the space between us.
My breath stills in my throat at the sight of him, heading determinedly towards me. He has the grace of a panther, powerful and lithe as he comes to a stop in front of me, reaching down to take my hand. He lifts me to my feet: my pulse is skittering, my stomach tied in knots.
