Page 56 of Rome: The Ballerina

The feeling.

The urge.

The instinct.

The discernment.

My legs led the way. I descended the four steps, ending up in the pit where Aliza was with her mother. Her smile was enabling. Her posture was convincing. Yet, there was a twinge in my gut that I couldn’t ignore. I hadn’t been able to all day.

Still, I pushed forward with a piqued curiosity and an attempt to welcome new friendships in my life. It was difficult. I didn’t trust anyone but the sisters and brothers my father had given me. Anyone beyond that was beyond my scope.

It’ll be fine. I promised myself.

“Rome– my mother, Aleena. Mom, the amazing butterfly you just witnessed on stage who I am going to beg for the next three months to teach me how to move as if flexibility and agility are my first and last names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rome. You were great.”

With a nod, I accepted her compliment. Her extended hand lured me in. Midway, my fingers fell flat against my leg.

Sorry. I admitted, silently.

I’m not sorry.As quickly as the thought occurred it was corrected.

Slicing into the awkwardness like a piece of red velvet cake, Aliza continued.

“And my father– Neil.”

A courteous nod followed the introduction. My hands lifted slightly. My feet kissed each other at the heels. My body began to bow. As my head fell, my nostrils widened and the hairs on every centimeter of my body stood in the air as if they’d been touched by an inflated balloon.

Difficulty struck as I tried my hardest to lift my body. As if the weight of the entire stage was strapped to my neck, I struggled to regain control of my head. My heart imploded and then exploded in my chest. My mouth filled with its debris.

“Uh mm–”

A single grunt.

No words.

A single grunt.

My confidence.

My calm.

My collection.

They failed at once, suppressed by the familiar feel of him. Smell of him. Sound of him.

The atmosphere shifted to accommodate him. My heart shifted to accept him. The energy shifted to acknowledge him.

“Rome,” she paused, pulling the man from my dreams into her side, “this is my fiancé. Saint De Bacco.”

My heart fell from my chest onto my pointe shoes.

Aliza– that’s my husband. Saint. Saint De Bacco.

“And his sister Nadia.” She tipped her head toward the woman who resembled the man holding her in his hands.

Hands that belonged around me.

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