Page 76 of Rome: The Ballerina

With crinkled brows, she leaned in closer.

“I’m sorry– what?” She snickered. “What happened? Did I do something? Why not?”

“Saint.”

“Saint?” She asked, “Saint?”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s going to work between you two because it won’t,” I informed her.

Confused, she continued listening.

“Because he wasn’t meant to marry you.”

Her neck reeled back as her face contorted.

“I can’t shake your hand, smile in your face, and chit chat over lattes knowing that the man you’re taking for granted is everything I’ve ever dreamt of. Literally and figuratively. When our time comes and he realizes what I’ve known for years now, I don’t want to make an enemy of you. I’m no enemy you want to have, Aliza. And, I don’t mean that lightly.

“I will not and have not pursued your fiancé in any way and won’t as much as acknowledge him while you’re together, so there’s no need to make a fuss here, now, or anywhere –especially the theater. But, there will come a day when things in my life will begin to align, which means things in your life are shifting, whether for the good or the bad.

“One of those will be your relationship status and mine. Friendship between us would prolong my happiness and plague me with guilt that I’m not accustomed to or interested in taking on. So, as a woman, I am telling you that I can not be your friend because when it’s all said and done, I will be Rome…Rome De Bacco, wife of Saint.

“I’ll bear his children gladly while still landing every plié, battement, tendu, ronde de jambe, passé, and every other position I’m required. Because, I understand I can marry my world and his without giving up my dream or his. Naturally, they compliment each other.”

My water arrived. The waitress sat it on the table and handed Aliza her drink. She didn’t wait to sip it. She finished it in one gulp and requested another one.

“Rome–” she paused, rubbing the back of her neck. “How do you expect me to take this?”

She was beet red. I could hear her heartbeat across the table. I sipped my water, allowing my words to settle with her.

“However you want, Aliza.”

I gripped the handle of my purse.

“It was good chatting,” I confessed, feeling the weight resting on my chest lift at once.

As the words left my mouth, August appeared beside me.

“Balle–” he began.

“I understand.”

I stood from my chair and stood up. With August behind me, I strutted toward the same door I’d entered thirty minutes prior. Just as I met the threshold, my memory forced my body to turn one hundred and eighty degrees. I headed back to the table where I found Aliza still planted.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the hundred dollar bill Koen had taken from the ATM on the way over. It rested on top of the napkin near the end of the table.

“Aliza,” I called out.

She tilted her head, waiting for whatever was coming from my lips next.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“What exactly?”

“What you’re thinking– about you all seeing other people.”

With furrowed brows she asked, “When did I say that?”

“You never got a chance, but you were thinking it.”

---