Page 61 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”
I brush my lips to her damp brow. “There you go. My ballerina proving she’s not so sweet and innocent after all.”
EIGHTEEN
Nevaeh
Our timein Zurich comes to a bittersweet end. Part of me wishes we could stay longer, or even better, travel to other destinations, but another part of me looks forward to returning to Caelian’s estate. Pulling up the long drive that winds through the woodland terrain, it feels like I’m cominghome.
I smile and glance over at him. His hand’s already on my thigh. It’s wide enough that he’s able to grip it whole. He gives an affectionate squeeze when our eyes meet and my heart ticks slightly faster in my chest.
There’s a change happening inside of me—a fondness creeping up on me that I’ve never expected to have.
Where Caelian used to make me clench up in anxiety and flinch in fear, I’m looking forward to his touch. His warm strength that constantly surrounds me and makes me feel safe and comfortable.
Over the course of the coming days, we settle into a routine. More of a routine than we’ve ever developed—I spend nights with Caelian, waking up in his bed every morning to the muscled weight of him at my side. We enjoy a slow breakfast, either in the breakfast room on colder, wetter days, or out on the terrace when there’s a spate of morning sunlight.
Caelian goes off to handle his business while I busy myself with hobbies. I read books, do puzzles, go for walks around the estate, chat with the staff like Ms. Poitier and Umberto. Most wonderfully of all, Idance.
The dance studio Caelian’s had built for me is finished by the time we return from Zurich.
It’s a modest studio, barely larger than most living rooms, but it’s more than enough for me to flit around to my heart’s content.
I make a point of spending half of the afternoon dancing,practicingas if I were still in Ignazio’s show.
In my head, I’m stillPrincipessa. I’m the star of Ignazio’s ballet.
Tutto è Bellissimo twinkles in the background as I set off at a quick waltz. My feet brush off the polished wood flooring, my arms extended as I slip into a turn.
I sweep across the dance studio like this, keeping up with the gentle twinkling notes. My form is perfect, my body fluid. Ignazio would be watching on with nods of approval. Many of the other dancers in the show would be sharing looks of vexation like they usually did whenever I took the floor.
I lose myself in the routine. Soon I’m spinning in fast back-to-back coupe turns. I’m so lost to the whimsical music that I don’t even notice Caelian’s watching me in the doorway.
The glint in his eyes tells me I’ve mesmerized him. He’s under the spell of my dancing. A rare smile slants over his mouth, his rugged face without its usual scowl.
And then he surprises me by taking a step toward me. He opens his arms, showing me the open palms of his powerful hands.
He’s communicating, telling me I can if I want to. If I’d like to take the chance.
Coming out of my last spin, I make a seamless adjustment to the routine. I sweep across the studio and launch into a saut de chat. I leap through the air like a cat, straight into his waiting arms.
Caelian catches me with ease, proving he’s to be trusted. He’s caught me from my great finale of a leap.
It’s only the beginning of Caelian catching me. Just the start of him participating in my routines.
More often than not, toward the end of my practice, he arrives in the studio, ready to be used in whatever way I need him. He lifts me, spins me, sends me flying through the air as if I’ve sprouted wings. He becomes my impromptu dance partner for all intents and purposes.
Something I suspect he more than enjoys.
Our evenings revolve around almost gluttonous dinners where feasts are prepared or delivered and we eat whatever our bellies will allow. The long table fails to keep us at a distance like it once did—I sit in the seat closest on his right, and even that’s not close enough, prompting Caelian to drag my chair toward him.
The late evenings into nights are slow and relaxing. Caelian opts to read by the fireplace in the den. Sometimes I read too. Other times, I fuss with my latest pair of pointe shoes or do floor stretches (something he more than enjoys watching). I ask him questions he entertains. Questions he often turns back on me.
“If you could speak to anyone dead or alive, who would you pick?” I ask one evening.
He gives a dry blink and then turns the page to the historical book he’s reading. “There’s no one meaningful enough I’d care to talk to.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I say, rolling my eyes. I’m curled up on the floor in front of the roaring fire. Another new pair of pointe shoes rests in my lap, along with the scissors, pins, and ribbons I’m using to prep them. “There has to be someone in the whole world you’d want to speak to. Past or present.”