Twelve waiters were employed to serve the guests, but as if sensing my desperation, they’re all hiding. Enlightening conversations buzz in the air, accompanied by a string quartet playing a sad, monotonous melody. Two hundred kinds of perfumes mix with an equal number of colognes, but the sickening smell of white lilies overpowers the room.
The basketball fan is up to the nineties, gushing about Shaquille O’Neal, when a gentle hand touches my lower back.
I spin around, meeting the piercing gaze of gray eyes.
Anatolij hands me a glass of champagne, setting my empty flute back on a waiter’s tray. “Would you mind if I stole Layla for a while?” he asks my companion.
“No, of course not. I’ll find her later.”
Anatolij nods, turning to me. “Waltz?”
“Only the basics.”
He raises his hand, twirls his finger, and in an instant, the string quartet starts playing a waltz. Anatolij offers me his arm while the crowd of people part to create a circle in the middle of the dance floor.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers in my hair before he spins me around, bows slightly, and we start dancing.
A heavenly female voice reverberates in the room. I turn to see a dark-haired woman standing in front of a microphone on the stage. She wasn’t there five minutes ago.
I’m the only one looking at her while all eyes in the room are trained on Anatolij and me. Ballet is my true love, but during the many fancy parties organized by Frank, I had to learn the basics of Waltz, Tango, and Foxtrot. As a little girl in tulle pink dresses, I danced, standing on the shoes of older men. Later, I hid in the corner of the room so no one would ask me to dance. Being there was bad enough. Especially that Frankinsisted on my presence so he could put on a father-of-the-year act. Now, dancing with Anatolij, I’m a little thankful to my dad for teaching me the steps to the Waltz.
The melody is calm, Anatolij’s moves perfect, and the words coming out of the singer’s mouth make no sense. We swirl around the dance floor, my body light as a feather, my mind free of any problems.
I close my eyes briefly, enjoying the peacefulness, and smile when my imagination summons a vivid picture—Dante and I dancing at our wedding, surrounded by familiar faces. I hadn’t dreamt of a fairy tale wedding before I met Dante, but since he proposed, I catch myself thinking about the flower arrangement, the venue, and my dream dress.
A minute later, more people join in, and soon enough, the dance floor is full of dark suits and colorful, sparkly dresses. Anatolij bows once the song ends, offering my hand to an older gentleman who waited for me to become available. I don’t object. Not once for over an hour. I glide across the dance floor with different men until my feet start to ache.
I thank the last dancer, avoiding eye contact with anyone else, snatch a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, and slip out of the room unnoticed. I need a minute to catch my breath. Preferably away from the scent of lilies, that’s making me dizzy. I climb three flights of stairs, marching down the corridor to my bedroom in search of the library Anatolij mentioned. I can’t remember if he said it’s on the left, right, or opposite my room, so I open the door on the left first.
Feeling the wall, I find the light switch and walk-in further when the lights come on. My eyebrows knot in the middle when I stare at the portrait on the opposite wall. Slowly, step by step, I walk forward, eyes on the woman painted on the canvas. Full lips, filigree posture, a smile that touches her baby-blue eyes... I can’t peel my eyes off her, growing more confused by the second.
Every rational thought gets away before I can catch it.
I sit on the couch in the middle of the room, hiding my face in my hands. When will this end? I have enough to deal with, trying to accept the past and not worry about my grim-looking future. I’m also fed up with the present because, looking at the portrait, I realize there are still more riddles from the past to uncover.
Everywhere I turn, I stumble upon lies. Everywhere I turn, someone’s trying to deceive me or hide information.
No one is honest.
My life is made up of a series of unfortunate events and accidentally spoken truths.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dante
I’m a wound-up toy. Mauricio was quite right—I needed to distance myself from Layla; look at the situation through the eyes of a passive observer, but such a strict cutoff from her tires me out both physically and mentally. As if it’s not enough that I can’t see or touch her, now I’m supposed to function without even hearing her voice?
Good fucking luck.
I was a fucking mess while Layla hid in Texas. Despite coping with unwanted separation better this time because at least I know where she is, safe and mine, not having her close is still torture.
Jesus Christ. Whoever invented love should’ve been killed on the spot before he could spread the idea throughout humanity. Love is confusing. Overwhelming. Uncontrollable. A constant, energetic worry at the back of the mind. A rush of protectiveness that can make or break a man.
I’m still not sure if it’s making or breakingme.
Love is messy. Fucking amazing too.
Layla’s a little damaged thanks to Frankie, a damsel in distress. At first, she needed adoration, attention, and love. Now, she needs protection, and herneedingis what has me running in circles, killing myself to fulfill those needs.