“Like whether I’m good enough to get anywhere in the dance world. Whether or not my father is coping without me.” I pause, before adding my last obsession. “Whether I’m ever going to meet anyone. Not that I have any time for love.”
“You don’t have time for love, or you make yourself so busy so you can tell yourself you don’t have time for love?” he asks.
I laugh. “Is there a difference?”
“Sure there is,” he replies. “I think if the right guy came along, you’d make time for him.”
“Maybe. But I’m beginning to think the right man doesn’t exist. Not for me, anyway.” I swallow and look down at the table. This conversation is getting way too personal for me. I think he senses it too, because he changes the subject.
“Let’s go,” he says, standing up. “We’ll walk back, if you’re up for it.”
Outside, we make our way back in the direction of my apartment. We’re not far away, and with the traffic, walking will probably be quicker anyway. He takes my hand in his as we walk side by side, neither of us speaking.
I could get used to this. I imagine this is what it would be like to have a boyfriend, someone to go out to dinner with, to hold hands—to kiss. I sneak a glance at Pietro, who looks lost in thought. What’s he thinking about? Is it me? My pulse races as I imagine that I’m the person on his mind. What would it be like to kiss those lips and to drag my fingers through that thick, curly hair?
Way too soon, we arrive back at my apartment. I’m not ready to let this moment go, even if I have invented the whole thing in my head. When we reach my door, he lets go of my hand, a small smile forming on his lips.
“Thanks for making me go out tonight,” I say, wanting to break the silence.
He shrugs and closes the door behind him as I move into the living room. Throwing myself down on the sofa, I kick off my too-high heels. Stretching out my legs, I sigh.
“Your feet are sore,” he comments, sitting next to me. My eyes widen as he takes them in his lap and begins to rub them.
“I’m a dancer.” I laugh, resting my head on the back of the sofa. I can’t deny how good his hands feel. I wonder what they’d feel like elsewhere….
“I know, you should be taking better care of them. I mean, what is this shit?” he asks, leaning forward to retrieve one of my heels. “You should’ve told me they were hurting and we would’ve caught a cab home.”
“It’s my only pair of high heels,” I protest. “Stupid Bella got them for me because she was sick of seeing me in tennis shoes.”
“This feel okay?” he asks, nodding to my feet. I nod, a giddy smile on my face.
“I’m tempted to ask my father to have you move here just so you can be my personal masseur,” I joke. I close my eyes and sigh again, letting myself enjoy the indulgence. “Can I ask you something?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“I never see you with any women—”
I stop and wince. What the hell am I doing, asking him this? He stares at me, his expression amused as he waits for me to continue. “I mean, you’re an attractive guy, so I was just curious as to why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Are you asking me if I’m gay?” he says, and chuckles.
“No!” I cry. My hands fly to my face. “I just don’t get why nobody has snatched you up.”
He takes his time answering, and with every second that passes, my anxiety peaks at a new level. Why did I just do that? I’ve probably ruined a perfectly good moment. I want to run into the bedroom and dive under the covers and hide.
“I guess I just haven’t met the right person. For the record, I’m straight.” He grins and I groan. “I was in love with a woman for a very long time but it was pointless. Our relationship couldn’t go anywhere, so I never pursued it.”
“Did she know?” I ask softly. My heart is pounding, and I feel a mix of sadness and regret for him. Deep down inside there’s another emotion, one I’m not used to experiencing. Hearing him talk about this love of his life makes me jealous. My stomach twists into knots as I try to process what I’m feeling.
“I don’t think so. I never got any feelings that she felt the same way. Not that it would’ve mattered. We were too different for anything to have worked.”
For the tiniest moment, I wonder if he’s talking about me. There’s no way. I would’ve known. My mind runs through every female acquaintance I’ve known him to have, but there are too many for me to narrow down. The nature of his involvement in my father’s business means he has contact with many stunningly beautiful women, all of whom could be her—and all of whom have so much more to offer him than I ever could.
“What about you?” he asks suddenly. “I never see you with any boys.”
“Boys?” I laugh. “What am I, twelve?”
“Okay, men then.” He screws up his nose. “Now that just sounds creepy.”