An Aria in Venice: The Musical Interlude

An Aria

In Venice

A Musical Interlude Novel

KaSonndra Leigh

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http://kasonndraleigh.com

Edited by Melissa Ringsted

© 2014 by KaSonndra Leigh

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, copied, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Art © 2014 Fantasia Frog Designs.

For the dreamers in life.

For those who have found love.

And for the ones who are still searching for the way.

Never give up.

Always choose to believe.

An Aria in Venice Playlist

Wherever You Will Go by Charlene Soraia

Die Without You by PM Dawn

Ritorna A Me (Return to Me) by the Rome Session Singers

Royals by Lorde

Cry Me A River by Justin Timberlake

Remember How I Broke Your Heart by Priscilla Ahn

Cascade by Hyper (Club Scene Song)

Falling by the Civil Wars

A Forest feat. Marina Celeste by Nouvelle Vague

My Skin by Natalie Merchant

Until the End by Norah Jones  (The way Luca feels about Adriana)

Girl With the Red Balloon by the Civil Wars

Sour Times by the Civil Wars

Just A Fool by Christina Aguilera

You Lost Me by Christina Aguilera

Never Think by Rob Pattinson

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Great Bangs Debate

Chapter 2: A Matter of Thinking He’s the One

Chapter 3: Someone Like Me ...

Chapter 4: That Mean Girls Thing, But All Grown Up

Chapter 5: Wet, Wild & Carefree

Chapter 6: I do believe she’s quite the little ballerina badass.

Chapter 7: Under the Tuscan Sun

Chapter 8: Olive Trees & Bumblebees

Chapter 9: In Dreams ...

Chapter 10: If I Were the Girl and You Were the Guy ... and Vice Versa

Chapter 11: A Breathtaking Mix of the Gothic, Water Smells and Yes ... There’s Even a Little Stromboli

Chapter 12: To Be Kings & Queens ... Nope! That’s Not Our Thing

Chapter 13: A Carpenter in Training

Chapter 14: That Family Girl Thing, but With a Twist

Chapter 15: La sede di musica ... the Center of Music, the Key to My Heart

Chapter 16: When Angels Sing ...

Chapter 17: When Little Hints Reveal Some Pretty Big Things

Chapter 18: When the Normalcy of Common Sense Loses Out to the Reckless Appeal of Desperation

Chapter 19: Sex, Lies, and the Bridge of Sighs

Chapter 20: The Red Gondola

Chapter 21: Serenade Me Not

Chapter 22: Reunions and Wings and Sisterly Things

Chapter 23: Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay Canal

Chapter 24: An Aria in Venice

Chapter 25: What Happens in Venice Doesn’t Always Stay there

Chapter 26: Now Make These Broken Wings

Chapter 27: What Happens in the Past Should Stay There, But When It Doesn’t that Shit Hurts Like Hell.

Chapter 28: Bittersweet Reunions

Chapter 29: The Butterfly Effect and Other Insignificant Things

Chapter 30: Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History

Chapter 31: To Dance Away the Pain

Chapter 32: Naughty Little Kisses

Chapter 33: When Skeletons Jump Out of the Closet and Scare the Shit Out of You, Then You Beter Find a Way to Get Rid of Them Again

Chapter 34: Killing a Songbird

Chapter 35: To Be a Very Bad Boy ... Or Maybe Not. Does it Really Matter?

Chapter 36: Fighting an Urge to Scratch out Her Eyes

Chapter 37: The Finale

Chapter 38: You Can Dance In the Dark, but ... Will It Really Make the Ghosts Go Away?

Chapter 39: When Darkness Falls

Chapter 40: Tears ... Those Little Slices of Forgiveness

Chapter 41: "I believe I can fly. I know I can face the world. I won’t hide anymore. My Eyes Are Wide Open.

Epilogue

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter 1: The Great Bangs Debate

Adriana

Will I hide behind bangs or show my big forehead today?

I can never decide. What type of day does this feel like ... the kind where I hide from life and overprotective mothers, like mine? Or will this be the one where I show the world how great of a ballerina I’ll someday become? To be quite honest, I’m not sure if I can handle either of those choices.

It’s June here in Milan, and the sun beams through my dressing room’s window, heating my face. Warmth should mean I’m confident, right? Don’t think so. What a stupid theory. I do know that I’m full of nerves, and the hives on my arms itch. God, I can’t believe how badly I’m itching.

The final round of auditions, the ones to decide whether I get taken seriously as a professional ballerina or not, happens in about fifteen minutes, and I’m not sure that I’m ready for it. I do all the little things to calm my nerves so I can stop tripping out, stuff that usually works really well for me. Unfortunately, not this time. I either get picked as the lead ballerina in my dance troupe’s upcoming production, or my mother will probably disown me.

Either way, Nikolai, my brother’s incredibly gorgeous best friend—that would be the guy who doesn’t even know I exist—says I look beautiful with or without the hair in my face. I can’t read a lot into Nikolai’s words, though. He still sees me as a little girl, and my mother doesn’t see me at all. I’m not sure which one is worse.

Actually, I think this will be a great day for bangs.

I get dressed in my gear: leotard, slippers, tutu, and Pointe shoes, which aren’t properly broken in and will sound like a horse’s hoofs clacking across the stage because of the unbroken wood in the toes. Filling up with nerves, I inhale a shaky breath and mentally travel through the moves I’ve practiced for the last sixteen years of my life.

Outside my door, I hear the voices of two men. One belongs to Pierre, Ines Barilla’s assistant, and the other belongs to the man who could easily be considered my second brother, Nikolai Belikov, the man who taught me all I needed to know about the erotic aspects of the moves found in Russian ballet. I strain at the door, listening, only to find that I can’t hear a thing. The walls in Italy’s buildings aren’t made of just any kind of plaster; it’s the kind that’s so thick you better not even think about trying to put a fist through it. That is, unless you don’t mind broken bones.

I crack the door open the tiniest bit and peek through the opening. I can’t see Pierre, but I do have a clear view of Nikolai. Standing just at six-feet tall, he’s slender but muscular and moves with more grace than most female ballerinas will ever see in this lifetime. Most times he keeps his shoulder length, blond hair held back in a ponytail, which highlights his grayish-blue eyes. They hold too much sadness to glance inside for long, unless you want to find yourself swept away and caught up in the spell of a man who must’ve been a supernatural creature in another lifetime. What other logical explanation could there be for the way he sets my heart aflutter with a single glance, or even the tiniest hint of a smile from those lips shaped like a heart? The gray button-down shirt he’s wearing rolled up at the sleeves and the dark jeans give the women parading around, gawking as they stroll by and accidentally brush his arm, a hint of the gorgeous frame concealed by his clothing. He’s the ideal image of perfect, a guy who must be both a dancer and a mystic, the man I’ve had a crush on since before I was old enough to realize it was no longer okay to do so.

Here comes the twist. But ... he’s off limits. He’s my brother’s best friend. Even if he were to notice me, then that little tidbit keeps us from ever being able to be any more than friends. Two people who’ve known each other since we were snotty-nosed little kids, running the streets of Moscow with our parents on War and History weekend, which begins on or after the ninth day of May when Mother Russia celebrates our Victory Day.

No matter. I want him to notice me. I don’t care about what Alek or my mother, Katerina, might think. After this audition and I win the lead role in Seraphine, and ultimately a permanent spot in Aterballetto, the repertory company mother has used her influence to get me into, then he’ll be too impressed to resist me. He sees me as Aleksandr Dostovsky’s little sister, the human fish. Nothing more. I can change that.

I will make him see me for the woman I’ve become.

Slowly, I close the door, shutting out the image of Nikolai looking about as perfect as any man candy could ever be. Walking back over to the dressing stand with the creepy mirror, I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath while I think of happy memories, those times when my father and mother used to take me to the shores of the French West Indies, back in the days when they smiled and kissed and held hands. Before my father became a man that even the Sicilian Mafia was afraid to challenge.

Behind me, the door eases open and my best friend and roommate, Lis, slips into the room. Are you ready, Adri? Damn, I hope one of us gets this lead. Her black eyes beam with excitement, while splotchy red marks start to pop out all over my skin. I cannot believe my nerves are doing this right now. I start scratching my arms, abdomen, and lower thighs.

Shit, Adri. You’re breaking out! Lis announces, her dark eyes searching my face and arms.

Uh huh. Soooo tell me something I don’t already know, I respond. Lis starts massaging my arms and legs like it’s really going to help, although I do appreciate the effort. Suddenly, I sit back down and the world stops. Well, no, not really, but that’s what it feels like for me. Sharp pains— several of them in all places over my ass and lower thighs—fire through me.

Holy freakin’ mama! I cry out, shooting to my feet. There are like bees or something caught up in my tutu! I gasp and start swiping at my ass, hoping to relieve me of the pain. I’m screaming and jumping around. Lis starts yelling, too; she’s allergic to bees. I can imagine what the girls waiting out in the hallway are thinking. That crazy Dostovsky girl’s acting up again. Signora Barilla should never have let the likes of her kind into the company. What kind of drugs is she taking?

I rip the tutu off, tearing my leotard in the process and exposing a part of my ass, the part that’s on fire. Lis finishes helping me remove my skirt, and quickly covers her mouth as she inhales a sharp breath. She’s staring at my butt and driving me insane with worry.

What is it? What do you see? I ask in Russian, forgetting that Lis is American and doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. Would you please tell me what’s going on back there? I ask in English this time.

Not a thing. We’ll take care of this. Dontcha worry a bit. Right. I know she’s lying. I can tell by the tone in her voice. She tucks her lips and sets to work removing what I’m assuming must be dead bees from the remains of my tutu and leotard.

This isn’t a good sign, I say, thinking there’s no way I’m going to audition with a butt covered in hives. Laima, the Russian deity of fate and luck, isn’t watching over me the way she usually does. That’s what Nikolai always tells me; that I have the spirit of a deity watching over me, gifting my body with the power of dance and beauty. Not every ballerina gets to be so lucky as this. Just me.

Sharp pain rips me back to the situation at hand, and I let out a yowl. Screw all this! I yell. How big was that stinger? I ask, squinting and bouncing up and down a bit while Lis works on whatever she’s trying to do to my ass cheeks.

Keep still, she orders.

I can’t. It hurts.

Don’t go blaming me if I screw something up back here, she warns. Okay that doesn’t sound good at all.

I want to see.

Almost done. One final pull and the stingers come out, making me feel as though I’ve lost a chunk of skin along with whatever Lis removed. I shriek through my teeth, my face screwed up in an ode to pain. I spin around, rubbing my buttocks and glance at what Lis holds in her hands. My pain turns to shock, and instantly anger sets in. They’re not stingers. Shiny, silver thumbtacks are gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Somehow, someway, a sneaky little gremlin managed to sew a small piece of mesh wire into the lining of my tutu. As soon as I sat down, the trap released the mesh and stuck to my leotard and my skin.

Are you kidding me? Tacks? Angry heat boils up in me. Only one person ... no, wait, two people would be capable of doing something like this. I take them out of Lis’s hand.

Turn around. I need to make sure I got all of them. She spins me around and starts massaging my ass. Suddenly, the door opens and our faces snap toward it. Nikolai stands in the doorway, his handsome face looking wild and concerned, and checking me out as I stand there with my ripped leotard hiked up in the air and Lis’s hand still on my butt. I pull what’s left of the fabric down at once. I mean, sure, ballerinas show our stuff all the time, but not our bare bottoms. And how must this look to a man who walks in and finds two women grappling each other? My cheeks fire up and the hives reignite next. Nikolai lowers his eyes at once, reminding me of a child who just got scolded for stealing something, with his blond hair loose and falling around his shoulders. Any other guy would’ve taken in an eyeful of my assets and not thought twice about doing so.

Everything all right in here? he asks, still staring at the floor.

We’re fine, I answer, smoothing the back of my suit and feeling Lis’s hands trying her best to hold the fabric down in back. She’s also crying, and no, her tears aren’t because I’m in pain. She’s laughing at me standing here in my ripped ballet uniform while the man I have a mega crush on stands in the doorway looking mortified, as though he doesn’t have enough of a potty mouth to rival Hades the way I’ve heard him use before. Looking at him right now, the way he innocently shies away from gawking at me, somebody might think I’ve defiled a male virgin.

Are you sure? he asks. I heard screaming.

More certain than I’ll ever be, I answer. Lis’s attempt to restrain her grin fails and her laugh forces its way out. Spit flies all over my arm. I close my eyes and shake my head, because I think I’ll just die on the floor now.

All right. Good luck, Nikolai answers, lowering his head again, but not before I see him hiding a smile.

After threatening to string Lis up by her ankles for laughing at me, I manage to change into a new white leotard and tutu, an outfit that makes me feel sexy as well as athletic, and head down the Grecian’s long hallway until I reach the main auditorium.

My instructor and the woman who manages the troupes that practice the Italian form of ballet, Ines Barilla, waits at the doorway. Standing at 5’10" tall, Aterballetto’s top instructor commands respect. No one dares go against her. Her performance history as a top ballerina during the 80s and early 90s gives her an authenticity that can’t be denied or disrespected. The woman pretty much invented her own style; a combination of moves that includes a mixture of the classic and the taboo, the graceful and the sexy. She lives and breathes her art—churns out successful productions with a passion that doesn’t always make her the most pleasurable boss, but always an effective one—and trains world famous ballerinas on a regular basis. I always wondered how my mother managed to secure a job for me under her instruction. Everyone knows Signora Barilla is known for being an abrasive businesswoman and not the type to be influenced by money or a person’s status in society. I’m sure there’s some secret Signora Barilla let slip by Mother that, unfortunately, is now being used against her. That is the way Katerina Dostovsky became a billionaire’s wife and that’s how she has run her children’s lives, as well.

You took your time, by the gods. Do you think no one else intends to audition today, girl? she scolds, leading me into the room where a small table is set up at the bottom of the stage. Two men and one other woman stand and greet Ines as she walks over to them.

Sorry, Ines, I mutter, and make my way to the stage raised about six steps above them.

He’s there in the sidelines, watching the way he always does. I don’t even need to glance to my right or wonder why almost every girl in the building has suddenly gathered near the exit to know he waits for me. The magnetism of his presence can be felt from a distance that way. Nikolai. I steal a quick glance in his direction just before the music starts. His shirt hangs open at the collar, exposing his generous chest and playing against his noble, but strong features.

Glancing out across the massive auditorium, I scan the isles for Mother. She’s nowhere, as usual. My heart dips and my confidence wavers. I sometimes feel like nothing more than a dancing doll attached to a rope; my pixyish little face always smiling and my rubber heart breaking because she always expects me to survive without her ever truly giving me any support. Stop being a baby, Adriana, she’d always said when I used to cry because of my intense fear of performing.

Tears burn behind my eyes. I was hoping this would be the day I could show her that I’m made of flesh and blood and not plastic.

As though I can sense his silent call, I turn toward the opening to the stage and smile in Nikolai’s direction. He blows a kiss at me as I adjust my fresh white tutu, clear my throat and wait for the opening notes. Lowering my eyes, I focus on placing my feet in first position ... that infamous pose where ballerinas stand with our toes out and our heels touching. The tune that begins playing is Berlioz, a sad song complete with tubas and violins that speed up and get deeper as the piece progresses, one of Nikolai’s favorites. I can’t say the same. Great. This tune must be the most depressing song ever written.

Somehow, I make it through the audition. No more hives or tacks or best friends inspecting me like a prize instead of a woman who’s crying out for attention inside this body. I do just fine until I get to the pirouette. Instead of twirling and then bending my body to where I can do a leg stand on pointe, I hesitate, lose my balance, and somehow wind up bouncing on the floor. I can almost feel Ines’s disapproval before I glance her way. This is the final audition, the crowning dance, Mother’s moment to shine while I agonizingly try to please the ghost of her spirit sitting in the chair behind the judges. This is the reason I had tacks inside my tutu. Someone wanted to make sure I didn’t make it through this song, but I did. Ten girls out of the two hundred and ten initial candidates are the only ones left to audition for this lead role. Adrenaline has me all pumped up, feeling wild and crazy in my head, when I should be worried about the move I just messed up. However, I’m not. There’s only numbness.

What in the hell was that? Ines asks, her voice booming through the auditorium. She’s known for voicing her thoughts aloud during important auditions such as this one, events that will gain attention for our company. Especially when one of her dancers is the one chosen to represent the group. That happens to be me, and I’m making her look bad in front of the board of directors.

This is an audition, not a playground, she barks, her body trembling because she’s that angry. I can’t help but to think how much her course gray hair sticking up on her head, paired with her light gray blouse and charcoal colored pants, make her look like the ex-ballerina bride of Frankenstein. Inhaling deeply, I shuffle to my feet and try to calm my heaving chest. Either get the damn moves straight or remove yourself from the stage so someone else can have a chance.

All is fine, Signora Barilla, an older judge—who reminds me of my father with his thick, wavy black hair and bright blue eyes—says as he smiles and places a hand on my fuming boss’s forearm. A calm Ines is not happening, though. She’s wound up like a bull, and I’m the target. Mother made a deal with her, I’m sure. So I am really making her look bad because she probably wouldn’t have chosen me as one of the top ten. That’s what Mother does with me, runs my life by micromanaging the people around me, while she’s off somewhere being the super businesswoman of the century.

Nothing is good here. She does not know the moves. She does not deserve to be on the stage. She is a joke, I do believe. A whale of a girl hidden inside a ballerina’s body. Ines crosses her arms and glares at me, her last words echoing through the auditorium. The tension of the moment is so thick I think if I were to open my mouth then I’d taste the bitterness.

With clenched fists, I stare her down, not even trying to rein in that infamous Dostovsky handicap of mine, this little thing called feistiness. Oh, go fuck yourself! I say through clenched teeth. It’s the first time I’ve ever cursed at anyone. No kidding, my vocabulary makes Snow White look devious. A collective gasp, along with a few snickers, from the small audience sitting behind the judges and the girls standing along the edge of the stage behind me fill the room. Suddenly, silence falls, the confirmation that I’ve lost my mind no doubt, but strangely, there’s a bit of relief in there, too.

Turning, I walk toward the exit door, gliding right past Nikolai, my angel with the golden hair, the man who’s staring at me with his mouth wide open. I head back to my dressing room, not stopping, even though he’s now calling out my name. My chest hurts. I feel bat crap insane, and I just want to go home.

Chapter 2: A Matter of Thinking He’s the One

Adriana

I burst through the door to my dressing room, my breath coming out in heavy gasps.

Adriana, would you wait? Nikolai says as he rushes through the door and stops beside me, breathing heavily because he’s been chasing me. I throw my arms around his neck and inhale his scent, a mixture of cologne with a hint of spice, a bit of soap, and that raw scent of male that drives me wild. He hesitates a few moments before lifting one arm, circling it around my waist, and using the other one to cradle my head. I, in turn, allow my body to go limp in his muscular embrace, the anger I felt minutes ago quickly turning to shame. The tension of the moment I just experienced eases out of my body, making me feel somewhat normal in the head again.

I screwed up, I say into his neck, finding it hard to believe Nikolai isn’t blasting me out about my pitiful excuse for a dance and my moment of insanity in the end. He has put as much effort into sculpting me as any formal trainer I’ve had in the past. Tonight was our moment to shine, and I’ve screwed up.

Hush now. Everything will be all right, he assures me. I lift my head and stare into his face, chiseled and noble, something I could gaze into and get lost inside every day, a mask hiding a boy who has suffered through more than any human should be allowed to experience.

Wait. Was that you standing off to the side of the stage, or your ghost? I ask.

You did just fine. I am certain you have this role. It does not matter that you cursed at your boss. I think she will recover. Any fool can see how talented you are, he assures me, smiling as he tugs me up against his chest, treating me like that ten-year-old girl he used to patch up every time she fell off her bike. I pull back and stare into his eyes, a misted bluish-gray wave of shadows hiding the soul of a man wading its waters, lost in the past that still rules his life. I know he feels something for me.

Do you see me? The real me? I ask, my chest heaving. It’s a loaded question intended for an answer I don’t think I’m about to get.

He stares at me a short moment before he answers, Of course I do. Alek and Katerina are waiting at Maggiano’s. Where are your clothes? When he takes a tissue from the Kleenex box on my makeup counter and tries to wipe my eyes, something inside of me snaps.

I’m not a baby anymore, Nikolai, I say, shoving his hands away from my face.

Sighing, he closes his eyes, but quickly opens them and looks back into my face, locking gazes with me. For the tiniest bit, I get a glimpse of a different kind of emotion, a gleam in his eyes that says he does see me as something other than a child. Unfortunately, it turns in on itself and gets replaced by that stony wall, reminding me that inside this gorgeous man’s body lives a killer, someone who won’t think twice about doing things the rest of us could never imagine. I’ve watched that side of him take over before. I know it could easily happen again. Adriana ...

I don’t give him time to finish the sentence. I’m done with being the cutesy little sister of Aleksandr Dostovsky, the world famous Maestro, the girl with the rich mother who still sets up her twenty-something-year-old kids’ dates, and the billionaire father who disappeared because of a business deal gone bad among his circle of Russian Mafiya friends. I want Nikolai to see me, to feel me, to understand how I ache inside each time he touches me as though I’m still a little girl and not the woman who has grown to admire him for the man he has become.

"We certainly don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?" I unsnap my tutu, ripping it in the back, not caring one bit. Ines can send the bill to Mother. The delicate fabric floats to the floor. At once I start yanking at the straps to my leotard, pulling them down and removing the whole unit. The outfit is just a reminder of the job I’m not about to get anyway. I let the entire thing fall to the floor, exposing my chest and bare ass ... again.

Nikolai’s eyes bulge, his gaze raking over my naked body, his eyes darkening as he does so. He’s trying really hard to keep that blasé look on his face only he knows how to do. Too late! I saw what he just did. My drama moment has hit the spot.

Moving his gaze back to my eyes, he orders, Put some clothing on. His voice is deceptively calm and deep. A lady should not behave in such a manner. Katerina would disapprove of this.

My anger makes me forget all about my nudity. That’s all I am to you, aren’t I? A kid. Alek’s little sister, a chess piece, a pawn to make Mother happy. Tell me. Does this look like a little girl’s body?

Don’t be dramatic, he scolds, grabbing hold of my forearms, but not hurting me. I get a look that’s a cross between a frown and something else that’s hard to explain ... admiration, shock, lust maybe? Stop dreaming, you girl of desperation and madness. His shoulders tense and his face reddens. I’ve ticked him off. Good. A reaction. I’m finally getting results, something other than the bodyguard syndrome. However, I can also tell I’ve affected him in other ways, too. The evidence lies in the details such as his flushed face and the way his breathing has increased, the hungry look in his eyes. Releasing my arms, he bends down, picks up the robe draped across my chair, and starts trying to cover my body. I’m ten shades of embarrassed, and I just know my naturally dark olive skin looks about as red as a strawberry right now.

Feeling stupid, I snatch the robe and put it on. We stare each other down a little longer before he sighs and says, I’ll get the car. Behind Nikolai, the door flies open. Lis stumbles into the room, her eyes raking over the two of us, her brown skin turning rosy in the cheeks as soon as her gaze meets Nikolai’s. My friend has a crush on him, too ... as does every ballerina in Aterballetto and every other opera house, especially since the great Nikolai Belikov started his own dance troupe under Mother’s new company. He’s totally ambitious for a twenty-four-year old man, and I both love and hate that about him.

Hot damn, Adriana! You rocked the socks up outta the house, girlfriend. Buuuut did I hear you tell Ines to go fuck herself? She moves toward us, stopping in her tracks once she takes in another eyeful of me standing there in my robe and Nikolai looking flush-faced and guilty. Okay, you’re interrupting something, Lis, she says kind