Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
At the end of the circular drive, a polished limestone staircase leads to the open-air courtyard. Beyond that is the main entry to the property, which is the only one I’ve ever used. But tonight, Cristian’s guard drives into the tunnel that takes us down to the subterranean garage.
He parks us in front of the elevator, and when Cristian gets out, I try to scramble out of my seat. But the man is inhumanly efficient, and before I can touch one foot to the floor, he’s standing in front of me with a look that feels like a reprimand.
“Chantel.”
His voice is a warning, and I have the sudden urge to see exactly what he’d do if I chose to disobey him. Then I realize how insane that thought is, and I back down because his stare could level an entire city. Right now I’m too tired to choose anything but self-preservation.
Upon my concession, Cristian lifts me into his arms and steps into the elevator. It’s a silent ride, and we continue to avoid each other’s gaze. The entire event probably only takes a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime.
He carries me past the marble staircase in the foyer and through a few archways until we finally reach the primary gathering space.
When we enter, Mariella glances up from the lounge where she and Antonella are seated, arching a brow at us.
“He insisted,” I complain as he sets me down beside them. “It’s really not that bad.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She scoops up Antonella and settles her onto my lap. “I figured you could use an emotional support toddler during the exam.”
“Hi, beautiful girl.” I smile as the most recent addition to the Vitale family beams at me. “You’re up late.”
“Abella wasn’t feeling well, so Angelo’s taking care of her,” Mariella explains. “The others have already gone to bed, so it’ll just be us.”
“I’ll put Nella to bed,” Cristian volunteers gruffly.
Mariella nods. “Okay, but she’s been asking for Chantel to tell her a story first.”
“You have, have you?” I brush my fingers through Nella’s dark strands as she blinks up at me with sleepy eyes. “Which story should we do tonight?”
“Pwincess,” she answers decidedly.
“Alright, here we go.” I reach for her blanket and get her settled into my arms as Mariella examines my ankle. “Once upon a time, in the kingdom of the black stag, there lived a magical princess who was the most beautiful girl in all the land. Can you guess what her name was?”
“Nella?” Her eyes widen in delight.
“That’s exactly right.” I tap her nose.
I continue the story, explaining how all the stars in the sky shone for her, and every animal in the land loved her so dearly, they would never leave her kingdom. When I get to the part about her army—a strapping stock of the finest soldiers named Angelo, Romeo, Cristian, Rafe, and Michele—Nella giggles and looks at her uncle.
“You pwotect me?” she asks Cristian.
“On my life, Cucciola.”
His voice is deadly serious, and when I glance up, I find him watching me, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes. That moment suspends itself before Nella prompts me to continue, snapping me out of whatever that was.
I resume the story, sending princess Nella on magical adventures until the little girl in my arms inevitably falls asleep. As I peer down at her angelic face, warmth floods my chest, opening the floodgates of a familiar ache. I don’t even realize how long I’m staring at her until Mariella clears her throat, dragging me from my thoughts.
I blink up to find both her and Cristian studying me, and I feel entirely too exposed.
“You should probably get Nella to bed,” I tell him. “It’s late.”
He ignores my suggestion as his attention shifts to Mariella. “What’s the verdict on her ankle?”
“Yes, Doctor.” I roll my eyes. “Am I going to live?”
She doesn’t share my amusement.
“Real talk, this isn’t something you can keep putting a Band-Aid on,” she says. “You had a bad sprain that wasn’t properly rehabbed, and every time you re-injure it, you’re risking permanent damage. I know you love your job, but at some point, you need to ask yourself what’s more important. Another year on stage, or living with chronic pain ten years from now.”
I swallow as the reality of my situation hits me. I do love my job, and it’s not because I need the money. As a child, dancing was one of the few approved activities I was allowed, and it became my escape. I trained in tap, ballet, and competitive jazz, and when I was old enough, I attended summer intensives in pursuit of my ultimate goal. I wanted to be a Rockette so badly, it was all I thought about for years. With an insane amount of practice and precision, I achieved that ambition at eighteen.