Italian Ballerina Novels & Stories

"The Ballet of Remembrance by the ballerina Esther Joan." I perform my ballet with the most focused mind ever, my mind relaxes and listens to the melodious melody. If anyone is familiar with classical ballet, it is impossible not to know about my performance. I'm recreating the performance that made my mother's name, Rowan Amber: Duck in the Moonlight.

Whatever innocence I had left, ends here. As I descend the stairs, a small part of me knows that everything might go to shit. I might fail and die. Or worse, live. As Romeo Vernetti's wife. But I can't let those thoughts linger and make me doubt myself. I'm stronger than this. I can do this. I'm a Calderone. We are strong. With my shoulders straight and head held up high, I enter the ballroom. There's a moment of silence, where every eye turns to look at me and I soak in their attention. I'm used to it. As the Calderone princess, people are always curious about me. Plastering a smile on my face, I walk further into the room. Nodding at everyone I pass while murmuring 'thank you for coming'.

He pulled her arm a little too forceful and led her to the center of the circle. And there at the center was a single-armed wooden sofa accentuated by the moonlight. A woman, probably their Queen, was lying on it. The moonlight shall be enough as your guide. Feucher’s words echoed inside her head. Yes, the moonlight really did become her guide. She stepped closer and did a curtsey, as she thought people of this world normally do. The pixie Queen looked silently beautiful even though she appeared pale and weak. Her hair, which was commonly gold with her constituents, was colored silver. Her glow was very faint and sporadically glinting unlike the stable radiance of the others.

A gentle breeze brushed past me, as if she were softly caressing my cheek. Standing up, I wiped my tears dry and walked out of the cemetery without looking back. Three months later, the graduation tour of Janswick Arts Academy finally took place. Daniel's dance company had welcomed a new principal dancer, a girl who had spent ten years quietly practicing in that same rehearsal room, never once complaining, even when the soles of her shoes wore through. She had no connections, no resources. All she had was a burning passion. I watched from the VIP section as she danced in a plain white dress, no rhinestones, no haute couture.

“Marano holdings. And call Adrian. I need all we can find on someone. Lucia Moretti.” Cassius didn't argue. He would never. Three hours later, I was in my corner office, its intricate windows showing the skyline like a work of art. But I wasn't focused on the view. Adrian entered, tablet in his grip, his face blank. “You requested a background check on Lucia Moretti.” I motioned for him to speak. He flipped open a file. “ She's twenty five. Formerly a professional ballerina - a global prodigy. Danced in New York, London,and Paris. Headlines from about two and a half years ago. She was arguably one of the best.”

The cold hands entangling hers belonged to Theresa Ford — her friend… No best friend, who was selected to be Prima Ballerina in the year's Nut Bowl. That lengthy velvety blonde hair of hers sparkled like her eccentric but surreal blue eyes, which were gaping excitedly into that of Francesca's brown ones. “A-are you sure?” The two young ladies standing at the left wing of the stage were donned in different outfits. The Gracious Angel; the ballerina whose face has never been seen and always cladded by a mask was friends with her, and expectantly got selected to be the main soloist in the Nut Bowl.

Chapter 25. The moment Isadora and Mitchell stepped further into the light of the grand ballroom, the air shifted. It was like a physical wave of sound… the collective intake of breath from hundreds of people who were used to seeing beauty, but were currently witnessing something divine. “Oh my goodness! Is that Mitchell? The daughter of Mr. Bianchi?” a woman in a shimmering silver gown whispered to her husband, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. “She is so beautiful! Wow!”

The question was pointed, like he knew more than he was letting on, like maybe he’d heard things about how Enzo and I had started. “I’m a dancer,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Ballet.” “A ballerina.” His eyebrows raised, something like amusement crossing his face. “Huh. That’s unexpected.” “Why is that unexpected?” “Because—” He leaned back in his chair, that easy grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, I just can’t picture it. The almighty Enzo Santini with a ballerina. Seems too delicate for him. Too refined.” His eyes dropped deliberately to my chest, then back up. “Although looking at you now, I can see the appeal. You’re very pretty.”

Armaros introduced himself, bowing He let his eyes linger at my bosom, making me look at him with contempt as I curtsied and introduced myself. "My name is Catalina Caressa Marisol Ziva. Pleased to meet you, your grace." I said as politely as I could "Now that introductions are out of the way, may I have a dance with this lovely lady?" Armaros asked yet again "I'm afraid, I must decline. I shall only dance with my family or my mate." I said with a sweet smile Murmurs instantly started, do they really think whispering is of any use when our ears can pick on the faintest of whispers? The stupidity of the group of idiots attending the ball never ceases to surprise me.

The rest, she saw on second inspection, didn’t cling quite as badly as she’d first thought it did, and—face it, Charley—she then firmly told herself, Beggars cannot be choosers, girl, so you should— The sudden knock at her suite door diverted her attention. "Are you ready, Charlotte?" Adelina’s mother called out. "We must not be late for La Scala." "Certainly not," Charley thought dryly. "Just one more minute!" she called back. La Scala waited for no man, not even the higher echelons of Italian society she was about to mingle with; she mocked as she slid her feet into a pair of high, slender silver mules, then turned to apply a coating of clear gloss to her lips. She refused point-blank to u