Italian Ballerina นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Bella said before she shifted her attention to her daughter. "Aria?" Before she could speak further Aria stood up from the chair and walked away from there as she didn't want anyone to see her tears. She was not weak, she couldn't allow anyone to look at her like that. She was the Capo dei capi of Cosa Nostra. Tears and emotions, She couldn't afford them, not even in front of her family.

It looks like every other overdecorated temple of vice. White marble, golden chandeliers, secrets bleeding from the walls. I glide through the ballroom, laughter coating my lies. Signora Vescari is all silk and steel. “Caterina Sartori. What a pleasure to finally meet you. You’re absolutely glowing my dear.” “You’re too kind. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the fabled Vescari matriarch. You have to tell me all your secrets, so I can be just like you someday when I grow up.”

Maybe he’s Italian and not French? A little voice in my head tells me to be jealous but the guy is on point. Her movements are natural and precise, something I’ve only noticed a few times. It would make sense, though. That gracefulness had to come from somewhere. “Oh, yes. I… have. Ballet,” she replies, her cheeks nearly glowing under his sharp gaze. I can see that she’s embarrassed but even in that there’s a certain pride that seems to radiate from her. Ballet. That would explain it. She’s flexible, she knows how to move her hips and she’s graceful for the most part.

I said softly, catching her eye, "Your mom mentioned something earlier that you're a ballerina?" She blinked, and glanced at Hazel for permission before nodding shyly. "Yes, I am." "A real one," I whispered, "You know, I used to go to the ballet every winter in Milan. I always thought the dancers looked like they were floating, but I know how hard they actually work. It takes so much strength to make something look that beautiful. Do you have a favorite piece? Are you working on a specific dance right now?" For the first time that night, the terror in her eyes flickered, "The Nutcracker," she stated, "I’m practicing the Waltz of the Flowers."

Gigi gave a small nod, the spitting image of her gentle mother. As I straightened, one of my advanced students tugged my leotard. “There are people here to see you!” I turned in surprise to see none other than Erik Bennett and Liora in the viewing area. Liora had become a prima ballerina at the prestigious Paris Opera Ballet, a household name in the dance world now. Mr. Bennett, my former director, was apparently retiring from the New York Ballet. I approached hesitantly as Mr. Bennett stepped forward, regret etched on his features.

She could be modeling rags and still look stunning. “Sir?” My eyes reluctantly shift from the outline of her swinging hips to Adrianna’s glowering gaze. “Your fiancée is that way,” she speaks in Italian, inclining her head to the center of the room, where Valentina giggles, surrounded by a horde of drinking Italian wives and a couple of her friends from Korea. She’s a social butterfly, much unlike Priya.

My blonde hair is down to my waist; I have beautiful curves and am about 5'7" tall. To achieve the ballerina effect, I've put my hair in a ponytail and then twisted it in a bun. My ballet shoes are at the gym, so I am not wearing any shoes now. Running downstairs, trying not to stub my bare toes. I enter the gym. I see several young wolves exercising in the gym. A few people watched me as I entered the ballet room, some of whom smiled at me. The guy on a tread mill winked at me flirtatiously. I smiled, blushed, and looked away from him. Good thing Nicolas wasn't here. Talk about anger issues, that guy has them when guys notice me. Sitting on the floor, I put on the ballet slippers she gave m

The woman walking over wasn’t as pretty as his ex-girlfriend Xyla but was just as graceful. She could guess who this woman was. She was probably Jodie Smalls that the other instructors had been talking about a few days ago. Xyla was an international supermodel who had a classy grace, while Jodie was a ballet dancer who was demure and elegant, gentle as water. Louis looked at her, then frowned. “Who are you?” Ryleigh turned away and covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Jodie was probably surprised when Louis didn’t recognize her and paused, feeling a little awkward. “I’m Jodie, don’t you remember?”

“I’d forgotten about your… bane.” She pulled a face. “Trust you to notice them.” “They’re quite cute.” “On a ten-year-old, maybe. Not on a ‘prima ballerina’ of ‘The London Dance Company’. I bet Alexandra Danilova didn’t have freckles.” Fabien saw the exact moment that she remembered, again, that she was no longer a prima ballerina. The light in her eyes dimmed and her full lips pressed together as though she was trying to contain something.

He pulled her hands and placed it on his shoulder and swayed lightly to the music. She looked down at her inappropriate dress, she was in no way dressed for an event that had a dance. She was pressed up against him, his hands caressed her waist seductively, leaving the flames of desire in its wake. She sucked in a breath, “How does dancing help us get the heiress, the Italian one...” “Lucia Moretti,” he answered, “I need you to stay on track, Scarr. Stay with me. You can’t be slacking.”