Italian Ballerina นิยาย & เรื่องราว

She already knew that they would have a lot of acting to do here in Italy but she just couldn’t trust herself around Liam. Emilia was angry not because he was holding her but because she liked it. How could her body betray her. It was almost as if it had a mind of it’s own whenever Liam was close. “ Here we are.” The manager, Lorenzo said opening a white Italian door. Emilia couldn’t control the gasp that left her. She had been to countless hotels and had stayed in royal suites but none could be compared to what was in front of her. The suite looked like a complete house with a gold plated staircase that started in the middle and went up to the rooms maybe.

David had seen some business partners so was presently discussing with them and Diego was doing the same so the two ladies were on their own for now. “Although I don’t like her Ma’am, but I won’t deny the fact that she knows how to play the piano very well” “She those and that explains why she is the number one best youngest pianist here in Italy” “Yeah,” Scarlet nodded. She looked at her boss wanting to say something else but she decided not to. They both watched as people danced on the dance floor. “Ma’am, didn’t you notice something? Apart from Mr Salvatore and I and number else came with a partner”

Her full attention was on Alessia, her eyes bright and engaged. "So," Michelle leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, "What do you do when you're not walking runaways and stealing the spotlight?" Alessia giggled. "I like to cook, actually. Dance too, when I'm not exhausted from fittings." "Nice," Michelle said, nodding with awe. "You give off dancer energy. That graceful kind." "I've been a professional ballerina for ten years now." "No way," Michelle clapped her hands together. "I've been dancing ballet for two years now."

I looked at Eric seated beside me and he smiled at me. "Next, we welcome a woman of strength and precision," the announcer's voice echoed through the hall. "A tennis prodigy whose power on the court is matched only by her heart off it—”Elena Hayes”. Applause burst out. I smiled, feeling the warmth of it wash over me as I walked toward the stage, my satin navy-blue dress flowing with each step. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment I shook the host’s hand and accepted the golden award. “And joining her,” the announcer continued, “a vision of grace and resilience—whose ballet performances have moved audiences around the world—”Linda Yates”.

I smooth my hair out, adjust the fall of my dress and straighten my spine, they might be right about everything they said, but at the end of it all I get to keep the most important thing of all, baby Kyla. When I step back into the ballroom, the noise rushes over me again music, laughter, clinking glasses, power and privilege swirling together under chandeliers that cost more than my entire life, it doesn’t take long to spot him. Dante sits in a corner, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen tonight. Across from him is a woman so stunning she seems almost unreal, long legs crossed elegantly, a sleek dress hugging her frame like liquid silver.

Before she could start bashing on me, the door opened and three models made their way inside, and they were also no unknown faces to the world, Anna Belluci, Elisabetta Romani and Maria Salerno. All of them walked toward Bella, greeting her with cheek kisses, except for Anna who kissed her inviting mouth, Bella initiated more. Pulling away, Anna whispered, “What’s wrong, babe?” They were in a relationship, I didn’t know what. I thought Bella was straight and dating another model, Michele. Bella side-glanced at me, “Questa cagna è il volto della notte, finirà lo spettacolo (This bitch is face of the night, she will end the show),” I could see she knew I understood Italian, her tone expressed

“Because at the end of the day… you’re still nothing. There's nothing you, a failed engineer and a woman no one cares about can do. I don't care who you have backing you, but the Donovan name isn't something you can degrade so easily.” “Are you done?” I asked calmly in a bored voice. Danielle blinked in surprise. She was expecting a reaction from me, but I would not give her the satisfaction of getting one from me. Before she could say anything in response, an elegant voice cut through the room. “Ladies and gentlemen…” The crowd quieted almost instantly as we all turned towards the stage. Martina Beaumont, the famous french designer and the host of this ball, stood there looking “It has been

He pointed. “Strip. On the bed. Knees spread. I want to see what I own while I make a call.” I did as ordered. The sheets felt cool against my heated skin. Varek stood at the foot of the bed and watched me while he dialed. His free hand rested on my ankle—an almost casual claim. The conversation was brief, conducted in clipped Italian I only half understood. One phrase surfaced clearly: *la ballerina*. The dancer. His eyes never left the place between my legs.