Delilah's Diary #2: La Vita Sexy by Jasinda Wilder Read Free Book Online Page A

her pleased. Dio , so angry. I never knew why. She keeped her past a secret from me, but I was wise enough to see the scars of a life of pain, from before I met her. She told me one time, that she had slept with someone else. I have not told anyone this, not even my sisters. I forgave her, and tried to forget, but...it is not so easy. I tried to move on, but then, one day, I came back from a trip to sell vino in Marseilles and Venice and Corsica, and she was gone. Just made vanished. Nothing to say to me why. Clothes gone, my car, gone. All of the money we save together, gone."
    I didn't know what to say.
    "Luca, I—I'm sorry." I put my hand on his back, rubbed in circles. "I'm sorry. I should have given you a chance to explain."
    "I have explained, and now you know." Luca turned to put his back to the railing of the bridge, pulled me into him. "So, can we go back home now? The others are worried for you. Lucia feels poorly about it."
    I let him lead me back to his parents' house. There were explanations of misunderstanding all around, and I spent a long time reassuring Lucia that everything had worked out just fine.
    My grappa was put back in my hand, and I lounged on a bench with Luca as his family swirled around us, children laughing and chasing each other, kicking the soccer ball, the adults mingling. At some point, Elisabetta and Lucia produced instruments, a mandolin for Lucia and a violin for Elisabetta. They tuned, discussed for a moment, then struck up a lively jig. Everyone joined in, turning the courtyard into an even more chaotic scene, people now dancing in circles, swinging and spinning in circles, everyone making up their own dance steps.
    I felt my feet tapping, my body wanting to move. Aside from writing, I've always loved dancing. It was an activity that I seldom got to do, however, as small towns aren't exactly known for their night life. In college, however, I took classes nearly every day, mostly classical ballroom stuff, tangos and waltzes and samba and such. The more interpretive styles like jazz and contemporary didn't appeal to me as much. I liked the stylized steps, the ordered beauty.
    Luca looked at me sidelong. "Do you dance?"
    I shrugged, smiling shyly. "A little."
    He stood up, held out his hand, and I took it, let him pull me to an open area. He started off easy, a basic waltz hold, and trotted around with me, no steps, no structure. The sisters shifted their song, playing a tune I'd danced to frequently during ballroom classes, and automatically adjusted my hold on Luca, my feet starting the steps on their own. Luca's face showed his surprise, but he went with it, his spine going rigid, his hold formal and elegant, his feet light and quick.
    Good gravy, the man could dance. My instructors had always told me I could have had a future in ballroom dancing, if I'd been willing to put the work in and slim down a bit. Good thing I liked writing more, since slimming down never seemed to work. A bit of a digression, there. My point is, I can tell the difference between someone who simply likes to dance, and someone who has had training, who takes it seriously.
    Luca was a dancer. His poise was impeccable, his mastery of footwork breathtaking. He led me flawlessly, moving me around the courtyard, our eyes locked, the world blocked out but for the music flowing between us and in our veins. We came to a part of the dance where there would normally be a lift, if this was a choreographed number. I felt Luca's hold adjusting, watched his eyes scan the floor around us, calculating, assessing.
    "Ready?" he breathed.
    I nodded. Three steps, a half-turn, and then his hands moved to my waist, lifting me as I hopped. I'm not the most agile girl in the world, but I'm lighter on my feet than most people would assume, and Luca, well, he was powerful enough to lift me and make it look effortless.
    We pulled off the lift like we'd practiced it for days. I felt the rush of excitement and adrenaline that follows pulling