HALFBLOOD DANCER

8. PROBING

"Running away so soon?"

I hear that low and husky voice that, for some reason, has the power to agitate me like no other. I bring my head up, and there he is, standing in front of me with magnificent elegance and tormenting beauty. I hate him.

"No, Mr. Bianchi. I'm just going to the ladies' room." I don't even bother concealing the bitterness in my tone.

"I will escort you."

"There's no need for that."

"I insist," he says, the imposing edge in his tone annoying me further.

Biting my tongue, I step forward and walk around him, with every intention of ignoring him. But he moves fast, reaching the doors before me, his powerful energy pounding restlessly in the air, making me lightheaded. He quickly pushes one of the doors and holds it open for me to exit. I have no choice but to walk past him.

He follows me out. "This way," he says, placing his hand gently on my bared lower back to guide me, a sharp tingle rushing up my spine.

What is he doing? I can barely contain the shivers.

"I know the way..." I walk faster, trying to put some distance between him and my skin, hoping he would drop his hand. He doesn't. His fingers remain firm on my back as he continues steering me to the restrooms.

I want to turn around and slap him, but I can hardly move, stiffen like a mummy.

"That's a lovely dress you're wearing, Luna," he comments. "You look stunning."

"Thank you." My words come out in a feeble, throaty whisper, an unexpected trace of joy touching my heart and nurturing my confidence. I find myself smiling inwardly, thankful for my turquoise Greek-Princess style gown.

Snap out of it, Luna! My pride scowls at me, and I can almost feel it slapping me on my face. This is the same man that was calling you weak and incapable, just yesterday!

"Did you enjoy the concerto?" he asks.

"Oh yes, I love piano. And I've always liked the way she interprets Liszt—" I stop myself midsentence as I realize how passionate I sound, when I shouldn't even be talking to him.

"Really?" He sounds interested. "Do you play?"

"A little." I shrug my shoulders, thinking of Nina and Lori's faces if they heard me, for they both think I'm better than I really am. Well, maybe I do play more than just a little, but I would never admit it to any professional musician, especially not to a brilliant Maestro in music like Sandro Bianchi.

"You're familiar with Liszt, then..." he observes, amused.

"Oh, I totally suffer from Lisztomania. I worship all his work. And Liebesträume is my absolute favorite piece of all times," I say, once again more excitedly than I meant to.

"Is that so?" His tone turns fascinated all of a sudden.

Pressing my lips together, I look at him, just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly up as he tries to suppress a smile, his eyes sparkling. His whole face is lit up with impish glee—it's like when you remember something awesome, but you can't share it with anyone, so you go around wearing a silly smirk on your face.

"Did you enjoy the concert?" What I really want to ask is...what's so damn funny?

"It was particularly entertaining to me, yes," he replies with a mischievous smile. And again, I feel like I'm missing another inside joke.