First Dance- Chapter One

Chapter One

The Beginning of the end
Afternoon, August 14th, 2000

Life is full of opportunities and regrets but it’s what you make of them that matter. At least that’s what Isabel kept telling herself. The words raced through her mind with as much voracity as the pounding rhythm of her heart against her chest. Yet, she couldn’t wait to tell Nicholas about the amazing opportunity that appeared to
have fallen into her lap. Maybe a guardian angel had simply placed it there. Enthusiasm vibrated through her body and with a pulse-throbbing surety, she just knew he would be as proud of her as she was of him when he’d acquired the job promotion all on his own.

Tightness squeezed at her chest as she remembered how their fathers treated him. Not wanting to give their employees the impression that Nick would receive the company reins out of pure nepotism, their fathers really made him struggle for it but the question of why they insisted on making it so difficult consistently gnawed at her. The enthusiasm he showed left her enamored with the way handled it. He started working at the company as a receptionist of all things bruising his very male ego in the process. Although he hated it, he did it and all while going to school for business law. A rush of utter satisfaction washed over her at the strength he’d shown.

“If they want me to scrounge my way through hell, I will. I’ll show them,” he’d said. His face was crimson with rage but when she’d slipped her arms around him, the pounding in his chest subsided and that fury turned to desire. She held no regrets about that.

Now, a warm glow flowed through her as she realized that all of her dreams were about to come true. Antoinette LaRusse, Director of The National Ballet had been in the audience last night and saw her performance along with the, how did she phrase it, oh yeah, the outstanding display of showmanship presented by the staff and her very young students.

Madame LaRusse was offering her a private audition bypassing the yearlong waiting list on which Isabel’s name had languished for what seemed like eons. Why she could not let a talent like Isabel’s go to waste, she’d said. She even went as far as to let Isabel know how much she loved her ingenuity. She found the fact that Isabel had the foresight to open up her own studio at age eighteen very intriguing. I can’t believe it’s already been six years, thought Isabel.

Isabel was now elated that she’d taken the summer internship at The Washington Ballet. Though a hardship at times after balancing family life and double majors in college, it was the best thing she’d done since using her trust fund to buy the dance studio with Cassandra, her very best friend. She loved every minute of it and Nick didn’t mind at all. All that movement kept her body in phenomenal shape. A detail he never failed to mention every time they made love.
Maybe this was the sign that she and Nicholas needed to get over whatever this little strain was that loomed between them. It felt like an unknown force had been fighting against them and it was suffocating. Knots bunched in her stomach every time she thought of Nicholas and of how much stress he seemed burdened with lately. She heard it in his voice and saw it in his demeanor. She missed the sparkle in his blue eyes. They had been married at so young and age and then Callie came almost immediately. Though unexpected, she was the best thing that had happened to them. That little girl made life worth living and loving Nicholas possible. A warm tremor shimmied down her spine. Things were about to change and for the better.

Hastily, she dropped Callie off at her parents' house. Then, she went to Victoria’s Secret where she bought some new lingerie, a sexy see-through red gown. It was his favorite color. Nick also loved it when she had her fingernails and toes painted so on impulse, she got a pedicure and manicure at the nearby nail salon immersed in the knowledge that everywhere she went that day from the neighborhood shops to The Sutton Place Gourmet Market she was noticed. Wanton gazes of every man and a few women caressed her skin as they stared in awe at the raven-haired beauty with the ethereal glow but tonight, she would succumb to one man. She’d don her sexiest black dress and make him his favorite dinner. It was chateaubriand with braised red cabbage and potatoes au gratin. Then she’d set the mood. The vision of the crimson glow of candlelight flickering against the red walls of her dining room and the tingling sensation of champagne tickling her throat aroused her senses. Her body ached for his touch and her heart longed for some kind of renewal of their commitment to each other. I love him and it’s time for me to show him just how much, she thought. Tonight was the night.

Blood pounded in her brain. Her insides jangled and her knees trembled as she pulled into the parking lot of their Arlington, Virginia condominium and saw his black Porsche parked in his usual spot. Wow, she thought, this is even better that I expected. He was home and in the middle of the day too. They hadn’t had much alone time together since before the baby came along and now, with little one spending the night at her grandmother’s, they would have the whole night together as well.

She checked her make up in the rearview mirror. Flushed cheeks and windblown hair reflected back at her. Black pupils blended into even darker irises. Her nipples strained against the lace of her bra and her pussy twitched fervently. She took out her brush, smoothed her long black hair to a glossy sheen and put another coat of her blood-red lip-gloss on before she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white sundress.

“Perfect,” she said after one final glance over.

Even her walk had a luminous exuberance as she bounded up the stairs to the condo but as she made her way closer to the door, Isabel thought she heard the sound of a woman giggling. It must’ve come from Adolfo’s, her neighbor, apartment. He was an absolutely gorgeous young man, a bartender, she thought. She wasn’t certain although he did work strange hours. It wasn’t odd, under those circumstances, for him to have company in the middle of the day, she supposed.

She put the key in the door and as soon as she opened it, she realized exactly where that noise was coming from her house. Shock held her immobile for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime as a trail of woman’s clothing lying in the middle of her pristinely cleaned kitchen floor came into view. A pair of black pumps, a pink sweater, a pair of black slacks, a pink brassiere and matching pink panties. Biting her lip, she took a few steps further and thought she had seen those before but she couldn’t grasp from where. Her eyes never left that sweater as she gingerly placed her purse and groceries down on the kitchen counter, grabbed the red roses from the grocery bag and laid them on the counter. Unable to stop herself, she bent down and picked up the soft pink sweater. Twisting it between stiff fingers, she brought it to her face and inhaled. The perfume had the sickening familiar smell of tea roses. She felt scorched at the touch of it. Isabel dropped it out of her trembling hands and letting it slip to the floor. God, what am I doing? The thought lay in the back in her mind like a child hidden behind their mother’s skirt but she had to see for herself. Slipping her high-heeled white sandals off, the sight of her polished toes, bright red and shimmering, brought a tear-singed snicker out of her. Why did she even bother?

How could he and in her house? He wouldn’t–– could he? Did he have the gall to defile their matrimonial bed, if that is even where they were? God help her. God help HIM. But as she turned the corner and looked down the hall, her black eyes saw what her heart and ears had known from the moment she walked through the door. Yes, he could, she thought as her heart dropped. Well, at least he came prepared. She winced as she stepped over the loosely discarded condom wrapper. There they were. Their bodies joined together in the throws of ecstasy performing the most primitive of dances in perfect harmony. Cassandra’s naked body was seated atop the mahogany bureau that belonged to Isabel’s great-grandmother. Lean serpentine legs wrapped around his back squeezing him as he thrust himself deep within her. His shoulder-length blond hair rapidly bounced in sync with each staggered stroke.

Isabel couldn’t move. This was a waking nightmare … her best friend and her husband. In silent numbness, her body propelled itself down the hall until she found herself standing just inside her bedroom door. The bile forming at the back of her throat could not suppress the fury that teetered on the edge of her voice. It was almost choking. Through the river of noise flowing through her head she finally spoke.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt,” drawled Isabel willing herself to not cry.

Her hands bunched at her sides. If she didn’t find something to hold her up, she’d keel over, she thought, or worse, she’d smack the living hell out of him.

“But, I do believe that’s my husband you’re fucking,” she spat.

She needed to embrace her anger, hold it in and make it her own she thought or else she would puke. For though she was shrieking inside, there would be plenty of time to despair later.

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh God,” said Nick as he slid out of Cassandra and backed away.

Scarlet glazed his face as he stood emasculated under his wife’s glare. He fumbled to cover himself trying not to cower as the thought, she could kill me where I stand tweaked the back of his mind. Isabel wasn’t sure if his flushed cheeks were from his suddenly ceased pleasure or humiliation but a sense of strength came to her and her anguish subsided a bit when she saw a spark of fear flash through his blue eyes.

“Isabel. Baby,” he whimpered.

“Oh My God, honey. It’s not what it looks like. Honey, please.”

Stunned and sickened, she repeated his words.

“Honey! Honey! Not what it looks like!” she screamed.

His expression turned grim as he watched her. He’d never seen the venomous look
in his wife’s eyes and now, those eyes glistened, wet with imprisoned tears and seething with contempt. She felt her heart shrivel at the sight of her beloved standing there fully exposed now and slick, glimmering with another woman’s fluids.

“Baby,” said Nicholas swallowing the anguish in his throat.

His voice was whisper soft as he moved towards her instinctively to comfort her.

“Sweetheart, please,” he pleaded. His heart was hammering, his breath ragged.

“Don’t touch me!” she bellowed.

“Don’t ever touch me again. What if I had Callie with me, you fuck.”

Humiliation and fury gouged at her insides as she looked to the other woman. She’d almost forgotten she was there.

“You,” she sneered at the blonde cowering in the corner.

“I think you’d better leave. Don’t you?”

Prodded by some unknown force, Isabel lunged at Cassandra and was greeted by a firm sweat-soaked chest. Nicholas stood between them. His blue eyes flashed a gentle but firm warning at Isabel confounding her even more. She felt an intense squeezing hurt. Her eyes drove an imaginary stake through his heart. Her fingers dug into his taut skin as she struggled to tear herself from his offending arms.

“Baby, don’t. Please,” he spoke in a broken whisper.

Was he protecting her, she wondered. Anguish gripped her heart as she realized that he might be protecting Cassandra from her but Nicholas, his gaze locked with her questioning black eyes, knew he was protecting Isabel from herself.
Nicholas drew Isabel to his chest. She inhaled sharply at the contact, thrashing against him trying with all of her strength to rid herself of the man she once loved….still loved. God help her. She cursed her body for the way it was responding to his embrace. She flinched as his hot breath washed over her cheek. Her body fell rigid but her mind broke free and her senses helped release his hold. He smelled like her, she thought.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. His voice was thick and unsteady.

“Do you love her?” asked Isabel through strangled breath.

“No,” he replied.

“Then, why?” Isabel’s throat closed and her stomach knotted.

“Because, I could,” he said.

Isabel’s mind reeled at his response. Whatever words he was throwing her way bounced off of her like quarters on a tightly bound mattress. Then, the mere thought that her sweet little baby could’ve walked in on her daddy and “Aunt Cassie” slobbering all over each other like dogs in heat came crashing down around her like a tsunami. Smothering a sob behind her hands, she backed away to the closest bathroom, her daughter’s bathroom and slammed the door behind her with such force; Nicholas thought it would splinter into a million pieces. Only the sound of her retching quieted the sound of Nicholas’ banging at the door.
Her life was over and now, so was his.
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