Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. The waiter stood before me, his hand held out, bowing slightly. “May I have this dance?”

I blinked. My heartbeat sped up. “Uh, um, oh, thank you so much, but I-I think I’ll sit a while.”

He didn’t move. His dark gaze met mine with a patient affection, his hand still held out in entreaty. Nonni hissed out, “Allegra, dance with the man.”

My palms began to sweat and fear pumped through me. I couldn’t dance like that! I’d be laughed at and there weren’t enough people on the dance floor yet. “Um, see, I can’t really, um, I can’t dance like that.”

“I teach you.”

Oh my God, people were starting to stare. Swallowing hard, trapped in a nightmare, I gave him my hand.

He grinned broadly and escorted me to the center of the floor like I was royalty. With an expert flourish, he twirled me into his arms and I automatically reached up to put one hand on his shoulder. “Very good,” he said. “Follow my lead. Do not look down. Listen to music.”

On cue, the band began to play Frank Sinatra—“I’ve Got You Under My Skin”—and I gulped in a breath and prayed I wouldn’t trip in my heels. With a firm grip, the waiter led me across the floor, slowly at first when I shifted my feet wrong or stumbled slightly, then faster as I began to get the feel of it. When I struggled for control, I messed up because I began overthinking, and as I became more adept at allowing him to guide me, our movements became smoother. I felt as if we were locked into a frame at the top and let loose at the bottom. Most of the dance was too stressful because I was worried, but toward the end of the song, I realized I’d relaxed and actually began enjoying the way my feet were able to match his steps and the graceful glide of movement when I just let go.

Finally, he stopped, took my hand, and led me back to my table.

He stopped at my seat and bowed. “Thank you for the dance, signorina. It was a pleasure.”

My skin felt flushed, but a bubble of pleasure fizzled in my veins. It was like a natural high. “Grazie,” I said, unable to think of something else cleverer.

He winked. “Prego.”

With a lingering look at my grandmother, he disappeared. I slid into my chair and tried to act cool, but my mother leaned across the table. “Allegra, you looked amazing out there! I had no idea you could dance like that.”

“He’s too old for you, dear, but now you know what real romance is,” my grandmother added. “That’s what you deserve.”

Mom’s eyes flickered with longing. “Don’t we all,” she murmured.