Page 36 of Sway

“That’s lovely, Viktoria. You are gorgeous. Izabella, lean into Viktoria. Beautiful, beautiful,” says Paul Vello, Playbunny’s photographer.

I’m having so much fun. Paul is the best photographer I’ve ever worked with and I just love spending time together with Iza. I was hoping to do the shoot at the mansion, but they thought it would be better to do it on location in our studio. We are butt to butt with our backs arched in a hip twist position. A large fan is blowing in the background so our hair is whipping around us. In this shot, we are partially clothed, each wearing shear dance skirts and our hair is covering our nipples. Maybe this photo will even be on the cover.

Backdrops and cameras litter the room. Paul calls for a break and the assistants cover us with robes. We walk over to the laptop so he can show us the prints but then he gets called away to poke at some lights. Iza scrolls through the proofs and stops on one where we’re bent over a ballet bar clad only in our dance heels. “Oh Vika, we look great. I wonder what Genya will think of the pictures.”

“He’ll love them.” I point to my favorite. “What did he say when you told him you were posing? Venya just went on and on about this wasn’t the right image for us but I finally convinced him to let me do it.”

Iza bites her lip.

“Oh, no.” I straighten up. “Don’t tell me you didn’t tell him?”

She looks down at the screen and starts scrolling again.

“Iza! He’s going to go crazy that you didn’t tell him.” Genya doesn’t like secrets—and that’s well known to anyone on the dance circuit.” I grab a damp towel and toss hers over her shoulder.

She puts down the computer and tugs the sash on her robe tighter. “I know. I made a big mistake but we’ve been fighting ever since we placed third at nationals and he’s been spending so much time with Salomé. I didn’t want to upset him further.”

I squeeze her hand to comfort her. Poor Genya. First Salomé lied to him about Ricardo. She kept telling Genya that they were only practicing for a showcase in Japan and then they went behind Genya’s back and competed. He was devastated. Now Iza is lying to him, too. So stupid, these girls. I wish I could compete with a sexy man my age that I loved. But we can’t all have the ballroom fantasy; Benny has been good to me.

The camera assistant motions me to get ready for my next shots. Iza wipes off her makeup with the towel and heads to the dressing room. Since I’ve already posed for some risqué girl-on-girl action with Iza, it’s time for my solo shots.

“Vika, spread your legs around the chair and give me a sultry look over your right shoulder.” I love this pose. It is very Fosse—I feel like I’m in the musical Chicago. In the wall mirror behind the photographer, I see that my long strawberry blonde hair cascades seductively in between my breasts. I’m wearing nothing but a Victoria’s Secret diamond thong and my rhinestone dance shoes.

There’s a bunch of noise in the foyer, and then a production assistant’s voice rises. “I said this is a closed set.”

“A closed set?” The other person’s voice is even louder. “For what? I own this studio. Who are you? What are you doing here?” Uh oh. Nicole. She’s going to freak out. “Vika, what in the bloody hell is going on here?”

Yep, freak out.

I throw on my silk robe. “Hey, guys, can you take quick break?” Nicole blasts into the studio and squints her eyes at the bright lights. Nicole plows into the wardrobe rack. The crew disperses.

Nicole sees my thong before I get my robe closed. She turns the color of her ruddy hair. “Vika, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Now, Nikita, don’t please freak out. I—”

“Freak out? Freak out? You’re naked! This is a family ballroom dancing studio, not a porno set. Children dance here.”

I fluff out my hair. “Relax, Nikita. I’m not naked.” Not yet, anyway. “I’m shooting the layout for Playbunny. It’ll be great for business.”

“With who? Strippers?” She trips on an extension cord. “Does daddy know about this?”

“Of course he knows. I tell Venya everything.”

“When he’s awake?”

Ha. Ha.The crew is standing there watching, like we’re some kind of human train wreck. Not cool. I take Nicole by the elbow and walk her over behind a giant light. “Venya knows, and he’s thrilled for me. For us. This is good thing. Can’t you see that?”

“What planet do you live on, Vika? What do you think people are going to say when they see this? What are they going to say about us? Uh-uh, no more.” She storms around the light and points her finger at the huddled crew. “Out. Get out. Take all this . . . this . . . stuff and get out.”

“Nikita!”

She turns on me. “And you . . . Vika, I’ve had enough. I can’t stand by quietly anymore. It’s bad enough that you make a fool out of my father by flirting with all your celebrity partners—”

“Hey!”

“—but you will not drag our family name publicly through mud.” I try to pull her around the light again but she yanks away. “We’ve worked way too hard to lose our reputation and studio to you and your oversized ego.”

Jealousy is so ugly. I’m done with it. “First off, I’ve never cheated on Venya. You know that. There is nothing wrong with some innocent flirting. And Nikita, dear beloved stepdaughter, you seem to be forgetting one thing—I’m reigning United States Latin Dancesport Champion, not you. You were the second dancer eliminated this season. Face it, you’re has-been.” That shuts her up—or maybe gives her a heart attack, because her face goes purple. Bull’s-eye! “Our family’s success lies in my hands, and I’m just trying to keep a buzz on us.” Okay, time to tone it down, Vika. You gotta live with this woman, after all. “Look, Nikita, Salomé is starring in Dolla’s new video and they’re favored to win this season. I just thought I would do something to, you know, spice up ballroom world.”