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Pictures taken, the men lead us to the gazebos, and I learn that the “boys’ morning out” was such a huge success that Dad plans to make trips to the banya with Art a regular thing.
“Thanks for taking him,” I whisper into Art’s ear, and heroically resist the urge to nibble on it.
“Oh, it was a pleasure,” he whispers back, his lips tickling my ear. “The only problem was that we had to cut it short.”
Before I can reply, we step into the clearing where people are mingling, and everyone stops talking to stare at us.
Huh.
This must be what it feels like when you step out for the official “first dance” at a wedding. It’s kind of fun to be the center of attention. That is, until I spot two eyeballs burning with hatred.
The eyeballs in question belong to Black Swan—who clearly has no tact whatsoever. Why else would she wear a white dress?
With a start, I remember her confronting me in the banya locker room. I was already drunk, which made the incident foggy in my memory, but I recall it clearly now. She said nasty things to me, or at least I assume she did. Her tone was mean, and she called me a Russian cow. No, sorry, just a cow.
Art follows my gaze and frowns. I wonder if he’s also not happy to see Black Swan here. But if that’s the case, why invite her?
Then again, I guess he couldn’t not invite her. Next to her are a bunch of other ballet people from Art’s company—presumably all of them. It would be weird to single out one colleague, I imagine, even if she is a bitch.
Maybe he’s frowning at the white tutu-like thing she’s wearing. Or because of how sad it is that all his people are from work, with zero family representation—unless you count the two detdom buddies sitting next to some of the dancers. I recognize them from the pictures Art showed me; they live in NYC. I’ll have to say hello to them later.
As for me, I recognize almost all the faces at the non-ballet tables as my family members or their plus-ones. For instance, the twins, Gia and Holly, are sitting with two good-looking guys, their boyfriends.
I peer closer at their table. Next to Holly is a woman I don’t recognize. She’s more beautiful than any of Art’s coworkers, and that’s a high bar. Is she a ballerina who befriended Holly, the least social of my sisters? Or do Holly and her boyfriend practice polyamory?
Wait a second. Holly’s boyfriend looks a little bit like the mystery woman. Also, Gia did mention a—
Someone clears his throat loudly enough to vibrate the crystal glasses on the tables.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fabio says into a microphone. “Please give a sweet welcome to Lemon and Artjoms Skulme.”
Everyone cheers and claps.
“Sweet?” I whisper into Mom’s ear. “Was it your idea to give him the mic?”
“Sorry,” Mom whispers back. “He said he’d be good.”
Figures. She’s had a sweet spot for Fabio since our high school days.
When everyone quiets down, Fabio looks at me. “Would you like to dance with your new partner-in-lime?”
A dance? We haven’t even sat down yet.
Art doesn’t seem to share my lack of enthusiasm. Quite the opposite. He gracefully steps away from me, then extends a hand in the fanciest way possible—something I’d expect to see at the court of Louis XIV, not New York City.
As I take his hand, tingles spread through my whole body.
Classical music begins playing, a song I’ve heard Art put on before.
I narrow my eyes at my husband. “You planned this?” I mouth.
He winks at me and pulls me into the dance.
Wow. I’m not a dancer by any means, but with Art’s lead, I’m actually doing it like a pro.
Art tugs me closer. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t want you to have performance anxiety, so I kept this a surprise.”
Before I can retort, he twirls me around.
