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You’re just on edge. It’s fine.
I swallow hard as I open the text, my heart pounding, hoping it won’t be another outburst of anger. I’m not sure I can take it just now.
I understand. I meant to wire you the allowance you’d receive this week. But if you’re turning down our evening together, then that will be the end of it. I wish you the best. Of course, if you want to reconsider–
“Fuck.” I whisper it aloud to the empty air of my bedroom, closing my eyes. Sending a wire likely means more money than he’d want to hand me in person.How can I turn that down?Even if I’m not sure I feel safe–trying to leave the country with a fake passport isn’t safe either. I’m willing to do that for my freedom. Is this so much worse?
One more night. You can do it. No matter what he does, you can get through it. Even if he killed Igor. Even if he takes more than you think you want to give. One night.
I feel that flicker of heat again, thinking of what he did, tempting me with the possibility of a night where I could let myself do and say and want anything I could think of, anything I feel, and then leave it all behind. I’d never see him again.
Just do it. The worst that could happen is that you end up a little roughed up and humiliated again. And then you can leave this all behind forever.
I give it a few minutes before I text back. I don’t want him to think it’s instantly the money that changed my mind–I have a feeling that might make him angry.
Can I let you know in the morning? I want to sleep on it.
A few minutes pass before I get a response, and I feel that cold pit of anxiety again, wondering if I’ve lost my chance. And then my phone buzzes.
Of course. You know what answer I’m hoping for. And again–I’m sorry for my behavior.
I let out a sigh, setting the phone on my side table as I flop back into the bed. I’ll reply in the morning, but I already know what I’m going to say.
—
My compromise is that I take a cab to the restaurant he’s picked for our date, with the agreement that he can drop me off later, if the date goes well. The speed with which he agreed reassured me a little, even if I know it likely has something to do with the fact that he’s hoping I’ll be spending the night with him.
A small part of me hopes so, too.
He picked a more intimate setting for our date this time, a small French bistro I’ve heard of but have never been to. I worried that eventually, he might end up taking me to a place I frequented before, as Natalia, and that I’d have to be concerned with running into someone who knew me. But so far, it’s been restaurants that I’ve never gone to.
The dress fit me perfectly, as I expected it would, and I’d done my best to shrug off my uncertainty about how ballet-adjacent the style is. I felt a pang of nostalgia, looking at myself in the mirror with the rose-pink fabric against my skin, clinging to me like a leotard, the skirt falling in folds that mimicked the tulle pleats of a tutu, just without the puffiness.
It’s just a coincidence,I told myself as I did my makeup, putting my hair up in a twist to show off the beautiful earrings.You are still a dancer, after all, even if it’s a different kind. That’s probably why he’s chosen these styles for you.
He’s already waiting for me at the restaurant with a table, and I see a satisfied smile spread over his face as he stands when the hostess shows me to it. “Ekaterina–” He takes my hands in his, pulling me in to kiss me lightly on the lips. It’s so different from the roughness of the last night I saw him that it startles me at first, making me freeze in place.
“I’m so glad you came. You look stunning.” He pulls my chair out for me, letting me sit down before sliding it to the table and returning to his seat. “I ordered wine for us already, and there’s cheese and escargot coming to the table as well.”
“I’ve never tried that.” I watch as he pours me a glass of wine, feeling the nerves bubble up in my stomach. It’s a lie, of course.
“Cheese?” He grins at his own joke, nudging the glass closer to me. “It’s delightful.”
“Of course, I’ve had cheese.” I shake my head at him, feeling myself relax the tiniest bit despite myself. “I meant the escargot.”
“Oh, well–that is an acquired taste. But we’ll see how you like it. After all–remember, you should try anything at least once.”
His gaze heats as he says it, landing squarely on mine. I can feel myself flushing red at the memory of the last thing I tried for the first time with him–against my will, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
“You seemed upset last night when you texted me.” He swirls the wine in his glass, looking at me curiously. “Did something happen?”
I feel my stomach clench. “No,” I tell him quickly. “No–just unsure if I should have come tonight, after–”
His eyes narrow. “Are you sure that’s all it is?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the back of mine as he looks at me intently. “I’d like for you to feel that you can tell me anything, Ekaterina.”
For a moment, I’m inclined to lie again. But then, as I look at him, I realize it’s an opportunity to get some clarity. If I tell himabout Igor, I’ll be able to see his response. I might get some idea of if he really did have anything to do with it or not.
“You remember, I told you–” my voice falters slightly, and I nudge my wine glass back and forth, trying to find the right words. I don’t have to pretend that it’s difficult to talk about. “I told you about what Igor did–”
