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“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, and Elina’s eyes go round.
“Oh–” she says softly, pushing a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “I–congratulations? Was it–”
“Not planned.” I shake my head. “It was all–very sudden. This is my boyfriend–Vlad.”
I pull out the first name I can think of, and wonder why Mikhail flinches slightly when I say it, but I can’t imagine that it matters all that much. “It was very unexpected. Of course, I couldn’t keep dancing. But I–”
“Everyone was so worried about you.” Elina purses her lips, and I can tell that she’s upset, even if she’s trying not to let on. “Truly, Natalia. You could have reached out. We all would have understood. But after hearing your father died, and then for you to just disappear–”
“The rest of my family is very upset with me, over who the father is,” I say quickly. “I’ve had to keep a low profile for a bit. Honestly, Elina, I’m so sorry that you all worried. But if you could not say anything about having seen me–I would really appreciate it. My father’s death was already a lot of stress on the pregnancy, and anything else–”
“Of course!” Elina is already backing away, her expression worried and anxious all at once, and I think at least some of it is out of an anxious desire to get away from me, as if the condition might be catching, as much as actual worry for me. “It was good to see you, I really should be going–”
I feel the tension in Mikhail drain away somewhat as Elina scurries out of the store. I wish I felt the same, but if anything, it’s worse now. There can be no question now as to who I am. Now all that’s left is to find out what the fallout will be.
I half expect him to say something about my story, or to say whether he’s pleased with my cover-up or not, but he just nudges me forward, towards the racks. “Pick what you would dance in,” he says flatly, and I turn, looking up at him as if he’s lost his mind.
I think that, quite possibly, he has.
“I–I don’t understand.” I look up at him, feeling a cold shiver beginning to work its way down my spine. I don’t understand what he’s up to, but if there’s anything I know from my time with Mikhail so far, he isn’t doing this to make me happy. He has some ulterior motive, and I truly have no idea what it could be.
He offers no explanation. He just looks at me, that small smirk that tells me he’s plotting something at the corners of his mouth, and jerks his head towards the racks again. “Choose,” he says sharply. “Or I’ll choose for you, and I’ll make certain the pointe shoes are too small.”
His lips twitch again in that cruel smirk, but there’s something else in his face too, something I don’t quite understand. He’s looking at me with an expression that has a hint of the possessiveness I’ve grown used to, but there’s something else in it too. Something I can’t read.
Mikhail looks at me warningly, and I swallow hard, scurrying away from him towards a shelf of pointe shoes.
Choosing is easy. I don’t even need to think about it. I’ve done this so many times that it’s easier than choosing something to wear in the morning. My hands naturally gravitate to the items I would have picked for myself before, and when I bring them to Mikhail, he nods.
“Good,” he says simply, taking them from me to take them up to the counter to pay. I follow behind him, too numb and confused to try to run–and why would I? I have nothing any longer. Nowhere to go, no one to help me, no money to get away. I think of Ruby, of the possibility that she might help me, but I dismiss it as quickly as it enters my head.
I can’t put her in danger. I’ve tried to protect her for as long as I’ve known her. I never let her come to my apartment, kept secrets from her that I’d wished I’d been able to confide in her about. Just my association with Mikhail, it turns out, had brought her too close to danger, especially after what happened to Igor. I can’t make that worse.
If I run, if I escape, and go to her for help, it will make her a target. And knowing what I do of Mikhail, he won’t hesitate to hurt or kill her if it means getting to his goal.
Me.
I have an inkling of what he has planned for me. There’s no question that he knows who I am now, but he’s going to make me prove it.
One last game.
One final performance.
And then the curtain falls.
Mikhail
Idon’t speak a word to her as we drive back to the house. I’m too busy sorting through the tangle of emotions that the encounter in the dance shop brought up, none of them ones that I want to look too closely at.
But I need my mind to be clear for what’s ahead.
I’ve known she was Natalia for some time now, of course, but what’s important is that nowsheknows that I know. There can be no doubt, not after running into her friend at the shop. Which makes what I have planned for her all the more delicious.
I should feel victorious, satisfied, full of righteous anger and a renewed desire for revenge for Mika and Gregor. And I do feel those things. There can be no more game-playing, only the true beginning of a revenge that I’ve plotted so carefully, so thoroughly, that there can be no more room for error.
She knows she’s caught. She knows she has no way out, that all of her escape plans, her failsafes, the money she manipulated out of me in order to wriggle free of her fate–all of that is gone. Her only hope now is my mercy, and there’s none of that for her.
Or at least, there shouldn’t be.
