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‘I’m sorry.’ Libby winced. ‘That was thoughtless.’
‘What is it with the English and guilt?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t bother me a bit, and there’s no reason for guilt about your father—it’s not your fault his business is about to go under.’
Libby shot him a look.
‘How?’ she asked. How did he know?
‘Does he usually chase up every non-attendee with such vigour?’
‘No.’
‘Clearly this party is very important to him.’
‘It is.’
‘Guilt and manipulation are terrible bedfellows,’ Daniil said. ‘My parents must know that your father is desperate, so they used him to get to me. In turn, he knows that he’s getting nowhere, so he guilts you into coming to see me, hoping I would not be able to say no to your lovely blue eyes.’ He wagged his finger at her. ‘Tut-tut, Libby.’ Then he gave her a thin smile. ‘So are you close to your parents?’
‘For the most part,’ Libby said. ‘I think all families have their issues that drive each other crazy but if you love...’ She hesitated as she remembered that Daniil was estranged from his parents. ‘Do you care about them at all?’
‘No.’ He shook his head but offered no elaboration.
‘Were you ever close to them?’
‘I never let myself get close to anyone.’
She frowned, but said nothing at first. It wasn’t for her to correct him, it wasn’t for her to say he was wrong. She had stepped into his world uninvited and she didn’t make his rules or get to tell him how he should be.
‘Why?’ Libby asked, and from the blush spreading on her neck both knew she wasn’t just discussing his lack of relationship with his parents.
‘Because it leads to expectations that it might last and, in my opinion, nothing lasts. Libby...’ Daniil was incredibly direct. ‘You do understand that whatever happens tonight won’t change my mind about attending my parents’ party?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t believe her for a moment. ‘You’re sure?’ he checked.
She nodded.
‘Because,’ he warned, ‘that would be very foolish of you.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I hope that you understand that your expensive champagne won’t buy a night in bed with me.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ Daniil nodded. ‘But my charm might.’
Libby laughed.
He was bad but it felt so good.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘You know about my two-week record, what’s your record in a relationship?’
Libby thought for a moment. ‘Eighteen months,’ she said. ‘Though the last six don’t really count.’
‘Why?’
‘We were seriously limping along by then.’ She thought back to that time—the constant knot in her stomach at the juggling of too many balls. It had been a relief when the relationship ball had finally fallen and she could fully immerse herself in dance. ‘Apparently I was too focused on my career.’
‘Instead of him?’ Daniil checked, and Libby nodded. ‘That’s his issue.’
‘Perhaps,’ she sighed. ‘I keep telling myself that.’
‘Then, it’s time to start believing it.’
The waiter came and Libby ordered the French onion soup as her main and Daniil asked for two steaks and a green salad.
When they were alone she looked back at him. ‘Two?’
‘I have a big appetite,’ he said, and then admitted that he was curious about her order. ‘I’m surprised that you didn’t ask for them to leave off the cheese and bread. Isn’t that what most ballet dancers do?’
‘Ha.’ Libby gave a wry smile. ‘Unfortunately the only time I’m not hungry is when I’m anxious or stressed. The moment I’m happy I’m constantly starving. How did you know I was a dancer?’
‘You were trying very hard to keep your legs parallel and not walk like a duck when you came into my office.’
Oh. Her thighs were definitely parallel now—in fact, they were squeezed tightly together just from the delicious brush of his knees.
‘Professional?’ Daniil asked.
‘Ex.’ For the first time he saw that happy smile waver. ‘Well, I guess I shall be again soon but in a different way—I’m looking at two rentals tomorrow so that I can start my own dance school. You know the saying, those that can’t, teach.’
