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I frankly don't appreciate his tone. Reaching into my suit jacket, I pull out my wallet and slap a few bills into his hand. “Get the lady what she wants. Go to a store if you have to. In fact, make it two cans.”
“But Mr. Nicolaevich, this is—” I shoot him a hard glare. It shuts him up in an instant. “R-right. Of course. I'll… be right back.” He skitters away like a frightened little mouse, nearly ramming into the corner of a neighboring table in his haste.
Nikita blinks up at me. “That was…”
“I'm sorry about that,” I mutter, finally taking my seat across from her.
“No, it's fine, I just wasn't expecting you to do that for me.” She glances down at her lap. “You must be a pretty important man.”
“Not really,” I lie. “Money talks, that's all.”
“Are you sure you only own a taxi company?” she asks with a light laugh.
To her, it's an innocent, playful question. But to me, it sends all my walls flying up. Nikita can't ever know the truth. I'm sure she'd be horrified if she did.
One-Eye, the Bratva… It's a side of me I need to keep hidden. I live a double life as it is, so I figure keeping up with appearances for her sake can't be that hard. For her, I will lie through my teeth.
Chapter 7
Nikita
“How do you like the food?” he asks me over our meals.
“Delicious. Honestly, it's probably the best meal I've ever had.”
He nods, just once, his thoughts indecipherable to me. “How long have you been a dancer?”
I take a sip of my Diet Coke. After that strange interaction, the maître’ d went above and beyond and got a chilled two-liter bottle for Leo and I to share. He even got us some fancy highball glasses and decorated them with a fancifully cut lime wheel.
“All my life,” I answer with glee. “My parents like to say I was born dancing. I love it more than breathing.”
The corners of his lips tick up into a faint smile. I've noticed he doesn't do that a lot—smile. I want to figure out what makes him tick. Can I make him laugh? What makes a man like Leo happy? Does he have hobbies that he enjoys? Right now, he's nothing but a mystery to me, one I want to slowly unravel. The man who had me at the cabin is hidden beneath layers I wish to discover and explore, one at a time.
“How long have you been with the Bolshoi?” he asks me, sipping his drink. His hand is so large he makes the glass look minuscule. I'm strangely fixated on his hands. Strong and powerful, yet capable of being so tender and kind. His fingers loved digging into my hips.
“I've been with them since I was nineteen. I was part of the corps de ballet for three years, and then I was promoted to principal for two. And now I'm a soloist, but…”
His brows furrow. I like how serious his face is. Leo is a fascinating man to look at. The sharp angles, the dark contours, that heartbreaking scar across his ruined eye. I've wanted to ask him about it from the moment we met, but that wouldn't exactly be polite. I'm sure there will come a time and place, but for now, I'm content just getting to know him.
“But what?” he prods.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. How honest should I be? Would he even care about something like this? It's all internal politicking and derisive gossip amongst the other dancers. Leo probably wouldn't be interested in—
“Someone mentioned sabotage,” he points out. I'm surprised he was even paying attention.
“Vanya, the ballerina I'm taking over for… Someone put pins in her shoes. She's not too badly injured, but…” A shaky breath escapes me. “I feel awful for her. She's been working so hard all season. She'll make a full recovery, but not in time for the run.”
Leo's face darkens. “Pins?”
I nod slowly. “Terrible, isn't it?”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. Inessa seems to think someone might not like her very much, but I have a hard time believing it.”
“Why?”
I shrug a shoulder, twirling my fork against the plate in front of me. “We're a tight-knit group. I've seen how ballerinas are portrayed in television and movies. People think we're catty. Perfectionists. And maybe we are—perfectionists. But when you spend all day six days a week with a group of people, they become your family. You build trust. We're all here for the love of the craft. It doesn't make sense to me, hurting someone else for your own gain—whatever that gain might be.”
