“He did.” His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he pulled it out to check the screen. “I gotta run to the airport to pick up my cousin. Don’t worry, he’s staying in a hotel.” He pressed his lips to hers for a quick, coffee-flavored kiss. “Just chill, all right? I’ll be back soon, and we’ll figure it out.”
He sounded so confident. And all the apartment hunting was stressing her out. She minimized the tabs with apartment listings. “Fine. Go get ready.”
Twenty minutes later, he rushed back into the kitchen and rummaged in the pantry.
“What are you doing now?” he asked, emerging with a handful of protein bars.
“Working on my reel.”
He paused by her shoulder on his way out. “You’re good at making videos and stuff, huh?”
“Yeah, I bought the editing programs and taught myself. Sometimes I post stuff on YouTube—dancing to popular songs, stuff like that.”
He grinned. “I’ll have to check them out.” He kissed her again, this time with a flash of tongue and the taste of wintergreen toothpaste, then was gone.
She continued scanning through a few of the videos she’d made recently, including the one where she’d rolled around in Dimitri’s desk chair. That one made her smile, and she started thinking about dancing in rolling chairs, or wheelchairs. The choreography would be a challenge, but if done well . . .
And that was an idea for another time. She made a note of it, then went back to her existing videos. She ran through the piece she’d changed the music in, making notes of what she could tweak. It was really coming together, and she was anxious for her ankle to heal so she could try it out. Maybe she could get Dimitri to dance parts of it, so she could see how it looked.
He would do it, if she asked. She was starting to think he’d do anything, simply because she wanted it. That knowledge both thrilled and terrified her. Her whole life, she’d grown accustomed to not asking for things. Living with a single mother and two seniors, money had been tight. She’d learned early that the toys she’d seen on TV weren’t things she could have, just like she would never have supportive, loving parents like the ones on her favorite sitcom. She’d been following Gina since they were fourteen, not just because they were friends, but because Gina had done the work to include Natasha in everything she did, from auditions, to college applications, to managing their apartment in Los Angeles.
Ay dios.Gina was the most amazing friend anyone could ever hope for. And Natasha had been too scared to call her.
What could she say, though?Hi Gina. Yeah, I’ve been doing really great since you left. I’m broke, injured, living with the guy I told you I wasn’t going to see anymore—oh, and I used to be an exotic dancer. How about you?
That would go over brilliantly, and Gina would have a million questions about Dimitri. No easy answers there, either. He said he loved her, and she was starting to believe him. But what did it matter, if loving him cost her everything—her job, her independence, her ability to prove to her mother that she was good enough?
The doorbell rang, interrupting her troubling thoughts.
Natasha yanked off her headphones and grabbed the crutches. It was going to take her three times as long to get to the front door with these things.
On the way, the rubber bottom on one of the crutches got caught on a throw rug, and she nearly knocked over a lamp. Whatever was being delivered better be worth the trouble. Cursing under her breath, she hobbled over to the door and wrenched it open.
Her heart leaped into her throat and she gasped.
¡Carajo! ¡Coño! ¡Puñeta!
La Diabla stood on the front steps, flashing her signature smile, thin and evil. “Morning, Natasha.”
Natasha swallowed. “Hi, Donna.”
Fucking Donna.
37
There was a surprising lack of traffic around LAX that morning, and Dimitri made good time. Alex texted that there was a problem with the luggage carousel, so Dimitri parked in the lot. While he waited, he pulled up Natasha’s YouTube videos on his phone.
Her face appeared on the screen, full makeup but with her hair pulled back into a tight ballerina bun. Her image waved and grinned. “Hey everyone. Thanks for all the likes on the last video.¡Los quiero mucho!” She blew kisses at the camera and introduced the song she was about to dance to.
Dimitri couldn’t hold back his smile. She was too adorable, too beautiful . . . and holy shit, too talented. His smile faded as he watched her dance.
He’d seen her dance before, of course. Countless times. But it was always to someone else’s choreography—including his own—or her own routine danced with an unskilled partner.
This was something else. Her classical ballet training was evident in her strength and the lines of her body, the way she completed each movement. She incorporated moves from other dance styles seamlessly, in a way that fit the music and the story being told. When a text message popped up on the screen over the video, he cursed and swiped it away. But it was from Alex, so he switched apps to check it.
In the parking lot,he wrote back.Come find me.
Alex knew what the Porsche looked like. Dimitri went back to the video. As soon as it was over, he watched the next. He was on the fourth when Alex knocked on the car window.
