Skylar’s eyes flicker with interest. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what do you know about them?” she presses.
I sigh, dredging up information I’ve absorbed over years of dinners and whispered conversations. “Oleg is Yuri Petrov’s son. His family owns a private security firm. Very successful. They contract with corporations and… governments.”
Skylar grimaces. “Sounds charming.”
“Artem is Denis Sorokin’s son. They deal in antiques and art. Several galleries. An auction house.”
“Smug and rich,” she says. “Great.”
“And Pavel,” I continue, hesitating, “is Valentin Nazarov’s son. Their family owns nightclubs. In St. Petersburg. Moscow. Kyiv.”
Skylar’s gaze sharpens. “Wait. Like… this one?”
The music surges, and for the first time since we arrived, I really look around. I follow the curve of the balcony above the main floor until I spot it—the VIP suite tucked into the shadows, glass railing gleaming under the lights. Women crowd inside, draped over plush seating, laughing too loudly, hair tossed back, drinks raised.
My stomach tightens.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I think he owns this one.”
Skylar follows my line of sight. “And?”
“And they’re here,” I murmur.
She squints. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
Skylar lets out a low whistle. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head and lift my chin, pointing subtly. “The one in the white shirt—that’s Oleg. The one with the dark hair and thesmug smile is Artem. And the one in the center, holding court like he owns the air?” My throat tightens. “That’s Pavel.”
Skylar stares at the VIP suite, then back at me, eyes blazing with something like determination. “Well,” she says slowly, “this just got interesting.”
I take another sip of my drink, the music crashing around us, my future suddenly sitting in a glass box above the dance floor—laughing, drinking, surrounded by women—while I sit below, trying to decide whether tradition is worth the cost.
“They’re watching you,” Skylar says, as she tears her eyes away from them to study me. “Do you think they know your father’s plans?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
“I thought your father just told you about the arrangement today.”
“He did, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t make the decision earlier and just waited to tell me today. He probably discussed his plans with them and their fathers before telling me. It isn’t like he needed my permission first.” I know I sound bitter, but I can’t stop myself. Watching the three men cavorting with several women is a preview of my future. Not that I think my husband will bring me to the nightclub. No, I’ll likely be home alone while my husband is out with his friends and the women they attract. My husband would never be required to change his lifestyle after marriage. No, I’ll be the one whose life changes. I’ll no longer have control to pursue my interests or my dreams. I’m about to suggest we leave, but Skylar beats me to it.
“Let’s dance,” Skylar says, sliding out of the booth and pulling me onto the dance floor. “Don’t think about anything, just the music.”
I do as she suggests and lose myself in the beat. I let my body sway and gyrate to the fast tempo. While ballet is my first love, I can’t deny that I enjoy the freedom of movement withouta script. The beauty of a performance lies in the precision of choreographed moves. Sharing the dance floor with dozens of strangers allows the music to take control. The heat loosens my limbs as my mind floats in a haze of anonymity. I do exactly as Skylar suggested and think of nothing but the music. That is, until someone taps on my shoulder and draws me back to reality.
Turning, I find a massive man who looks like he belongs on a Rugby pitch or an American Football field rather than on the dance floor. At first, I think he’s going to ask me to dance with him, but he bends at the waist to speak into my ear. “Mr. Nazarov has requested the pleasure of your company and that of your friend.”
I feel Skylar move up next to me. I turn to her to see her sizing up the man. After repeating his request, she studies me. “We can leave if you want.”
I bite my lip and consider her suggestion. It would be rude to leave, even though that is what I want. I glance over to the balcony to see Oleg, Artem, and Pavel watching us.
“We don’t have to stay with them long, but it might be a good idea to see what they know about your father’s plans,” Skylar whispers in my ear.
