"Smartass," I grumbled, shoving him away, but not before I saw the stupid, arrogant grin he flashed my way.
"Future wife, huh?"
"Do you have a problem with that, Nikolai?"
"No, no." He chuckled under his breath. "But does this bride of yours know she's engaged?"
"She'll figure it out."
Whether that was sooner, as I preferred it, or later, after some convincing, was a mere detail. When I wanted something, I got it.
And I wanted her. She was fuckingmine.
I didn’t care if I had to be a monster to keep her.
"I think the scarier question is: doesMariaknow she'll be getting a daughter-in-law. You can't tell her, Aleksandr. She'll suffocate the poor girl under a mountain of tiramisu and embarrassing stories of your family members!" Though Nikolai wasn't related to my mother by blood, I had to give it to him: he knew the woman well. She was overbearing, nosy, and sometimes completely unbearable. Yet besides Eva and my sister, she was the only woman I'd ever truly cared for. A detestable feeling, though I knew my father could protect her enough to let the attachment slide.
"Details, Niko. Details."
I rested my chin on my hand as I continued to watch Eva, enraptured by her grace and skill. There was something almost sacred in the way she moved. I found myself cataloging her movements with the same attention I gave to weapons and strategy, ready to build an altar and worship her as my goddessdivine. Because I would. I would worship Eva on my knees and sing my praises with my tongue.
"Speaking of details," he said, leaning forward as the snowflakes exited the stage. "Want to know how your brilliant cousin pulled this off?"
"No."
"Well, your curiosity need not worry, because I'll tell you. So I was at the show two days ago—the fifth time I've seen it, and I must admit: they only get better—when I finally thought to myself, 'You know, I've never read the program before.' I figured I should probably learn the redhead's name after all, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see her again at this point anyway. Got a little boring for my tastes, but she was fun while it lasted. So I opened up the little paper thing, which is full of way too many ads, and I read the bios for all the dancers, moving down the line alphabetically?—"
"Are you capable of telling a story without an excessive amount of information?"
"No, and anyway, I get down to the V's, and I see..."
He slapped a program into my hands and opened the page he's referencing. There, the final dancer is listed:
Evangeline Vale.
My Eva.
Her headshot is next to a short biography, and I study the words over and over and over. It says little about her—that she went to a small private school upstate for university, where she held honors for three years, and thatThe Nutcrackerwas her first full production for the Company. It also said, to my amusement, that her greatest weakness was her sweet tooth. I tucked the knowledge away for later and looked back at Nikolai, wishing I could smack the smirk off his face. Yet I held myself back because I, unfortunately, owed him.
"I thought to myself," he continued, "that maybe Eva is short for something. After all, we've been looking for an Eva with absolutely no success for weeks. And I hate to typecast someone, but you said she loves pink and was wearing ribbons, and that sounds like a ballerina to me. I figured this might be our girl.”
“Mygirl.”
“Details. So after the show, I followed her for a little bit yesterday. She went to this dingy cafe, and when she came out in her uniform,BAM! She was wearing a name-tag that said Eva. I spent some time there—your girl isterribleat making coffee, by the way. I think they only hired her because she's much more attractive than anyone else there, and the other customers certainly think so by the way they tip her and try to get her attention."
"That will stop," I hissed under my breath, my fists already tightening with the need to kill someone.
The thought of men looking at her—smiling at her, lingering too long, daring to believe she might want them—lit something vicious in my chest. The world had a way of tearing through things like Eva—gentle things, bright things—and I had spent my life being the thing that tore back.
Anyone who touched her would pay. Blood. Bone. Pain. And I would savor it.
I would rip them to fucking shreds.
"Oh, definitely," Nikolai said. "I tried to scare off as many as I could. Can't have my future cousin-in-law treated like that. But if it makes you feel better, I don't think she notices. Just continues making her shitty coffee and sneaking stale pastries from the case."
That didn't make me feel better.
“Is ballet not her job?”
