In a quick flash, Lev moves his hand out from beneath mine, flips it, and slips it back into my palm, our fingers winding together. “Don’t thank me, because I’m here for selfish reasons.”
“Which are?”
His stare off with the curtain finally ends as he faces me. “Because it makes you smile, and when you smile, everything feels better. I’ll do anything to ensure you do it over and over. My reasons are for me, simply to see this.” As if we’re not surrounded by hundreds, he strokes his thumb along the corner of my mouth—my smile.
While my brain scrambles with something intelligent to say, lights dim, and the curtain lifts. A soft tune begins, and, immediately swept away, I nearly miss Lev untangling his hand from mine with a regretful grimace.
Anastasia appears, her attention going straight for us in the front row. She claimed she can’t see us due to the lights, but I understand Lev wanting to be cautious.
She begins with a bow at centre stage, taking in the packed stadium. Lights catch on glitter sprinkled over her skin, complimenting her ivory dress. The bodice is tight, dipping between her breasts, and a sheer covering tells me the cut-out is for appearance alone without taking away from practicality. The skirt, adorned with gems to match the glitter on her chest, flaresinto a full tulle skirt that falls midway down her shins. Her feet are encased in curved pink ballet slippers, the ribbon wrapped halfway up her calf, while her hair is pulled out of her face in a tight bun.
Her first movements are a series of spins, taking her from one side of the stage to the other in time with the music, then the opposite, before returning to the centre.
Her body tells a story of heartache and pain, the music both tormenting and uplifting, reminding me of a romantic tragedy. She twirls and jumps, and, eventually, back-up dancers spin around her, but she still manages to capture so much of the room’s attention.
It’s a while later—so long, I wonder how she’s not dead yet—before she stops in the centre of the stage and bows deeply to a chorus of claps to conclude the first act of the performance. Her pants become more obvious from this short distance when she straightens, remaining that way until the curtain falls to signal the start of intermission.
Lev helps me to my feet, ushering me up the aisle with everyone else. He tucks my arm into his, keeping me close until we arrive in the main foyer. People break off into little groups, some heading out for smoke breaks.
“I need the bathroom,” I whisper, eyeing the female’s washroom across the space.
He walks me there, gesturing to a nearby wall. “I’ll wait here.”
The washroom is fancier than any I’ve ever been in. A large, cushioned bench consumes the centre, and each sink is accompanied by a counter, another chair attached. A few women occupy those, touching up their makeup.
Once finished, I spot Lev exactly where he said he’d be. His head is bent low, focused on his phone while ignoring the hum ofconversation. He doesn’t seem tense, but he’s probably hiding it, so the sooner we can return to our seats, the better for him.
My next step is blocked by a hand cuffing my arm, yanking me backwards against a person’s chest. Another hand snakes my front to rest against my stomach, and my mouth parts to scream, gaze lasered on Lev, begging him to look up. Before any sound leaves my throat, a deep voice, one from my nightmares, interrupts. It’s an unwelcome slither against my neck, making my blood spike with the instinct to fight.
“Stay silent unless you want a lot of people to die.”
Alessio.
“See the man lingering beside your boyfriend?”
On one side of Lev, there’s a group of five guests talking, but to his other, a man in a suit waits, his back against the wall, eyes on us. One hand is in his pocket, the other loose by his side.
“Mhm,” I murmur, my throat tight. Sweat drips from my forehead with the realization such a wonderful night is about to take a nasty turn.
“If you don’t want Lev Petrov’s death on your conscience, stay silent and follow me. Do not cause a scene.”
Keeping one hand on my hip, he angles us the opposite way, passing a handful of people who don’t look twice. Which, of course they wouldn’t. With me in my dress and Alessio in a tux, we blend.
Right before he yanks me out of Lev’s line of sight, I glance behind me, willing every cell of my brain to reach his.Look up, see me!If only I could shout it, but Alessio’s here for a reason. If he meant to kill me, I’d be dead already, which means he wants something. It’s up to me to learn what that is.
We reach a door markedStorage, and he shoves me inside. My shoe catches on my dress, and I trip, landing against a stack of boxes labelledFloor Cleaner. Metal shelves remindingme of Lev’s server racks line both walls, organized with cleaning supplies. The strong scent of bleach tickles my nose.
But nothing’s worse than Alessio following me inside. I’d live a lifetime in here if it kept him away from me.
He shuts the door and studies me, his mouth curving. I remain as close to the boxes as physically possible, to maintain space between the new version of my ex-boyfriend. I never noticed the guise he wore, pretending to be a university student, but the role he played now seems so obvious.
We may not have been the best matched, but he charmed me in the beginning and often had a warm smile. His touches were gentle—until they weren’t. Turns out, I was never happy with him.Levmakes me happy, not Alessio. The differences in my two relationships couldn’t be more strikingly obvious.
In his tux, Alessio exudes mob boss, all form-fitted clothes with slicked back hair. His expression holds none of that feigned warmth, just an iciness chillier than the storage room. “You clean up nicely,” he comments.
“What are you doing here?”
“Obviously, I’m here to see you. Russia suits you. How’re classes?”
