Page 64 of His to Own

But he doesn’t bring us to a restaurant. Instead, he brings us to a small theater.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

The glint in his eyes worries me. “You’ll see.”

I know he won’t murder me in there but I can’t help but be afraid, even after all the times Maxim told me I don’t need to be afraid of him. It’s a hard thing to remember when I know he’s capable of bad things. How easily he can destroy a life.

The theater is small and intimate. Less than hundred seats inside and a small stage at one end of the room. No one else is here.

“What are we doing here?” I ask again.

He nods at the stage. “You told me that you tried to be a ballerina just like your sister when you were younger but you never had it in you to become one.”

“That’s right.”

“But you also said that you still remembered how to dance a little bit. I want to see it.”

My body goes stiff. “You want to see me dance? Why?”

“I’m curious. I want to learn more about you.”

“But I was never good enough. It’s why Lana became the ballerina. Not me.”

“I want to see if you’re truly not good enough or if that’s something your father made you believe.”

I remember when I was young. The way Father would make both me and Lana dance for him. The way he praised her and the way he criticized me. It made me never want to dance again. The safer option was to give it up and find something else for myself so I wouldn’t be compared to Lana forever. Of course, my father never approved of my writing either.

Nothing I could do was ever good enough.

“I haven’t danced in years,” I whisper, wringing my hands together. “I don’t fully remember everything.”

“Just let it come to you. I want to see you dance, Elena.”

“Are you going to hurt me again if I refuse to go up there?”

His smile is dark and dangerous and it makes my stomach flutter. “Are you asking for another spanking?”

I swallow hard. “No,” I whisper but my voice still sounds loud in the quiet room.

“Then dance.” Maxim settles in one of the seats – right in the front row. His legs are spread wide and his fingers are steepled together. Those fingers. The way they touched me. Pleasured me.

I quickly look away.

My footsteps sound loud in the quiet theater. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s just me. No audience. I realized that we should start small. Clearly, you have stage fright. I assumed it’s why you couldn’t read your poetry the other night. Too many people. But dance for me and only for me. Now.”

His command sends a jolt through my body. For the first time, I want to please Maxim. I want his praise.

I want to feel like I can do something right. Anything right.

I slip my shoes off and stand barefoot on the stage. I never got to the point where I could dance on my tip-toes like Lana could.

“There’s no music,” I whisper.

Maxim pulls his phone out and plays a classical song. I let the sound wash over me and I begin to move. It’s slow at first. Painful.

Almost a year ago, I was in a car accident where I got hurt. My body can still sometimes get stiff because of it but I exercise every day to keep the pain away. I remember the dance moves in my body. The way to spin. The way to lift my arms. The way to bend my legs.