Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Hello.” I bow slightly, as I have been trained to do, only to realize the absurdity a moment later. These men are not of the same culture.
Alexei pierces me with an unrelenting stare. It occurs to me now that in my rush to make my sudden request, I didn’t take the time to change into something more appropriate than a leotard and leg warmers. At home, my schedule is such that I tend to live in my ballet clothes, only dressing appropriately at night before my father returns. And at the company, it is not uncommon to see many of the dancers parading around naked. In ballet, you learn quickly that modesty comes second to necessity. Most of the costumes show everything anyway.
But the sudden flash in Nikolai’s eyes alerts me that I am out of turn. When only a moment ago I told myself it didn’t matter, now I can’t seem to calm the erratic palpitations in my chest. By some sort of divine grace, I maintain my composure, hoping that Nikolai will dismiss me. The urgency of my phone call now forgotten, I am eager to return to the sanctuary of my room.
Nikolai grants my reprieve with a cool inflection in his tone. “I am busy, pet. Go to your room, and we will discuss this later.”
I retreat as I’ve been ordered. But the entire way back, I gulp mouthfuls of air, dreading the turn of events my actions will bring.
“Nakya.”
The chill of Nikolai’s voice startles me, and when my eyes rise to meet his, a weighted awareness returns to my chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
The magazine in my hands falls together. I was right to worry. His energy is dark and distinctly volatile. It was out of line barging into his office when he was in a meeting, but to admit it would be a mistake.
“I’m not doing anything.” My voice is too soft, barely audible, but it does not tame the harshness of Nikolai’s features.
“What do you mean to do, coming into my office dressed in …” He gestures to my clothing. “It’s not appropriate.”
If he weren’t so nettled, the irony of his declaration might be humorous, considering there are women leaving this house at all hours of the night in various states of disarray. What unspeakable offense I’ve committed by wearing a leotard is a puzzle only his mind can solve.
When he stalks toward me, instinct triggers me to hunch down and protect my head by curling into myself. My heart is sluggish, and my palms clammy as I wait for the inevitable. But when it doesn’t come, I dare to peek up at him, only to find him frozen midstep, his expression uncertain and his eyes dazed.
His actions are at odds with the certainty I feel in my gut. Life has taught me well that when the storm comes, you take whatever shelter you can find. When he doesn’t move, I dare to try.
Scrambling from the chair with feverish limbs, I hobble desperately in the direction of my only sanctuary—the bathroom. Deprived of my crutches and too far gone to reach for them, I’m nearly immobile. Even with the brace, pain splinters every step, and tears prick my eyes. Before I’m halfway across the room, my legs give out, and I collapse to my knees.
Nikolai watches wordlessly as I totter forward onto my elbows, clutching the carpet between my fingers as I crawl away like an injured animal.
“Nakya,” he bellows. “Stop. Stop this right now.”
Logically, I know I should, but I can’t. I’m too terrified of what will happen if he catches me. And so I go on, dragging my body forward until my fingertips cross over the threshold of the cold bathroom floor. The marble gives me something concrete to grab onto, but it’s of little use when Nikolai’s iron grip catches me around my good ankle.
A strangled cry squeezes from my lungs when he flips me over and pins me down with the overbearing weight of his powerful body. There isn’t a chance in hell that I could fight him off now. His pulse is strong and steady, his muscles unyielding. I’m out of breath and out of hope.
His hand hovers over my face, and I shake my head frantically, pleading to a higher power to save me. Calloused fingers come to rest on my jaw, contracting in warning.
“Stop,” he repeats.
It’s another wasted command, considering I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. The wall of his chest has me trapped. My head spins and my pulse thrashes in my ears. Every breath is a labored struggle, and I think I might pass out.
“I’m not going to hurt you, zvezda. Breathe. Relax and breathe.”
My hands come to rest on his biceps, determined to push him away. I can’t take false comfort in his honeyed assurances. I don’t want to. But right now, it feels like that’s exactly what’s happening.