Page 17 of Dancing With Delusion

“You chose defiance,” I say, pulling out her seat.

She smirks, sliding into it. “We’re eating at home,” she states. “How come?”

“I want you to myself for the evening.”

“Smooth,” she teases, unfolding her napkin and placing it over her lap.

I begin to open the boxes of food I’d ordered from Victoria’s favourite Italian restaurant. If she was given the choice, she’d opt for a pizza, or something equally disgusting, but now she’s with me, I get to introduce her to finer cuisines.

“How was your meeting with little miss stoney face?”

“How many names have you created for Vivian?”

She grins. “I have so many, it’s often hard to choose just one. My favourite is?—”

I cut her off by swooping down to kiss her. “Enough,” I whisper against her lips.

“So, the meeting?” she pushes.

I roll my eyes. “I had three meetings today. Are you wanting a rundown of all of them?”

She pouts her lips and thinks over my question. “Only for the ones you’ve fucked.”

“We’re having dinner,” I say dryly. “Could we refrain from the word fuck for one meal?”

“You’re deflecting,” she states, grabbing the bottle of wine and topping up her glass.

“The meeting was short. She’s grieving for her father.”

“She didn’t look sad. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen one tear. Even when she tried to fake cry at that event the other night, she couldn’t push out a single real tear.”

“It’s how she’s been raised.”

“To be a cold, heartless bitch? Yeah, I get that.”

“Victoria,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “I don’t want to sit here and talk about Vivian. I want to talk about you.”

She picks up her fork and begins to move the pasta around her plate. “I’m fine.”

“If waking in the night screaming is fine, then I hate to see when you’re not fine.”

“I had a nightmare.”

“About Marcus?”

She shrugs. “I can’t remember.”

I can tell by her expression that she’s lying. “You called out his name. You tried to attack me, thinking I was him.”

“If you already know, why are you asking?” she snaps. “It was just a bad dream. I’m sorry I wasn’t raised like you and Vivian to be cold and unfeeling.”

“I think you need to speak to someone,” I suggest, avoiding eye contact.

“Like a therapist?” I give a nod. “No way. I’m not fucking crazy, Dmitry. I just had a bad dream.”

She stands, and I grab her wrist, pulling her closer to me. “You saw him?”

“So?”

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