Page 19 of Dancing With Delusion

The lounge door opens and Dmitry strolls in with two bottles of water. He places them on the table and eyes me as if he’s searching into my soul, checking I’m okay. I know if I was to give him the nod now, he’d let me out of this whole situation. But he’s right—I can’t go on as I am.

“Mr. Volkov,” Harriet’s voice is laced with annoyance, “this will not work if you barge in here. You’ll only be wasting your money and my patience.”

I feel the corners of my lips lifting into a grin. I definitely like this woman. It makes a nice change from women falling at his feet as soon as he flashes his grin.

Dmitry raises his hands in defeat and smiles at me. I’m pretty sure it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask if she knows who the fuck he is, but instead, he turns his smile to her and says, “Of course, Mrs. Steele. Please accept my apologies. I just thought you might need a drink.” He leaves, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

I throw back my head and laugh. When I manage to calm myself, I see she’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Sorry, it’s just that not many people get away with talking to Dmitry in that way.”

She smirks. “Well, Tori, I don’t change who I am for anyone. I’m here to do a job.” She opens the notepad. “Now, where were we?”

Rubbing my hands over my tired face, I stand to show Harriet out. She shakes my hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Tori. I’ll see you later in the week for our next session.”

All I can manage is a nod. The session has me reeling internally, and I feel exhausted even though we haven’t reached anything of major significance.

I open the front door and the bright sunshine instantly heats my face, comforting me. Harriet is already halfway down the steps. “Harriet,” I say, and she glances back, “thank you.”

She offers a friendly smile. “You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

When I turn, I bump straight into Dmitry’s hard chest and immediately melt into his touch. He wraps his strong arms around me, making me feel safe, and I inhale his familiar scent. “Are you okay, my krasota?” I hum in response, not trusting myself to speak in case I burst into tears. He’s seen enough of my erratic behaviour over the last few weeks.

He places a gentle kiss on my head and the simple touch makes my heart leap. This man really does care, and it’s clear he’d do anything for me. I tip my head back to look at him, noting he looks relaxed and at ease. “Do you mind if I go to Phoebe’s?” I ask. His expression changes to one of concern, but before he can object, I add, “I just need some female company. . . to clear my head.”

The concern ebbs away, and he places a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Of course. Nik will take you.” I push up on my tiptoes and place a soft kiss on his lips as his hand brushes my backside. “Go, before I change my mind and tie you to the bed so you can’t leave.”

I grin. “Promises, promises, Dmitry.”

When I arrive, I find Phoebe lying on her sofa, wrapped in a blanket, with a tub of ice cream resting on her knee. I slump down on the sofa next to her with a sigh and tug some of the blanket over myself. I prise the spoon out of her clutches. “Oi, this is my pity party,” she whines, and I laugh as I plunge the spoon into gooey goodness and then into my mouth, allowing the ice cream to melt on my tongue before swallowing.

“I remember a time when you took mine away completely and told me to get my shit together.”

She cocks her eyebrow and smirks. “I don’t believe you.”

“Anyway, I’m joining your pity party today.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

I groan, placing the spoon back in the tub. “Not so much trouble, but Dmitry’s got me seeing a counsellor.”

She turns to face me, tucking her legs under her. “Right,” she says, and I huff out, bracing myself for the motherly bashing from my best friend. “You want the truth?” she asks.

I know, no matter what the answer, she’ll give it to me anyway. “Do I get a choice?”

She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm. “You’ve been spiralling for some time. Your erratic behaviour is seriously going to get you in trouble.” She pauses, waiting to see my reaction, and when I don’t get defensive, she continues. “You’ve been pushing the boundaries for some time now. I’ve been concerned about you.” She looks sad, and I instantly feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Phoebe. I don’t mean to, but you know it’s a coping mechanism. I like to pretend I have my shit together and then it all overflows.”

She offers me a weak smile. “So, counselling can’t hurt, right?”

I know she’s right. “Well, at least she managed to put Dmitry in his place,” I say to lighten the mood. She laughs, and I realise I haven’t heard her laugh for some time. It’s a welcome relief. “She literally handed the bloke his balls.” We both cackle at the thought of any woman handing Dmitry his balls.

Her smile fades as she dips the spoon in and out the ice cream. She sighs heavily. “Just open up to her, Tori. What have you got to lose?” She’s right. She’s always right.

The rest of the afternoon is spent watching reruns of sitcoms, eating ice cream, and catching up on gossip. It’s been such a long time since we did this.

I glance at my watch. “I need to go, Phoebe, but I’ll check back on you soon.” She nods, not taking her eyes from the television. “Oh, and Phoebe, take a fucking shower.”

She laughs at me, sniffing herself. “I don’t smell that bad.”

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