Page 105 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

“I haven’t. I never got the pleasure.”

I shiver slightly at his words.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, standing behind me. The weight of his presence fills the room.

I’m feeling scared. But there’s no way I can tell Aleksander that. He did this entire thing for me. He wants me to get better. I’m not sure I ever can.

Instead of admitting my fears, I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I was born to dance. How do you think I feel?”

“I think you’re ready.”

The guests are all out in the backyard, sitting on rows of chairs. I spy Sofiya and Mila. Of course, Aleksander would invite them. They’re my sisters. Other than them and a few other women, most people in attendance are men.

Men I don’t know because they work for Aleksander and Mikhail. I’m not privy to every part of my husband’s life. It’s for my own safety, but it’s not fair that I don’t get to see every facet of his life, yet he gets to know every inch of mine.

I remain in the house, staring at the crowd, forcing myself to breathe deeply. Aleksander walks outside and onto the stage, thanking the guests for coming today to support me. It’s only humiliating. I’m a charity case. A thing for him to pity.

All because no one will hire me to dance.

“Viktoriya Morozova!” Aleksander announces, motioning me toward the stage.

My feet are rooted to the floor.

The guests murmur and look around. Sofiya sees me in the doorway and mouths,Are you ok?

I’m not fucking ok, I want to snap at her. I never asked for Sofiya’s pity, either. She’s my younger sister. She should not be the one seeking to comfort me. I will not allow it.

With a deep breath, I walk outside. The guests clap as I get on the stage and take a low curtesy.

Aleksander sits in the front row, sinking his deep, intense eyes into my soul.

Then, the music begins. It’s from a recording, not a live orchestra, which makes it feel cheap. It makes me feel cheap.

I force myself to move.

This is a dance I’ve done countless times before. I could do it in my sleep. I start off slow, getting the feel of the music and movement tied together.

My eyes catch Sofiya’s, and I stumble slightly before rightening myself. She frowns. I shake my head and pull myself together. I can do this. I have to.

I start to move faster. I go on pointe and feel like I’m suspended in the air.

Then my ankle wobbles, and I crash to the stage. It all comes flooding back. The night I broke my ankle. The way I cried and how Mila tried to comfort me. The way Mikhail turned away from me because all he wanted was Sofiya.

I was rejected by him. I was rejected by dance.

I bore my eyes into the stage, not daring myself to look at the audience. I can feel the tension in the air. The awkwardness of watching someone make a mistake.

I am not perfect. If my father saw me now, he’d be so disappointed. He would have walked right out of my house in disgust.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mila and Sofiya approaching the stage. I know what they’re doing. They want to help me.

I can’t let them do that. It will only make me look more pathetic.

I force myself to stand up and run my hands down my outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles. Mila and Sofiya stop. I don’t look at them as I resume dancing.

I try to move as effortlessly as I once was, but my body feels clunky like I’m moving through cement. I can’t quite get back on track. Because of my fall, I’m behind on the music and have to catch up to the right spot, which makes me more disoriented.

And then the worst thing happens—I fall again.

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