Page 21 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

“Yes. It was at his club. It wasn’t hard to find on the internet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and need to get my beauty sleep.” I try to walk past him, but once again, he stops me.

“Viktoriya, you’re playing a dangerous game. You need to decide who you’ll marry by the end of the week, or I’m sending you back to New York. You will not be responsible for my ruin.”

“I’ll decide when I want to decide.”

His eyes narrow. “Fine. But then you’ll be on your own by the end of the week. For Sofiya's sake, I’m giving you more time than most people get from me. Don’t make me regret this.” He shakes his head and mutters something in Russian as he heads upstairs.

Riling Mikhail up is a little comical. Seeing such a hard man crack a little lets me know he’s not as big and mighty as he says he is.

I will do what I want. I will not be forced into a decision.

I will choose the man who is worthy of me, and that isnotAleksander or Gleb.

At breakfast the next morning, the housekeeper—a middle-aged woman named Diana—sets a plate full of food down in front of Sofiya and Mila.

But for me, she places a bowl of …

“Is this gruel?” I ask, poking at it with my spoon.

“Yes,” Diana says. “Mr. Ivanov says that’s all you get to eat until you’ve made a choice.”

Mila giggles as she takes a large bite of her scrambled eggs. Traitor.

“What happened last night?” Sofiya asks. “Mikhail was angry when I woke up this morning.”

“I went to see Damien Petrov.” I hold up my hand as Sofiya opens her mouth. “Nothing happened. He turned me away. He’s not interested in me. Apparently, no man is,” I add under my breath.

But it’s not quiet enough because Sofiya hears me. “You have two men interested in you.”

“Two men I don’t want. I brought Mila here to get away from Gleb. And Aleksander …” I shudder. “He’s so … vexing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Vexing? Are you living in the eighteen hundreds?”

I shoot her a look as I take a bite of my gruel, then immediately spit it out, pushing the bowl away. “I’m not hungry anyway.” That’s a lie. I’m starving. But I have to get skinny enough to dance again. That’s my ticket out of this mess. Lose the weight, return to New York, and resume my dance career. That’s the only way I’ll be happy again.

I glance at Mila as she stuffs her face full of food. “You shouldn’t eat so much.”

Mila frowns. “But it’s good.”

“You need to be ready forRomeo and Juliet.”

“Will I be back in New York in time for that?”

I look at Mila more closely. “You don’t sound so upset by that. Playing Juliet is a huge role. It’s your first solo performance without Sofiya or me. You should be ecstatic. Let’s go rehearse.” I stand up and motion for her to follow.

“Let Mila finish eating first,” Sofiya says.

“Mila is my responsibility,” I snap. “Not yours. Not since you married your husband. Come on, Mila.”

She slowly sets down her fork and stands.

Sofiya looks between Mila and me, and I hate how much her eyes say something without speaking one word.

Mila follows me into the living room, and I instruct her to go over her solo again. I watch her from the couch, nursing my ankle. Mila is still a little clumsy—she’s always relied on Sofiya and me to pick up the slack when it came to our performances—but she’s getting better. The longer I watch her, the more yearning I feel. That should be me dancing right now. If I’d landed that role, I would be working my ass off to perfect it.

And Mila doesn’t even care. How can she not care? Ballet is our life.

I can taste the gruel on my tongue, and I bite back the urge to throw up again.

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