Page 22 of Dancing With Desire

I watch in confusion. Our session isn’t over, but she won’t meet my eyes, and there’s no banter or fun coming from thatbeautiful, fiery mouth of hers like there normally is after one of our sessions.

“Where are you going, Victoria?”

“Home,” she says matter-of-factly, as if it was a stupid question.

My heart drums faster in my chest. I hate the thought of her just walking out of here without us even speaking about anything that’s currently going on between us. “Victoria, we have things to discuss,” I begin, taking her wrist gently as she tries to pull on her blouse. She glares at the contact, and I immediately drop it. Her expression is stony, like she regrets what we just did, and suddenly, I’m back to feeling angry. “What the fuck was that all about?” I snap.

She shrugs, a smug smile playing on her lips. “I had an itch, and you scratched it.” She grabs hold of the bedframe with one hand and uses the other to push her heel on. She slips on the second one and stands fully, brushing her hands over her hair. “Thanks.”

“Thanks?” I repeat, hardly believing her attitude.

“Yeah,” she says, that stupid smile still in place as she heads out the room and up the corridor. “Thanks.”

“You just fucking used me,” I yell, marching after her. She continues towards the exit. “Victoria?—”

She slows as she reaches the door, pulling it open before turning to face me. She holds up her hand as if to stop any more words spilling from my lips. “I don’t want to hear it.” She reaches up on her tiptoes and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Have a lovely evening, Dmitry.” Her tone is cold and empty, like this was just some kind of business transaction.

And just like that, she leaves, getting into the back of Marshall’s car.

What the fuck just happened?

TORI

Iring my hands together and force myself to stare directly ahead as Marshall drives away from the manor. It felt like a good idea, as going to Dmitry for relief is what I’ve been doing to stop the worst from happening. Risking losing it again and cutting too deep will see me sectioned for sure, and that decision won’t even fall to Dmitry.

Tears prick my eyes, and I try desperately to blink them away. I am so fucking tired of crying and so sick of my entire head being full of him. “You wanna talk about it?” asks Marshall.

“I saw Vivian today.”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I see the panic in them. “What?”

“You heard. She was in the shop.”

“Fuck, Victoria,” he hisses, “why didn’t you tell me that? Did she see you? Does Dmitry know?”

He pulls over and grabs his phone. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Calling Dmitry, what do you think?”

“No,” I snap, unbuckling my seatbelt and leaning over to grab the phone. “Please, just stop.”

“Tori,” he whispers, his tone pleading, “he’ll want to know.”

“She wasn’t there because of me,” I tell him. “She was just as shocked to see me.”

“So, she saw you. Did she speak to you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, letting his head fall back against the head rest. “Do you know what Dmitry will do when he finds out she was within speaking distance to you and I wasn’t between you pointing a fucking gun at her head?”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“I can’t keep shit like that from him,” he argues.

“Sometimes, Marshall, you have to pick a side. This is one of those times.”

His eyes reach mine in the mirror again. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me pick which one of you I’d die for, because the answer is both.”