Page 20 of Poisoned Roses

I have never even imagined luxury on this scale and as I wrap my glowing body in the warm soft robe, I sit on the bed and flickon the television as I wolf down the amazing food that is most welcome right now.

I rarely watch television—if at all. The set I have in my apartment isn’t reliable and I am always too tired from dancing and am usually asleep before I register what I’m watching. For some reason, I am wide awake tonight and as I turn onto an entertainment channel, I’m shocked when my image stares back at me.

Two women are talking in a relaxed setting and I recognize them from entertainment news channels. I listen to their conversation as if I’m eavesdropping.

“We are so excited about this latest relationship,” one of them says and the other nods enthusiastically.

“The beautiful Tatiana Pavlov is engaged to the enigmatic businessman Titus Romanov.”

They appear excited about that and one remarks, “This is a match made in heaven. I mean, look at them. Their DNA is crafted from the gods. Can you imagine their children?”

A picture of Titus flicks up on the screen and I must agree. He is devilishly handsome in his dark suit with his movie star good looks and my heart curls inside me with pleasure, which intrigues me. I suppose I’ve never really looked at him before. I’m too embarrassed to study him when we’re together because he unnerves me.

Now I can stare at him unashamedly, and it’s as if he is staring out from the screen as his eyes connect with mine. Those eyes hide a million secrets, even from here I realize that and I shift as I remember his touch and the way it slides across my skin like an electric storm. He affects me—I know that already, but this is business. That’s all it is; something I know nothing about.

“Imagine the wedding. It will be the event of the century.”

“I heard it was being held in the Kremlin.” The other woman says with excitement, and her colleague nods vigorously.

“It’s about time we had some glamor in our lives and this couple provides that in spades. It will be the wedding of the century and if you are lucky enough to get a ticket, I’m available as a plus one at short notice.”

The women laugh and another picture flashes up of me at a gala I attended last year. I can’t remember why, but I was there as an invited guest. Even I admit I look amazing, and it’s purely down to the beautiful dress I was loaned by Christian Dior. It tumbled to the floor in an array of sparkle, courtesy of the thousands of fake diamonds that were sewn on by hand. My long hair was piled on top of my head in a sleek up-do with a diamond comb holding it in place. Silver shoes sparkled from underneath the dress and one of the women sighs appreciatively.

“Our very own Ice Queen. Beautiful, poised, and elegant. The perfect example of all that is good about Russia. A woman who would shine on the world stage.”

The other woman laughs. “She has experience of that. Her dancing has earned her several awards, and I don’t believe we have ever had such a stunning ambassador for our country.”

“Our Russian Queen soon to be married to a Russian King.”

Once again, a photograph of Titus pops up and I swear I openly drool at the strong, powerful Adonis who is relaxing on a super-yacht. He is wearing mirrored shades and a smart polo shirt, his beige shorts revealing muscled legs as he relaxes like an advert for aftershave.

He enjoys a life I can only dream about because, as sure as every outfit of mine is on loan as a form of advertising, his are most definitely not. The caption at the bottom of the screen reads,The most eligible bachelor in Russia. Rich and powerful Titus Romanov, head of Romanov Industries.

I listen to the women talk and it’s as if they are speaking about somebody else. The pictures, the text and the conversation may as well be about another person entirely. Life doesn’t appear real any more. My life is dance and always has been and yet now I’m to be thrust onto a stage in a show I haven’t rehearsed for, with a leading man who, unlike Leo, is every dream I ever had.

I finish the program, enjoying the light conversation as a welcome distraction from what happened earlier and as I drift off to sleep, fear has been replaced by happiness as I allow the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in, to wrap me up and soothe away my troubles, drawing me into blissful ignorance as I dream about nothing at all.

CHAPTER 11

TITUS

When Tia retires to her room, I head to mine, but not to sleep. Instead, I change out of my clothes into ones that reveal who I really am.

Black.

It’s always black and this time the clothes are less formal. I replace my black business suit that portrays the acceptable face of my business for black jeans, a black polo shirt and a short,casual black jacket. My black trainers complete the outfit along with my black heart.

As I head to the basement, I select one of my more understated forms of transport. A small car, older than the rest and designed not to attract attention.

This is my work that receives no accolades. No mention in the business press and no awards at an industry gala.

This is the work I enjoy the most.

I head to the part of town many rarely venture into. The buildings are mainly unused and the rats have a free pass to settle here in their colonies.

Graffiti highlights despair and broken windows reveal rage. Disillusionment, poverty, unease and despair. A Dystopian paradise.

I love this part of town. It is more real than any penthouse, any high end store, or the magnificent government buildings that act as a fortress for men who would be more at home here. This is the Russia I understand. TherealRussia. The one where souls are unashamedly broken and make no apologies for that.

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