Page 163 of Dance of Deception

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s thesubtle,small gestures that really keep a marriage together,” Milena deadpans.

Bianca walks over, a smirk on her face as she eyes bouquet number forty-three in my arms. “Ididwarn you he could get obsessive.”

The performance is flawless.

Naomi's Odette is innocent and lyrical, her Odile sharp and dramatic, every line of her body perfect. The thirty-two fouettés that she was so worried about go off without a hitch. Me, I let myself fall into the music, moving in perfect sync with the rest of the swans.

Midway through the last act, something shifts.

I feel it before I see it. A sensation that I’m being watched—which, yes, is stupid, given that I'm literally on stage in front of an audience.

But it’s not the feeling of being normal-watched.

It’s darker than that. Fiercer.

More intense.

I don’t dare break focus, but my heart beats faster, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

The next time I'm facing the audience, my gaze flicks into the house, and I see him.

Carmine.

Front row center, seated with the VIPs.

He came.

A wild tug ripples through me, and for the rest of the performance, my every movement is now heightened, electric.

After the final bows the curtain drops and I turn, walking quickly off stage into the darkened wings.

I startle when a tall figure steps out of the shadows in front of me, but my jangling pulse slows when I realize who it is.

Kir watches me with his usual smirk, clapping his hands slowly. “Magnificent performance,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

I smile a little stiffly at the powerful Bratva kingpin who also happens to own the very building we’re standing in.

Kir’s gaze flicks past me, nodding in the direction of the audience.

“I believe I saw your husband out there.”

The way he says it makes my stomach tighten.

“You know,” he continues casually, “this showwasexclusively for VIPs and high- level backers of the company. That means an annual contribution of five million.”

He waits a beat, letting the words sink in.

“Oh…” My brow worries. “I'm sorry. I…I guess he just really wanted to see me?—”

“Carmine cut a check at the door.”

My eyes go wide.

Kir smiles. “So—yes, Lyra, I think he really wanted to see you dance tonight.”

I stand there in shock, my skin tingling as I try and wrap my head around what he just told me. Kir clears his throat, smiling as he runs a hand over his chiseled jaw.

“You can tell your husband that the board thanks him, and that his name will be added to the gold-level patron plaque on the wall in the lobby by next week at the latest.” He dips his chin. “Again, lovely performance, Lyra. I particularly enjoyed your work in thepas de trois.”

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