Page 5 of Claiming Genevieve

Then she turns, before I can say anything, and she’s lost in the crowd.

3

GENEVIEVE

Despite the fact that I escape to an outside patio for a breath of fresh air, Vincent finds me all too quickly. I knew he would. Like he said, Chris hasn’t been holding up his end of the deal, and I’m sure he smelled the lust rippling off of Rowan. I’m sure it smelled like money.

Ballet patronage has long been a thing, all the way back to the Paris days of bohemian free love—and probably before that—along with opera singers and cabaret girls, and any beautiful artist who needed a way to supplement their cost of living while still producing their art. But in the modern day, I’ve known ballet company managers to be far more sleazy about it, taking out the element of romance and making it into a business. Vincent is one of those, and while he’d never harm or touch one of the dancers himself, he pushes us all to make those ‘connections’ that are good for the ballet—and our careers, as he often points out.

Tonight was the first night he’s ever hinted so strongly that my boyfriend’s failure to properly tithe the ballet could affect my career. It makes me furious, makes me want to reach out and wrap my hands around his wattled neck and squeeze.I’veworked tirelessly since I was old enough to put on a leotard and ballet shoes to get here, and whether or not my boyfriend opens his wallet should have no bearing on my future.Chrishasn’t done shit other than spend money he doesn’t even bother to count himself any longer—he has so much of it.

Rowan Gallagher’s sudden appearance did nothing to improve the situation.

I take a deep, bracing breath of the night air, wishing for something cleaner than the city air choked with the scent of car exhaust and pollution. For the first time that I can remember, I wish for an escape. A vacation. A few days alone, to think, to?—

“The Gallagher boy really took an interest in you.”

Vincent’s voice cuts through the night, and I feel my jaw tense. My back is to him, and it gives me a moment to school my expression, to keep my tone neutral.

“He said he’d just come back to the States. I’m sure tonight was a novelty for him.”

“It could be more than a novelty.” The insinuation in Vincent’s words is clear. My jaw tightens further, my teeth grinding against each other. The truth is, if I’d met Rowan under other circumstances, I’d probably have taken an interest in him, too. I was struck by how handsome he is from the moment I saw him—and something else, too, that indefinable thing that’s always referred to as ‘chemistry,’ a feeling that sparks flew between us before we’d ever even introduced ourselves.

I can still smell his scent, clinging to me. Smoke and wood with a hint of salt, like a campfire on a beach. I’d wanted to lean in as we danced, breathe him in. I didn’t, because I knew he would take it as a sign of interest. A reason to keep pushing. And I both did and didn’t want him to stop pushing.

He’s arrogant. Impulsive—I can see that already. And maybe the kind of man who thinks I can be bought, which makes me as angry at him as I am at Vincent.

Well? Can’t you?

An insidious, small voice in my head whispers the question, making my throat tighten. And maybe it’s true. Maybe Icanbe bought. After all, isn’t that what my relationship with Chris has been? I’ve easily admitted, time and again—to myself and aloud to others—that it’s not about love. Not for him, or for me. So if it’s not love, then what is it?

A small flicker of shame threatens to ignite in the pit of my stomach, and I quickly, ruthlessly quench it. I refuse to be ashamed for being practical—for ensuring that I’m able to live comfortably enough to focus on my career, to be healthy, to take care of myself. No one ever criticizes men for having relationships only to fill a need. Why am I expected to only do so for romance? For love?

My mind tries to tell me that there are words for the kind of woman this has made me into, but I refuse to let the words take shape. I refuse to buy into that way of thinking. I am practical. Aware that there are more important things in the world than love.

“Genevieve.” Vincent’s voice cuts through my thoughts again, and I let out a sharp breath between my teeth. I just wanted a moment of privacy. A moment to get my thoughts together.

“What?” I finally turn to face him, and I see his gaze sweep over me, assessing me. I’m aware of how I look, backlit on this patio in my elegant teal dress—my figure honed to perfection, my makeup and hair perfect, everything about me sculpted into a gorgeous piece of art that, four times a year, I present on stage to an audience that I’ve made myself capable of dazzling and delighting.Thisis my world. This is everything to me. And I’ll do anything to stay here.

“Just give him a chance. I did a little inquiring while the two of you were dancing. His father is Irish mafia. Lots of connections, both legit and criminal, andplentyof money. His father is also dying—lung cancer, I hear.” Vincent fixes me with a pointed look. “Pretty soon, Rowan Gallagher is going to be the leader of the Irish mafia in New York. He’ll have all those connections, and all that money. You could secure that for us. And why not? I know you’re not in love with Chris. Cut him loose. You’ve got to be getting bored with him by now.”

Irish mafia. My stomach tightens. I think of Rowan’s hands on me, his fingers pressing against my spine as we danced, that heady scent of his cologne. The desire in his eyes as he looked at me. The arrogance. It makes more sense now.

“You want to get into bed with the Irish mafia?” I stare at Vincent, and he chuckles, completely unfazed.

“No, I wantyouto get into bed with them. Joking! That was a joke.” He raises his hands defensively when I narrow my eyes at him. “Except—not really, Genevieve. That boy wants you. He looked at you like a puppy begging for a treat. Give it to him, and we could be really well off. So could you.”

“Irish mafia.” I repeat the words, punctuating each one forcefully, and Vincent rolls his eyes.

“Honey. Don’t you think we already have connections with other mafia? The Italians haven’t had much interest for a while, but the Bratva have bankrolled us for years. And don’t look shocked. I know good and well that your best friend is married to the Yashkov second.”

I can’t argue that. My best friend Dahliaismarried to the younger son of the Yashkov Bratva family, and another of my friends, Evelyn—the designer of the dress I’m wearing tonight—is married tohisbrother, thepakhanof the Bratva. So I can’t pretend that I don’t already have a toe dipped in the pool of that world—except that for me, it’s more of a degree of connection, rather than a direct involvement. And I have no desire to step deeper.

I know Vincent isn’t going to give this up easily, though. I can see the look in his eye that says he’s latched onto this possibility, and it’s going to take quite a bit to convince him that Rowan and I are a bad idea.

But I can stall him.

“Look,” I say placatingly. “I’ll consider it. Okay? But I can’t make this my focus right now, Vincent. The spring showcase is coming up. All of my focus needs to be on getting ready for that. Who’s patronizing me won’t matter if my performance isn’t what’s expected, right?”

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