Page 65 of Darkest Sin
I look to Mikhail. I want to get this just right. He nods, giving me permission to start.
I let the music wash over me and then I begin to dance.
It’s as natural as breathing for me. To pirouette and arabesque and piqué. I’ve been training all my life to move like this.
I catch a glimpse of the men as I dance. They watch me with wide eyes. I guess none of them knew I was actually this good of a dancer. A swell of pride washes over me when I see Mikhail smile. I’m doing right by him and his men.
Cillian watches me with an impassive expression. I don’t fully understand it. Does he not like what I’m doing? Mikhail needs this evening to go well. I can’t mess it up.
I match the speed of the music, dancing through the postures I know so well. I worked hard to be the lead in Swan Lake and to give it up because of my father’s death was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. So, to be able to dance for my husband and his men now feels good, even though it’s not as good as performing on a stage.
I spin faster and faster and faster until I end with a curtsey. The men give me a smattering of applause.
“You can do better than that,” Mikhail tells his men, clapping for me. The intensity in the room revs up.
I give a bow and fully stand back up, smiling at the men. “Thank you.”
“What do you think?” Mikhail asks Cillian. “Does my wife’s dancing impress you?”
Cillian shrugs. “I’ve seen better.”
I see the moment Mikhail’s mood changes. His posture becomes more rigid and his smile evaporates.
“You’ve seen better? Natalya is the best dancer I’ve ever seen. You don’t get to come into my house and insult me and my wife.”
Cillian breaks out into a huge belly laugh. The suddenness of it makes me flinch. “I was just joking. I like to mess with people, Mikhail. It’s what I do. Natalya is a beautiful dancer. I want to see more.” He motions at me to continue.
I look to Mikhail, who’s taking a deep breath to compose himself. After a moment, he nods.
I begin to dance again. The dance I did before was already challenging and tiring. I’m out of breath but I’ll push through for Mikhail’s sake.
Cillian watches me with more interest this time around. Either he was truly messing with Mikhail or he meant every word he said. That he doesn’t like my dancing. That he has seen better.
If I don’t impress Cillian, what does that say about Mikhail? That his wife is not good enough.
Growing up, I was taught that my worth was tied to my future husband’s and his worth was tied to mine. That if my husband was an embarrassment, I would be an embarrassment as well.
And the opposite is true.
If Cillian doesn’t like me, that doesn’t bode well for Mikhail. I already messed up when I shot my uncle. The only consolation is that he’s not going around bragging about that fact. I don’t think he wants anyone to know he was shot by a twenty year old woman.
I don’t have my pointe shoes on, making it harder to do the full extensions of the moves but I try my best. I dance harder and faster as Cillian’s expression turns to dismissal.
I finish once more and the men clap again.
“I think that’s enough,” Mikhail says.
“One more,” Cillian says. “And stand on your tip toes. Isn’t that what you ballerinas do?”
“I don’t have my pointe shoes on,” I say. “But I can go get them.”
“No. Stand on your tip toes now. I want to see it.”
“Uh… it’s not really possible without my pointe shoes. I have padding in them to help my feet. It’s incredibly hard to stand on pointe in bare feet.”
Cillian leans forward in his seat, an eager expression in his eye that I don’t like. “I know. That’s why I want to see you do it.”
“I don’t want my wife to get hurt,” Mikhail says.
