Page 12 of Sweet Deception
My legs were still weak, still frail, but I could manage a few shaky steps. I owed that to Gleb. If not for him, I would have never had the chance to regain my strength. But with it, I had regained something else: the chance to live beyond these walls.
Dancing had become my lifeline, my only hope for a future I could call my own. Zoya had arranged a private tutor for me, and since I already knew the basics of classical dance, I adapted quickly. I paced the room now, testing my legs, forcing them to hold me steady through the motions. Dancing was the only thing I could still do no matter how small it seemed, it was mine.
Normally, my tutor came twice a week, but I insisted on five sessions. What else was there to do in this house?
The internal telephone rang, breaking my concentration. “Mr. Ignat is here. Shall I let him in?” Zoya’s voice crackled through the receiver.
“Yes.”
A few seconds later, the door creaked open.
Ignat’s Russian name belied his Western features, sharp, calm, patient. I liked that about him; it made learning easier.
"Mrs. Anna, good day," he greeted, setting his bag on the long stool.
"Hey." I smiled and stood.
"I trust you’ve mastered our last lesson. Today, we’ll move on to something new." His voice was always polite, always steady. "It’s called the waltz, simple, yet elegant."
A soft tune drifted from the corner, filling the room as he prepared me for the waltz.
He demonstrated first. His movements were fluid, effortless. It was mesmerizing, the way he glided across the floor.
"Now, your turn." He extended a hand.
I hesitated before stepping forward. The moment I tried, my foot slipped, but I caught myself just in time.
"Relax, you can do it," he encouraged, taking my hand to guide me.
He was close. Closer than usual but it didn’t feel inappropriate. There was no other way for him to lead without maintaining this proximity. His scent was faintly masculine, but I ignored it, focusing instead on his instructions.
“Try again,” he said, releasing me after a while. I exhaled and moved, improving, until weakness crept into my legs. I usually rested when this happened, but I pushed for one more try. Then my body gave out. “Help!” I gasped, collapsing.
Ignat caught me, his grip firm. “You should’ve told me your legs were weakening,” he scolded gently.
I barely had a moment to react before a strange feeling settled over me. A shift in the air. The tiny hairs on my neck stood on end.
Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured.
A shadow darkened the doorway.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
Ignat stiffened instantly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the weight of the voice pressing down on us like a storm cloud about to break.
Ignat carefully placed me on the chair before stepping back. Only then did I turn to face the man who had spoken.
My heart nearly stopped.
Gleb was here. My pulse stilled, my body frozen. He was unreadable, dressed sharp in a crisp white shirt and tie, blacktrousers clinging to his tall frame. Danger wrapped in elegance. A nightmare in a suit.
Gleb stood at the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was undeniable, and there was something different about the way his cold eyes swept over me.
His gaze flicked to Ignat’s hand still lightly resting on my arm, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Was that...annoyance? No. That would mean he cared. And he didn’t. Right?
And the way his cold eyes locked onto Ignat? A warning. A promise of pain.
"Who are you?" His voice was calm. Too calm.
