Page 47 of Guarded Hearts
“S’okay.” I stroked her hair.
“There hasn’t been anyone else since Zoya? No one serious?”
“No, no, no.” I sighed. “I couldn’t feel that way again.”And survive. My feelings were more complicated than I could explain in English words. Maybe I could love again. Sometimes when I caught a glimpse of Alyssa across a stage, at a bar, on the sidelines of a practice, themaybechanged shape. I wouldn’t allow myself to love with the same depth I had with Zoya, not when I understood the pain of loss. One great love was more than lots of people had in a lifetime.
“The greatest love of your heart.” The sadness in Alyssa’s voice matched mine. “Will you stay here in America?”
“Yes, I think so. Sometimes I miss Russia but not enough to move back. I like it here.” I took a deep breath. “My visa is tied to working for Mia. No Mia, no visa.” Under my hand, Alyssa tensed.
She propped herself up on her elbow and stared down. “If you get fired, you have to leave the country?”
After Mia’s phone call with her lawyer, I’d gone back to my visa paperwork from a few years ago to make sure I understood it all. At the time, I hadn’t cared. A way out of Russia was a way out of Russia. Mia had increased my salary when she’d fired Laura. I had a visa. I had money. I had people who were like family. What else could I want? A glimmer of hope if she fired me.
“Pasha? You didn’t answer me.” She tilted my chin so I was forced to make eye contact.
“Yes, I think so. I think I would have to leave.”
“Oh my God.” Alyssa threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. From the floor, she snatched up her shirt. “You are not getting sent back to Russia because we decided to indulge in a little noontime nookie.”
“That’s all this is to you?” Her flippant remark sent a shot of anger through me. We’d never discussed what to call what we’d been doing in these hotel rooms, but to boil down our relationship to a series of hookups pissed me off.
As she flicked her long hair out of the neck of her shirt, she glanced at me over her shoulder. “I don’t know what to call this between us. But I can say with absolute certainty it’s not worth getting you kicked out of the country.”
I looped my arm around her waist and tugged her back into the middle of the bed, underneath me. Staying with her was madness. Another week and she’d no longer be employed on Mia’s tour, not bound by her contract, but I’d been so miserable the week we hadn’t spoken to each other. “She won’t fire me.”
She cupped my face and stared into my eyes. “You can’t say that with one hundred percent certainty.”
“Ninety percent.”
“You’ll have to go back to Russia.” Her face was full of naked pleading. “You’ll be so far away.”
I scanned her features, trying to decide the best approach. To me, the seven days were worth the risk. “Are you happy?”
She frowned. “With you?”
“Yes. Are you happy with me?”
Her frown deepened. “Yes.” Her eyes filled with thoughts she didn’t say, things I wasn’t sure I wanted to dig into.
“What I learned with Zoya’s death is that when you find happiness, you hold onto it.” I touched my forehead to hers. “You hold on because you don’t always get to know when it ends.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Then stay, and whatever happens, happens.” When her arms circled my neck and she pulled me into a kiss, the heaviness in my chest eased. Clinging to her would probably be a mistake, but I just couldn’t seem to let her go.
Chapter Twenty
Alyssa
Amy’s hip connected with mine as Mia and Pasha whirled across the dance floor. They weren’t at full speed yet—only about three-quarter time—but they were hitting every single lift, turn, break, and hand change with ease. They were so close, and excitement stirred in my belly. The routine, done right, would be just as I’d imagined.
“This routine,” Amy breathed out. “You’re going to be famous.”
I laughed and rocked my hip into Amy’s. Did I expect people to take notice? Of course. Mia Malone would be performing my choreography at her wedding, which was being live streamed to the world. Would this routine make me famous? Unlikely.
Instead, fan accounts would probably spring up all over the Web, bowing down to the beautiful brute who’d danced so wonderfully smoothly with Mia. His transformation from awkward, stilted, and two-left-feet to smooth, in-control, and rhythmic was incredible. As part of the behind-the-scenes bits Mia planned to release on social media after the wedding, people would see how completely Pasha had been transformed.
I was proud of the dance I’d put together, but I was bursting with pride for him, his determination, his awakening as a dancer.
