Page 77 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

“You ready to start learning waltz?” she asks.

“Uhh … I guess?”

Gavril, thankfully, has retreated to a corner, but he’s still close enough to watch whatever catastrophe is about to take place here. Am I really that incompetent that I can’t be trusted to complete a freaking dance lesson on my own?

Or maybe he just likes watching me. Ugh, why do I find that sexy instead of creepy?

Havanna is eyeing me with wary hazel eyes like she’s partially aware of how unhinged I’m feeling.

“We’ll start easy,” she says, already on her way back to the controls of the sound system.

“Just a warning,” I call after her, “I’m not exactly …” I trail off, at a loss for words—not competent? At all decent? Not even remotely coordinated?

Already, though, classical waltzy music is playing and Havanna is smiling with encouragement. “You’ll be fine.” Then she takes me by the hand and begins.

Seconds later, she stops. Probably because I’ve just trod on her foot.

“Sorry,” I groan.

“Concentrate!”

I listen with a militant focus to her directions—“Step forward, forward, over, back, back, over” and follow resolutely. Although I can’t get rid of the prickling at the back of my neck from the feeling of Gavril’s eyes still on me.

Finally, at a lull, Havanna grins at me. “You aren’t that bad, you know. Half your problem is psyching yourself out.”

“Eh,” I mumble, because I don’t want to disagree outright.

“Believe me; I do not suffer fools lightly.”

Something about the firm, scathing way she says it makes me very glad that she doesn’t consider me a fool. Not yet, at least. There is still time to prove her wrong, though.

As we resume the starting position, she continues, “Just pretend that you’re Belle inBeauty and the Beast.” I freeze, and she chuckles. “I’m not some mystical creature from Dance Land who has never seen a Disney movie, you know.”

I can’t help but chuckle too. “I was more into Ariel, though. And she does have fins, so …”

Havanna wags a scolding finger at me. “You’re not going to get out of this that easily.”

I grin as we start dancing again. “I had to try.”

And, a few minutes later, even I have to admit, “I’m improving from god-awful to sort-of-not-horrendous.”

“See?” Havanna is grinning, too. “Frankly, I don’t blame you. I’d get nervous if Gavril was watching me as intensely as he watches you.”

My jaw drops. I knew Havanna had balls, but …

My gaze sneaks to the corner where Gavril was, last time I checked.

But he’s gone now.

Havanna winks, then shrugs, admitting, “He’s an odd one, your fiancé.”

My fiancé. Right.“So, you’re a dance instructor?” I ask. Anything to change the subject.

Havanna makes a face. “Ha! I’d rather eat my own pointe shoe than do this full-time—no offense.”

I laugh. “None taken.”

“No,” she continues, “I’m a professional dancer. Have never taught a day in my life, and didn’t want to, until your man offered me a price I couldn’t refuse. Said he had someone he needed trained ASAP by the best.”

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