Page 19 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“And he is?”

“It’s complicated,” she says, not for the first time. “Look, I want to talk to you but we should go to your place to do it, okay?”

I sigh and stand. She grabs my hand, and we move swiftly to the stairs, taking them to the sixth floor, where my apartment is. Gigi locks the door as soon as we are inside.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.

“Do you have wine?” she asks.

The question surprises me but I nod, heading to the kitchen to pull a bottle of white from the refrigerator. I pour two glasses and bring them to the living room, where Gigi is perched on the edge of my couch.

As I hand her the glass, questions erupt. “Gigi, who was that man? What happened on that first night, on the street? Why didn’t you want to be seen with me when we went to lunch? What is going on? And please don’t tell me it’s complicated. No more evasion.”

I sit down, several feet from Gigi, who is perched on the arm of the couch like a bird who might fly away at the nearest sign of movement. She swirls the wine in her glass and takes a sip, laughing lightly.

“This is also a thing I am not allowed to have. Too many calories. “

“I am starting to believe that I am a bad influence in your life, Gigi.”

“I need more of those, I think,” she says, smiling in a way that doesn’t conjure happy thoughts.

I do not feel confident that she is going to give me the answers I desire.

“It seems your life is very controlled,” I say carefully choosing my words.

That sad smile remains. “It is.”

“Can you tell me why?”

She is quiet for so long that I am ready to tell her to go, to head home. I do not want her to go. In fact, the shroud of mystery around Gigi Sokolov is very intriguing indeed. Still, seems nearly unknowable, and I do not think I can continue to see her if she refuses to answer these questions.

“Gigi,” I say more insistently. “Talk to me.”

“My father is worried for my safety,” she finally says. “That is why my bodyguards were being such brutes the night you first saw me. It is not a problem for me to run in the daylight, but they freaked out when I went out after dark. Apparently, the boogeyman can only get you after the sun is set.”

“The boogeyman?” I ask quietly, more to myself than to Gigi. My red flags go way up. “Who is your father?”

“His name is Sasha. He is working with the military for the war,” she says.

“The Russian military.” The words are flat. Not a question.

“Yes.”

I sit back, thinking. I am a foreign policy expert of Ukrainian descent, working for a high-profile U.S. Senator. Gigi says her father is a Russian military official who is strict about her safety. Something about these two things together feels dangerous. Wrong.

“Gigi, did you know who I was before we met at the ballet?”

Her head jerks to the side as she looks at me, horrified at the implication. “No!”

We stare at each other and I decide that I believe her. I believe she is innocent, but there is still a lot that she is not telling me, and I need to know why.

“I just don’t know about this,” I say, gesturing between the two of us. “You are not telling me something. A lot of somethings, probably. I want to know you, Gigi, but I need to know the truth about what is going on. I cannot be implicated in something illegal or whatever. I have a job. I have a professional reputation.”

“I amnota criminal,” Gigi says sharply.

She sets her glass on the coffee table, then takes mine and does the same. She climbs onto my lap, straddling me, shoving her lips against mine.

I back away from the kiss, hands on her shoulders.

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