Page 22 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

This seems to appease Vera, at least enough to tell me to shower and go to bed. She says she will bring a compress for my head and some tea to settle my stomach. As she walks me to my room, I hold up a middle finger to Alexei behind my back.

I shower, rubbing my fingers over my swollen clit, the spark of desire still there. It is a deliciously painful sensation, wanting someone like that. I smile as I wash, knowing there is so very much Vasily can teach me, so many things he can make me feel.

After Vera takes a small moment to care for me, she shuts off my light and shuts the door to my room. I call my father.

“Galina,” he answers. “Is late there, no?”

“It is not too late,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“I am nearly twenty-two, Papa,” I say. “I should be able to live a life, have relationships and friends. I should not have to live here with a babysitter and bodyguards.”

“Galina,” he says with a heavy sigh. “We have spoken about this. Is not possible.”

“Whyis not possible?” I ask, mimicking his heavier accent and broken English. I have lived here for more than three years, and no one has so much as looked at me sideways.”

Except for the men outside earlier today, of course. I do not say that aloud, though. If Alexei and Roman are smart, they won’t tell my father, either.

“I lost your mother, Galina,” he says. “I will not lose you as well.”

“Papa,” I say, now pleading. “I need to live my life. I have no one here.”

“I am sorry,” he says. “This is the way it is to be.”

I let out an exasperated sound.

“Good night,” he says, hanging up, ending the conversation.

CHAPTER 10

Vasily

Having scoured the internet for Gigi’s name, all I have found are references within bios and news coverage of dance roles. Gigi Sokolov has no social media, no public presence other than that which represents her career.

On one hand, this could be purposeful. I am not a social media user myself and I find it freeing, especially when I hear how people behave online. Perhaps Gigi wishes to draw a boundary between herself and the public. She is, after all, an up-and-comer in the dance world. She could have fans. Or stalkers.

This theory is on my mind as I meet a friend for lunch. Sean and I studied law together at Oxford, after which he came back to the States, married his college girlfriend and got a job working for the Department of Defense.

He gives me a hug and a back slap as soon as I walk up. “Good to see you, mate!”

“You too,” I say as we slide into a booth. “Fatherhood looks good on you. Congratulations.”

Sean’s wife recently gave birth to their first child, a little girl. He pulls out his phone to share photos, his face alight with joy.

“She’s beautiful,” I comment. “I’m happy for you, man.”

He grins. “I’m so stupidly over the moon about this little girl, man. They say the father is born with the child and boy; I think that might be true.”

“Guess it’s good you went the desk route, rather than the field route,” I comment.

He makes a noise of assent. “What about you? How are things in Senator Jennings’ office?”

“Good,” I say. “I like it a lot.”

“Any truth to the rumors he’ll run for president?”

I lift a shoulder. “Not in my paygrade. No idea.”

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