Page 52 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

In DC, I dressed like a teenager, in baggy cargo jeans and crop tops. Here, I am outfitted by a personal shopper in elegant neutrals. Here, I am an adult – and a wealthy one at that. I suppose I have always been wealthy – my father was wealthy – but I never looked like it. I never acted like it. But in these clothes, with this new haircut, and with a handsome man on my arm, I can imagine myself as something more than just a dancer for the first time.

We have been here for six weeks while I have recuperated. The house we rent is what I would consider perfect. It sits on a private beach with a view of clear blue ocean waters. A light breeze blows through the whole house because of wide-open doors that look out to beautiful things on all sides. I wish we could stay forever, quite honestly, though Vasily has told me that it is likely we will not be able to stay in one place for long.

I have learned more of the details of my rescue since getting out of the hospital. Vasily hired a squad of ex-military to find and rescue me. He wired $50 million from an offshore account to a business owned by Ilya Baranov and anonymously stated that he was a third party, not affiliated with Sasha Gusev, and that the money was a payoff to stay away from me. Baranov was free to do whatever he wanted with regard to the debt owed to him by my father. Baranov was to consider me off the negotiating market. His dead employees in Pennsylvania were a warning.

We came here on fake passports, listing our names as Emanuel and Giselle Lambeaux. Here we are a wealthy, married couple. Vasily, as it turns out, speaks in addition to English, Ukrainian and Russian. It is pretty swoon-worthy to hear him speak the language here, as if he just flew in from the motherland.

As I walk outside into the brilliant sun, pastry bag in one hand and coffee in the other, I see Vasily frowning at the burnerphone he has switched out probably four times since we have been here.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He says goodbye to whoever is on the other end of the line and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head.

“Got your goodies?”

“I did. Who was on the phone?”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“Vasily,” I say sharply. “Who was on the phone?”

“Shhhshhh,” he hisses. “I’m Emanuel here, remember?”

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily.

“Roman,” he says quietly. “It was Roman.”

My eyes go wide at this. “My Roman?”

“Yes. He’s been very helpful since this all began.”

“And what were you talking about?”

“Your father,” he says. “Roman says he did not take the news of our rescue efforts well. I am now enemy number one – a kidnapper. I told Roman I was willing to negotiate, that I only want you to be able to freely live your life.”

“But let me guess,” I say. “My father does not like being outdone or outmaneuvered.”

“Exactly. He wants you back, and my head on a plate.”

“Well,” I say, reaching around to hold him, putting my head on his chest. “I don’t want to go back. And I like your head where it is.”

He laughs. “Me too.”

I pull away. “For now, we’re here and we can just take things day by day. What time is my appointment?”

“Two,” he says. “Why?”

“Plenty of time.” I grin at him. “The Dolce store hasverybig fitting rooms.Verybig andveryprivate.”

“Giselle,” he says, comically shocked.

“Emanuel,” I say in return. “I think I need help trying on some new outfits.”

He fights a smile, but takes my hand. “Lead the way.”

CHAPTER 24

Vasily

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