Page 64 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

I have no idea what to say, what to do. It has been half a year, more, and I thought I had shed every tear possible over this man. Here I am, though, crying again as he steps away, shutting the car door, making his way toward me.

He has me in his arms in an instant, both of us swaying and crying.

When I finally pull away, it is only to ask, “How?”

“That’s a big question. Can you be more specific?”

“Well, let’s start with how you found me?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I saw Elena – er, Jennifer. It was so random; I just ran into her in a coffee shop in Brooklyn. She mentioned you and I realized you were alive, and so she wrote your address on my palm. I hope it’s okay that I came?”

“Of course it is. I just wonder why she wouldn’t have told me she had seen you.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case I decided not to come.”

I nod, thinking. “Perhaps. Yes, that makes sense. I mean, I did ruin your life.”

Vasily pulls his hands from his pockets, reaching one hand out but not quite allowing himself to touch me. I wrap my arms around my torso, shrinking into myself.

“You didn’t ruin my life,” he says quietly.

“I did,” I say. “You had a career, a life. I took all of that from you. I should have just let you walk away.”

“I chose not to walk away,” Vasily says.

My thoughts are a jumble and I have no idea what to say, what to do. I just know I do not want him to get back in his car and drive away. Not just yet, not while I am still processing that he is even alive.

“Can I make you some tea?” I ask. “Get out of the cold for a minute?”

He nods. “That would be lovely, Gigi, thank you.”

I lead him up the stairs, grabbing the shotgun to bring back inside the house. I unload it and put the bullet back into its box before putting the gun away. He watches this with keen eyes before draping his parka over the back of a kitchen chair and then taking a seat.

I set about the task of making tea – filling the kettle and turning on the stovetop. I pull out mugs and sugar and cream, all the while keeping my back to Vasily so that he will not see me silently weeping.

“Would you like something to eat?” I ask, trying to keep myself from sounding like I am choking on my reignited grief. It is both wonderful and painful to see him.

“Gigi, I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t make a fuss.”

I nod, taking a few breaths in front of the sink before reaching for a box of butter cookies from the shelf. When the kettle screams, I pour hot water into each mug, then throw the teabags in. I bring everything to the table and then sit, still biting back tears.

Vasily’s face is soft and understanding as he looks at me. And I look at him, really look at him, for the first time. He looks a little older to me, a few new lines at his mouth and eyes. His hair is still cut short, the waves of his dark hair wild.

“You look good,” I manage to say.

“You too,” he says, nodding to, I guess, all of me. “I never pictured you as a farm-girl, but it suits you.

I realize, cheeks going hot with embarrassment, how I must look to him right now. I am in jeans caked with mud, cowboy boots, an oversized flannel, and an oversized, green army jacket. My hair, just starting to grow back out from the severe bob I got in Brazil, is a bit unwieldy. I found a stylist not too far away who has been helping me with the color, but it is still a strange, dark brown and the efforts to adjust the color have made it frizzy and hard to manage.

Most days, I barely think about how I look because I see so few real humans. Today, I wish I had. I wish I had showered, shaved…anything. I think I might have brushed my teeth.

“I must look a mess,” I say, still blushing. “I was exercising the horses when I saw your car come down the drive.”

“You look beautiful,” he says. “You will always look beautiful to me.”

I meet his gaze and see so much emotion there, likely emotion I am mirroring right back to him. And I have so many questions, but no idea where to begin.

“I’m surprised you would pick this type of environment, considering…” Vasily trails off.

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