Page 34 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“So we are done.” Her voice is flat once more.

“Yes, and I am truly sorry for it. You have to go back to your life, and I need to go back to mine.”

Her lips purse as she stares at me, looking for – I assume – any sign I might change my mind. Finally, she scoots to the edge of the bed, putting her feet on the floor. She stands, pulls on her cowboy boots, and walks to the door. From the hallway, she looks back, tears streaming down her face.

She does not say goodbye.

CHAPTER 15

Galina

It has been three weeks since Vasily ended things between us.

At the ballet, Isabelle and I have been talking more and it is nice to have a friend. I told her that I was going through a breakup when we all came back after finishing the show. She is brazen and funny and has encouraged me more than once to “forget the bastard.”

Today, with Roman as an accomplice, she and I are wandering around the shopping mall. He trails us inconspicuously. I have no idea what he said to Alexei or Vera to get this to happen, but I appreciate him for it all the same.

“Will you go for the principal role again this time?” Isabelle asks as we ride the escalator up to the second level.

The Washington Ballet has just announced its next show, which will be cast in the coming weeks and perform in October.

“No, I do not think I will,” I answer.

“Really?” she asks, “It seems you would be a shoo-in, you got such good reviews on the last one.”

“I need a break,” I say. “If I am being honest, I do not even know if I want to be dancing anymore.”

She makes apffftsound, but then realizes I am serious. Her eyes go wide.

“What? Why wouldn’t you want to dance anymore? Not because of that guy?”

“No,” I say. “I was contemplating it before Vasily. It is just that I have danced since I was very young and never given a choice to explore anything else. I do not know if I love it anymore.”

“You danced like you loved it in that last show.”

“Only sometimes. And sometimes I did love it. When it clicked, I loved it. But sometimes I am just going through the motions. I do not have the spirit for it anymore.”

“What would you do instead?” she asks.

I shrug. “I have spoken to my father about college.”

Of course, Isabelle does not know what my father is, who he is. She only knows that he is incredibly protective of me after losing my mother. This is a gross understatement, of course, but this is the first friend I have had in years. I will not ruin it by showing her the extent of how wildly controlled my life is, and why.

“College was fun,” she says, stepping into a dress shop. I follow her in. “I think it helped me springboard into professional dance, for sure. But you wouldn’t need that, obviously.”

“I wouldn’t major in dance,” I say. “I would pick business or something. Maybe open my own studio.”

“Mmm,” she answers. “Interesting.”

“You know what we should do?” Isabelle asks, holding a tiny, barely-there dress up to her lithe body. “We should get dressed up and go out dancing at a club.”

“A club?” I ask.

“Yeah. We should go out and shake our tushies at a nightclub. Maybe get a little drunk. Maybe flirt with some cute guys.”

I look around, spying Roman as he feigns looking at his phone outside the store.

“I have never been out dancing,” I admit.

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