Page 3 of Marek

The local show that we put on every year. People love it, and we do a big performance for the town. Amongst this practice, I have been doing routines for that. I’m exhausted, but I know that if I stop, my mind will get the better of me. So, I don’t entirely mind having too much to focus on. It’s better than the alternative.

“I’m ready,” I tell him, pushing to my feet.

“You know I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

I step forward, wrapping my arms around Roger and hugging him tight. He is good to me, and I don’t know where I would be without him.

“Thank you.”

With that, I leave the studio, praying that Carter isn’t home when I arrive.

I just need one minute, just one, to breathe.

“MY GOD, YOU’RE SPECTACULAR!”

My dance friend, Sasha, rushes over when I walk off stage after an incredible performance and throws her arms around me. I’m coated in sweat, but it doesn’t seem to bother her at all. She squeezes me tight before stepping back, smiling huge. She isin the same classes as I am, so we’ve known each other for a long time.

I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but we’re sure as hell close.

“It was pretty amazing,” I say, unable to stop the smile stretching across my face.

“Amazing, girl, I’ve never seen anyone that can dance quite like you. You’re a star.”

Coming from her. She’s pretty incredible herself.

“She’s right, you are.”

Turning, I see Carter approaching me with a huge smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He’s wearing a suit, crisp and grey, and his dark brown hair is neatly brushed atop his head. His hazel eyes flicker with pride as he strides toward me. The moment he reaches me, he leans down and captures me with one arm, pulling me close for a kiss. It’s soft and warm, like it always is.

Pulling back, I take the flowers and offer him a genuine smile. “Thanks, babe.”

“I’ll never tire of seeing you dance.”

“Me either.” Sasha nods in agreement. “Now, I hope you don’t mind me taking your fiancée out for a drink.”

Carter grins. “Have at it. I have to work early the morning anyway.”

We say our goodbyes, and Sasha waits for me to get changed. It has been too long since I have been out for a drink. I don’t tend to drink all that much since I am on such a strict eating and exercise plan. It takes a lot to keep my body strong for all the dancing I do, and alcohol certainly doesn’t agree with my physique.

Tonight, though, I am going to let my hair down.

I need it.

Sasha and I find a bar close by and immediately order a round of drinks before positioning ourselves at the bar wherewe laugh and talk, as if the world around us has stopped and it’s only the two of us. Sasha, who is newly single, catches the eye of more than one man. She is letting off an energy that tells everyone around her that she is ready and willing, and it helps that she’s absolutely gorgeous, too.

Long, raven-black hair, sky blue eyes, and a body with curves in all the right places, Sasha never goes without plenty of attention. All eyes are on her when she walks into a room, and, tonight, she is lapping it up. I can’t say I blame her, the girl got out of a relationship that wasn’t bringing out the best in her, and now she is free. I’m envious because the thought of being so free makes my heart ache a little.

Watching with a glass of vodka and soda in my hand as Sasha makes her way to the dance floor with another man, I can’t help but smile. She’s happy, and I love seeing her content.

“Had your fill of dancing for the night?”

The smooth, thick, Russian accent comes from behind me, and I startle, turning quickly toward it. Behind me stands a man so spectacular, for a moment I just stare at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, as if I’m star struck. The problem is, he’s not a star, he’s just so breathtaking that he might as well be.

If I could picture a vampire in real life, this man would be it.

I don’t know if it’s his thick, dark hair that’s long and loose around his shoulders, or the striking blue eyes that stand out against his creamy skin. Maybe it’s the dangerous scar that runs down his face, or the shadow of hair on his jaw that isn’t quite a beard. Tattoos peek out from his black shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He’s scarily beautiful, in a way that a man simply should not be.

Squirming, slightly uncomfortable but mostly weak at the knees, I mumble, “Do I know you?”

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