Dance With Me (11 page)

Alexi held her tighter, looking at Sergei with eyes of fire. “
Nyet
!” he said, followed by a harsh string of syllables.

Sergei became conciliatory. “Yes, of course you are worried about her. But they will take good care of her. There is nothing you can do. And your responsibility is to the company.” He gestured toward the doors.

“Fuck the company!” Alexi said. He leaned down to Sherry, concern in his eyes. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” she sniffed. Wrapped in his warmth, she felt the adrenaline melting back into her system, leaving her feeling like she was going to start crying. Her chin quivered, and she spoke in a shaky little girl voice that she didn’t recognize as her own. “The police are coming, but I can’t. I just can’t. I want to go home.”

“So we will go home,” he said. Sergei was still hovering, speaking in Russian, cajoling and threatening, but it was as if he had ceased to exist for Alexi, as if everything had ceased to exist for him except Sherry.

Holding her close, he walked with her under his arm, his face bent to hers, whispering to her softly as they moved down the hallway, through the lobby and out into the street.

“I will take care of you. You don’t have to be scared anymore. It is going to be all right.”

They slid into the back of a yellow cab, and she leaned against him, letting the tears come.

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting in the small bathtub in Alexi’s apartment, cradling a cold glass of vodka in her hands, Sherry finally stopped shivering.

The first thing he had done when they got there was text Minibar to bring over a flask of vodka. The second was to draw her a bath. He carefully removed her bloody, torn dress while she stood, telling him she was fine, shivering, with tears rolling down her face.

“Yes, of course you are. You are a strong woman,” he assured her, all the while tending to her like she was a child, wiping the tears and smeared makeup from her face and the sticky dried blood from her body.

She could hear him now, pacing in the kitchen and talking on the phone in Russian. His voice was angry, but controlled. Cold, like the liquid in her glass. Like the chill in her heart, under the red raised welt of the X.

Was she a strong woman, she wondered? She had always thought so. Never had a problem standing up for herself, except when it came to her family. That was more complicated. But when it came down to the wire, she had, telling her parents that she was giving up a promising future in medicine for the inglorious field of journalism. She had been strong.

When Shonda Kelly had started a secret campaign in eighth grade to thwart her bid for class president, Sherry had shut that down with one up-front conversation and the threat of papering the halls with images of Shonda pre-Weight Watchers. When Professor Malekin hinted that the 4.0 GPA she craved could be hers if she took his extra-credit course, Blowjobs 101, Sherry contacted enough of his former students to put together a lawsuit. No legal action was pursued, but Sherry got her A and Professor Malekin took a sabbatical in Saudi. When the CEO of Blaxxon suggested she might be out of a job if she continued her investigation of his company’s illegal dumping into the Hudson, she doubled down on her research, squeezed her sources and wrote a piece that got Blaxxon a temporary suspension order and a hefty fine.

But this was different. No one had ever held a knife tip to her heart and looked at her like nothing would give him more pleasure than to plunge it in. No one had ever threatened her life.

Then there was Alexi.

As if he had read her mind, there he was, opening the bathroom door.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded, but her hand strayed to the X on her chest.

“Ah, yes. This. You will keep this, I’m afraid.” He sat on the closed lid of the toilet and reached down to touch the flesh around her wound, his expression grave. “The salt has done its work.”

“I’m a marked woman.” She gave him a grim smile.

“Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?” His eyes were coldly neutral, but the muscle clenched in his jaw.

She took a deep breath, feeling like she was about to jump off a cliff. “They were Russian.” She watched his face for a reaction. Nothing changed. “I … Sergei and I had a conversation this morning, after you left. I said some things that he didn’t like. He threatened me. Then those thugs attacked me at the benefit. Who knew I was going to be there, Alexi? You. Sergei. A friend of mine from the paper. That’s it.”

Alexi stood up with a suddenness and violence that made her shrink back in fear.

“No. This is impossible.” He turned his back to her, hands on the sink, looking down into it. In the mirror, she could see his jaw muscle twitching rapidly. He looked up, finding her eyes in the reflection. “Why? Why would Sergei threaten you? Why would he want to hurt you?”

It was Sherry’s turn to look away. Should she tell him about her assignment? What if he was involved? She thought of the money in his closet. “Maybe he’s jealous. Or worried that I’m a distraction for you.” She glanced up to see his reaction.

Doubt shadowed his green gaze. He turned to face her. “Did these men tell you to stay away from me?”

She swallowed hard. “Something like that,” she lied.

“No!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. “There has to be another explanation.” He took two steps to the door and turned back, his hands clenched into fists. Throwing himself down onto the toilet, he put his elbows on his knees and grabbed his hair with both hands, shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he said.

She reached out a hand to touch his knee. “Alexi,” she started, not sure what she was going to say next.

He looked up at her, his expression pained. “You don’t understand. Sergei, he…”

“He helped you, I know,” she said.

“No. You don’t know.” He stood up. His eyes were full of fire. His hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them. He wrenched it off his shoulders.

“This,” he pointed at a long raised scar that ran from his shoulder to his abdomen, “I did this. Like those men did to you. You know the pain, the burning. Why would someone do this to himself? Only when the pain inside is much, much more. This pain,” he touched the scar, “was the only way to stop the hurting inside.”

He slumped back onto the toilet seat. “This was when Sergei found me. I had been a principal for five years. Every performance sold out. I had everything I trained for all my life. Everything I worked for was mine. But do you know what? It wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t enough. Because inside, I was empty.”

Sherry reached for him again. This time he didn’t stand up. He put his hand on hers. “I had everything, but it meant nothing because I had no one. I was so lonely. So alone. My mother? She only cared for the money I sent her. You know, she never visited me once in my eight years in London?”

“I’m sorry,” Sherry said.

“Don’t be. I didn’t want her to come. She only criticized me. When she saw me perform in Kiev? After? ‘This was wrong. This was bad. You are so lazy. You will never be a great dancer like Nureyev, like Baryshnikov.’” His mouth curved in a sneer of contempt.

“Oh, Alexi.” She started to stand up, but he put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her coldly.

“I don’t want your pity. I tell you this only so that you will understand. I had no mother, no father. And when you rise in a company like the Royal so fast, you also have no friends. There is so much jealousy. So much ambition.”

She nodded. She knew what that was like. She didn’t make too many friends in college or when she started at the paper, either, except for Peter. He didn’t feel threatened by her like her peers, and she knew he wasn’t trying to use her, like the hacks lower on the ladder. But then, part of that was her own fault, too. She was so focused on success, she didn’t have time for friendship. She guessed it was the same for Alexi.

“Sergei, he was like mother and father and friend. He more than helped me, Sherry. He saved me.” He looked into her eyes, willing her to see, to understand. “When he found me, this little cut was not enough anymore to stop the pain. I was starting to think about going deeper.”

She stood up. This time he didn’t stop her, wrapping her in a fluffy bath sheet instead. She stepped out of the tub and put her arms around him. He bent his forehead to her shoulder and held her, his hands running up and down her spine.

He took a step back and lifted her chin. “So you see, I cannot believe that he would allow someone to do this to you.” He circled the X on her breast. “Unless he thought he was protecting me. Why would he want to protect me from you, Sherry?” His eyes searched hers. She had to look away.

“Maybe he’s protecting himself,” she said.

“From what?” he asked.

She shrugged, turning away from him, ostensibly to dry herself off. “Did you know that tonight at the benefit, your savior was basically selling you in exchange for donations?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice not betraying his emotions.

“Oh, he paraded you around like the latest couture creation from Paris and Ninny Vanderbeck was right behind him, fixing you up on dinner dates with the donors.”

“Their parties, you mean,” he said. “Yes, I know. This is all part of the job.”

“Don’t you feel like, I don’t know…”

“A prostitute? Did you know that when the ballet first started, the dancers, they were prostitutes?” He smiled at her look of disbelief. “Yes, it is true. No mother wanted her daughter to join the ballet then. It is not so bad now. Still, no company can survive on box office alone. We need their money, they need pretty faces at their parties. It is, how do you say, win-win?”

He pulled her close to him with her towel, looking down at her. “And let me ask you this, Sherry, in your white tower. Did you never make a small compromise in your beliefs, your dignity, to get your story?”

She looked away, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Ah, this pretty pink color again.” He brushed the back of his hand over one cheek. “I believe that means yes.”

“Touché.” She thought about her first conversation with Alexi, the shots and the kisses. She thought about the money in his closet and Sergei.

“I will talk to Sergei,” he whispered, holding her closer, letting her towel drop. “I cannot believe this has anything to do with him. It cannot. This must be about a story that you are writing. Someone wants you to stop.”

She nuzzled into his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe.”

“So stop.” He ran his hands down her back to the gentle swell of her buttocks.

“I can’t.” She looked up into his eyes, willing him to understand all that she wasn’t telling him.

He looked from one eye to the other, his hands playing over the swell of her buttocks. “Then I will have to keep you safe.” His hands traced up her sides to her jaw. Cupping it, he bent to kiss her. She opened her mouth to him, letting him in, meeting his tongue with hers, melting in the liquid warmth of it.

He skimmed his hands down her back again and grabbing her cheeks, lifted her onto the counter beside the sink. She spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist, drawing him to her. She could feel him hard beneath the fine wool of his tuxedo trousers.

“Wait.” He pulled away from her.

“You are always telling me to wait.” She hung her head back in mock frustration.

“Because you are always impatient.” Giving her a gentle kiss, he opened the cabinet behind her and took out the box of Epsom salts and his razor. “I need to fix something.”

Removing the blade from his razor, he looked at her, his face serious. “This,” he circled the X on her chest, “is a reminder of pain, of fear. I want to change that.”

A chill ran through her. “You’re not going to cut me,” she said.

He gave her a soft smile. “No, my flower. I told you. I will never hurt you.” Looking in the mirror, he lifted the razor and brought it to his chest, just over his heart. He sliced down at an angle, once, twice.

“No!” Sherry gasped, hands to her mouth.

“Yes.” He widened the cuts with the blade, his eyes narrowing with the pain. A trickle of blood ran down his chest to pool in his navel. He caught it with a cloth.

“Alexi, what did you do?” she breathed.

Reaching for the box of salt, he poured some into his hand and rubbed it into the X-shaped wound, clenching his teeth. “What have I done? I have taken a reminder of pain and made it into a symbol of our love.”

She sucked in her breath. He looked at her, his expression at once defiant and tender.

“Yes, I said it. Love. I love you, Sherry.” He rinsed his hands under the faucet, then brought them, warm and wet to her jaw. His gaze moved over her face as if he was memorizing it. “I love your beauty and your strength and your hardness. I love your ambition and your need to find the truth. I love that you are not afraid to search for it, even if it means putting your life in danger.”

Elation and fear mingled in her chest. He loved her, but for how long? Especially if he knew what she was investigating. And she … she wanted him. Needed him. Craved him like a drug. But did she love him? Was she even capable of love, whatever that was?

“Alexi, I…” she started, but he stopped her with a kiss, gentle and searching at first but growing more passionate. His mouth explored hers deeply, sucking at her tongue, as he spread her legs and pushed himself against her damp nakedness. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. Lowering his hands to cup her buttocks, he lifted her, pulling away from her mouth.

“I love you, Sherry,” he said again, “and I know you love me, too. You are not ready to say it. And that’s all right. Because I am patient. Not like you.”

She ground her hips against him, loving the feeling of the rough wool against her most private parts. Even more, she loved the swelling of the hard rod beneath it. “I’m definitely not feeling very patient right now.”

“Are you sure you want to, after…” He nodded at the X on her chest.

“Yes.” She pressed her chest to his, felt the sting as the salt still on his wound touched hers.

He carried her into the bedroom and set her down on the end of the bed to strip off his trousers. She reached for him, for his hot, hard shaft, but he took her hands in his and kissed them. Then, sitting beside her, he lifted her up, facing away from him, looking at the mirror at the foot of his bed. He lowered her down slowly onto him, his eyes holding hers in the mirror. Her legs were close together as if she were sitting on a chair, his slightly open. She sighed as he filled her, stretched her with his thickness.