A Dance too Far

by H L Day

  I didn't want to say the words. It made it all too real and put a pressure on Valentin that made me want to vomit. Valentin pulled back, his gaze boring into mine. I looked him straight in the eye and lied. "I'll be fine."

  He shook his head. "Yes, you will. Because I will go back to Dmitry. I will grovel spectacularly, and then he will leave you alone."

  I grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand and forcing his eyes back on me. I put every ounce of conviction into my face that I could. "You can't go back to him. Not after telling me that you think he killed your parents. You don't know what he's capable of. You need to get away from him. We'll..." I'd been going to say that we'd go to the police, but then I remembered Dmitry's words, the way he'd stated that he had connections in high places. I cast about for another solution. Another way where we could find a way out and be together. It was hard to believe that Valentin could be so calm when I felt like someone was slowly carving my heart out with a rusty spoon, piece by piece. "There must be something we can do. We could run away. Go to another country. Hide."

  Valentin's answering smile was full of regret as he placed the now red-stained washcloth back on the table. "That's a nice idea, Max. But there's nowhere far enough to hide from Dmitry's reach, I'm afraid. I'll go back to him. He'll strut around for a while, spewing words of hate and blaming me for everything, but eventually he'll calm down and forgive me. I just need to stroke his ego enough. And you... you will stop letting your past ruin your future. You'll find some nice men to date, and you'll find one who means more to you, who you want to have a relationship with. You'll take him home to meet your mum. You'll buy a house together and get a cat and argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes."

  I wanted to cry. I knew what he was trying to do, but I couldn't picture anyone else filling that role except him. I wanted to live with him. I wanted to argue with him. He was the one who had unwittingly chipped away at the barriers I'd erected. He was the one who I'd confided in about my past. If I hadn't met him, I would have probably taken those secrets to my grave. "I don't want to date other guys. I only want you!"

  Valentin gestured that I should take off my shirt, my words seeming to bounce off his hardened exterior. Was he really that blasé about returning to his old life? Or was he

  simply that good at putting on an act? I lifted my arms as he peeled the shirt from them. I looked down, unsurprised to see that my chest was a mottled mess of red, purple, and blue. Valentin cursed in Russian. At least I assumed it was a curse going by the way he said it. He sighed. "I was hoping that your face had taken the brunt of it." He probed at my abdomen, slowly moving up over my ribs while watching my face closely for the reaction. "I don't think anything's broken or you'd be in even more pain than you are. Do you want to go to the hospital?"

  "What would I tell them?"

  Valentin inhaled deeply and closed his eyes before opening them again. "I don't know. But if you need to go there..."

  I shifted slightly. It was sore. There was no getting away from that, but now the shock had worn off, I wasn't in agony. Nobody could take multiple kicks to the chest, abdomen, and face and come away unscathed. I reached out and grabbed Valentin's hand, winding our fingers together. I half expected him to pull away, but he didn't. He wouldn't look at me though. It was as if he was already distancing himself. I was back to staring at the cold Russian of a few days ago. I let go of his hand, and he turned away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Valentin

  When Max had been gone for an hour, I'd been able to shrug it off. He was meeting a friend. Friends often got talking and lost track of time. After an hour and a half though, dark thoughts had started to creep in. By the two-hour mark, I was climbing the walls, only capable of pacing restlessly from room to room, which wasn't easy to do when walking was a problem.

  At the slam of a car door, I'd rushed downstairs, instinct telling me that it was connected to Max. My earlier optimism had disintegrated at the first sight of his face. He didn't need to tell me what had happened. I already knew. It was obvious. I'd broken Dmitry's rules. I'd dared to dream of a life that wasn't dictated by him, and this was my payment, and poor Max had been caught in the middle. I hadn't needed to hear Max's message from Dmitry. I'd already known at that point that I would be returning to Dmitry. Only the news that it would be the next day and not immediately came as a surprise. Maybe Dmitry thought it would hurt more, or maybe it was something as simple as him having business to contend with that evening. I didn't know. All I knew was that at least it gave me a chance to look after Max, the same way he'd done for me with my ankle. I'd patched him up as best I could, and then I'd slowly started the process of rebuilding the barriers that had no longer seemed necessary between the two of us. One of us needed to stay strong, and Max was in no physical shape for it to be him.

  Max's pleas about the two of us running away hadn't fallen on deaf ears. I wanted it. More than anything. And maybe if it was a year from now it might have been possible. I'd been working on something, a plan of sorts, in case things ever got to the point with Dmitry where I felt I couldn't go on. Unbeknownst to him, I'd met a contact at one of Dmitry's parties. He'd maneuvered his way onto my list and eventually come clean about his reasons for being there. I'd found myself confiding in him. When he'd admitted to searching for someone, I'd given him as much information as I could. In return, he'd helped me to hatch a plan. But that plan wasn't ready to implement yet. It was missing something crucial that I hadn't been able to get hold of.

  Once I'd managed to get Max undressed and, if not comfortable in bed, at least settled, I had every intention of sleeping on the couch. It would be the best thing for both of us and make tomorrow's impending separation much easier. I turned to pick up the spare blanket, hoping to get out of the room before Max realized my intention.

  "Stay!"

  I froze, my fingers tightening reflexively in the folds of the blanket. I responded without looking at him. "It's better if I don't. It will only drag things out."

  Max's voice sounded slightly slurred. "Please. Just until I fall asleep." I'd given him some of my painkillers, and they seemed to have done the trick. At least they'd alleviated the pain enough for him to make it up the stairs and into a hot shower. They'd also made him drowsy, so I supposed it wouldn't hurt to stay for a few minutes. That's probably all it would take for him to slip into a drugged sleep. I let go of the blanket and spun around, finding Max's bleary gaze locked on me. "Okay.

  Only until you fall asleep though.” I removed the protective boot but left the rest of my clothes on as I eased myself under the covers, my gaze fixed on the ceiling.

  "What will happen to you... after tomorrow?"

  I contemplated Max's question. It was only natural for him to need some reassurance now that he knew exactly who Dmitry was. "I'll be sent back to Russia. Dmitry has an estate with lots of people there to keep an eye on me. He still has an investment in the show, so I expect he will stay for a while, which is good for me." I looked sideways, forcing a smile. "It means that I will get some time without him, which is always good."

  "And then what?"

  I had a feeling he'd see straight through any lie I told, so I told the truth. "Until I can dance again, there'll be parties. Other ways he can extract his pound of flesh from me." Max looked like he wanted to throw up. "It's fine, Max. I'm used to it. This has been a nice holiday, but that's all it ever was and all it was ever going to be." There was no way I was going to share those moments with Max where I'd led myself to believe that Dmitry had moved on. In retrospect, they'd been nothing but a fantasy, a fairy tale that had no place in the life I'd chosen.

  "You can't let him force you to dance until you're properly healed."

  The old Valentin would have snapped at him. He would have hidden his worries about the subject behind a studied wall of indifference. But even though I was intent on putting distance between me and Max, he wouldn't have been convinced by it. "I know. I'll think of something. I'll have some tim
e when I'm back in Russia to come up with some sort of plan that will convince him. He's not going to ruin my dance career."

  A hand crept over the sheet, fastening around mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed back. For a moment, there was only silence until Max broke it.

  "I can't believe that tomorrow we're going to have to..."

  I held his hand tighter, tears pricking my eyes. I blinked rapidly until it passed. Valentin Bychkov never cried. I'd spent years actively avoiding anything that could make me happy because I'd always known it would be ripped away from me. It was my own fault for breaking my own rules. By the time I'd composed myself enough to speak, Max was already asleep.

  Even though I knew it was a bad idea, I stayed, lying next to him and listening to the sound of his steady breathing until I couldn't stay awake any longer.

  * * * *

  Max wasn't handling things well. He'd ignored everything I'd put in front of him, the toast and tea completely untouched. I wished I could put it down to his physical state, his face already turning a distinctive shade of purply blue, but I knew it was more to do with the impending separation. The only thing I could do was pretend I hadn't noticed. If I admitted I was hurting too, it would make it worse. In many ways, it would have been better if he'd left me lying on that stage. We wouldn't have spent days getting an insight into the way things could have been. I put a false note of cheeriness into my voice. "Where's a place near here where I can buy makeup?"

  Max lifted his head from where he'd been studying the cold tea. "Makeup?"

  "Da! Dmitry doesn't like to see me without it"—I lifted one shoulder in a shrug—"and I'm meant to be worming my way back into his good books, so I figured I'd stop off on the way and get some."

  "Dmitry's a fucking idiot!"

  Despite the turmoil going on inside me, that comment still managed to raise a smile. "Maybe so. But that's not helpful, Max." His mouth turned down at the corners, and he looked even more miserable. As soon as I was out of that door, he was probably going to get stinking drunk, and all my good work was going to be in vain. "Is there someone you can call to come over here? Until your mobility is better?"

  He'd gone back to staring at the tea. "My mum. But she'll want to know what happened."

  I spun his phone toward him on the table. "Call her now. And tell her the truth. Tell her you got yourself mixed up in something you shouldn't have, but that everything's going to be all right now."

  He stared at the phone but made no move to pick it up. "There's a pharmacy around the corner." At my confused stare, he elaborated. "It sells makeup."

  "Thanks." I needed to get out of there. This was doing neither of us any good. "I hate to ask, but I don't have any money... for a cab or for the makeup. Could I possibly borrow some?"

  Max gestured toward his wallet in the center of the table. "Take as much as you need."

  I hesitated with my hand halfway toward it. "I doubt I will be able to pay you back."

  He looked hurt that I'd even suggested it. "It doesn't matter."

  I opened it and took a few notes out, enough to cover the cab fare and hopefully buy makeup as well. I didn't need anything expensive, just enough to convince Dmitry that I'd made an effort.

  Max watched with a haunted expression as I used his phone to dial for a cab, asking for it to come as soon as it could and repeating the words "five minutes" when they were relayed to me. A feeling had started up in my chest. A feeling I'd never had before. It was an unpleasant sensation, a tightness as if something was being constricted, and all I knew was that it got worse the longer I looked at Max. I needed air. I needed to be outside. I didn't care that the cab wasn't there yet. I'd walk to meet it if that's what it took, but I couldn't stay a moment longer. I dropped a kiss on Max's lips, the temptation to feel them one last time against my own winning out over common sense. Then I limped toward the door. I was wearing Max's clothes, clutching Max's money, but it felt as if I was leaving every part of him behind. I took one last look at him, muttered something about him taking care of himself, and then I hobbled away as fast as my injured ankle could carry me.

  * * * *

  I'd done the best I could with the makeup, the dim light in the cab, in combination with the small hand mirror I'd purchased, not exactly lending itself to making myself beautiful. But it would have to do. I stood for a moment outside the hotel, attempting to gather my thoughts. The feeling in my chest hadn't gone away. I'd been wrong in believing it would fade once Max was out of my sight. If anything, it had only gotten worse.

  I took a deep breath, forcing every bit of weakness, every bit of softness I'd allowed to creep into my life over the last few days out of me. I had to be harder. I had to be stronger before I faced Dmitry. He might own me, but he'd never been able to push me down completely, and he never would. I walked into the hotel.

  I hadn't been absent long enough for anyone at the reception desk to think to question me, or maybe Dmitry had already told them to expect me. Whatever the reason, I was able to walk straight past them to the elevator with no more than a nod on both sides. The time it took to travel the few floors was excruciating. There was always a chance that Dmitry wouldn't be there. He could be at the theater. In that case, I would have time to get a new room key from the reception and get changed into clothes Dmitry would find more agreeable, as well as redo my makeup. That hope was dashed as soon as the elevator door opened to reveal Igor leaning casually against the wall opposite.

  I didn't attempt to hide the loathing in my eyes. Max hadn't been sure whether Mikhail and Igor had participated in his beating, but they'd both been there. Therefore, in my mind, they were complicit, no matter how ridiculous that reasoning might be. They were paid by Dmitry. They did whatever he told them to do. They always had, and they always would. It was a simple fact of life. "Is he here?"

  Igor nodded, gesturing along the corridor toward Dmitry's suite and making a rare attempt to speak English. "You want me... tell him... you are arrived?"

  I shook my head. "No. I'll tell him myself." I squared my shoulders and limped toward the door at the end of the corridor. This was a man I'd been dealing with for the last ten years, but it didn't get any easier. I knocked once and then let myself in without waiting for a response. Both Dmitry and Mikhail were bent over the desk, examining some sort of paperwork. They both straightened at my entrance, Mikhail staring at me blankly while Dmitry's expression was colder and more calculated. "Well, well, look who it is. The prodigal son returns to his rightful place."

  I stood tall and straight, lifting my chin and refusing to show weakness in front of him. "Dmitry, it is good to see you."

  He came out from behind the desk and walked toward me, an exaggerated frown on his face. "Is it? Because..." He paused for dramatic effect. "You have been gone so long. I kept waiting for the day you would come to your senses and return to where you belonged, and it never came. Instead, I had"—he waved a hand in the air—"to concoct an elaborate plan to send a message to you." He clutched his hand to his chest. "A distasteful message that it pained me to send. Such a messy business. And completely unnecessary."

  I bit the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood with the effort of not reacting to Max's beating being termed a messy business and Dmitry's pretense that he hadn't thoroughly enjoyed every minute. "You said you didn't want to see me again. I was giving you a chance to calm down."

  Dmitry's gaze flicked disparagingly down my body, taking in the sweatpants, baggy T-shirt, and the trainer I wore on my good foot. "And you have come back looking like a homeless person?"

  "I had no clothes. I had to borrow some."

  His gaze moved to the protective boot on my foot, his nostrils flaring. "How long?"

  "The doctors said months. They said—"

  "We will consult more doctors. We will get a second opinion."

  I turned my gaze to Mikhail. I don't know why. It wasn't as if I expected to get any help from that quarter. I was just the mouthy dancer he'd
been tasked with shadowing for the last year. There was a strange expression on his face though, one I wasn't used to seeing. But as soon as he noticed my attention was on him, he masked it.

  Dmitry was still talking. "I don't see much groveling. I assume your... what word shall we use to describe him... I guess casual fuck does not work as you were cohabiting with him for days." His hand shot out, turning my head to one side, his eyes narrowing as he studied my neck. I knew exactly what he was looking at: the marks Max had left there during our passionate lovemaking. Max liked to leave marks, and I'd discovered that, in perfect synchronicity, I liked to be marked. "I see you were quite the whore for him."

  I snapped. There was no one in the world who knew the right words to enrage me quite as quickly as Dmitry did. After all, he'd been practicing it for years. "Better to be a whore for him than for you!"

  Dmitry's hand flew out so quickly that there was no chance of avoiding it, the back catching me full across the mouth and the ring on his finger splitting my lip. I staggered back with the force of the blow, tasting blood. Despite my precarious balance, I somehow managed to stay on my feet. It was rare that he stooped to physical violence, but then I was usually more careful not to drive him to that point. Hand cupped over my face, attempting to stem the flow of blood, I sought to regain some control over the situation, letting the lies spill off my tongue. "I'm sorry, Dmitry. That was a truly awful thing for me to say! I didn't mean it. Please forgive me." I was pleased with the amount of desperation I'd managed to squeeze into my voice. I needed to convince him I was sincere, in order to undo some of the damage I'd caused by accusing him of treating me like a whore. "I know you've only ever had my best interests at heart. I really believed you were done with me. You looked so disappointed when I fell onstage." I managed to squeeze a tear out, knowing how pleased Dmitry would be at forcing the rare show of emotion out of me. "I know how hard you've worked to give me that opportunity in the show, so I can only guess how devastating it must have been for you to realize that all of your... no, our plans had been ruined."