by Alexis Daria
“What about Dimitri and your car?”
Good question. “I’ll figure it out later.”
Hollywood, get ready. Natasha was coming home.
41
Dimitri chewed on his fingers while Alex pored over the pages in the Idea Book, focusing on Dom Navsegda. He made notes on his laptop occasionally and didn’t speak much. Even though they’d pitched Dom Navsegda before, Dimitri had completely reworked it, and Alex hadn’t seen the new version.
The tension was driving Dimitri crazy. In his mind, he got up and paced, smacking the walls. It was something he’d done as a kid when he was anxious, or impatient. Walking up and down the hallway, running his hands along the walls, smacking his palms on the doorjambs, until his mother handed him a soapy sponge and told him to wash his dirty fingerprints off her walls.
Dance and sports had been perfect outlets for a kid who hated sitting still. And when he did have to sit still, he resorted to other nervous ticks, like chewing on his fingers and nails. It was a nasty habit, one he’d finally broken years before. He’d managed to refrain last night only by keeping his hands full of Natasha’s lean body, but she wasn’t here now, and there was no stopping him.
Finally, Alex closed the binder. “Get your hands out of your mouth,” he said in a mild voice.
Caught. Dimitri slammed his hand on the table. “That’s really all you have to say?”
Alex stared at him a moment longer. He had the best poker face of everyone in the Kovalenko family. No one else could hide their feelings very long. But then Alex’s face broke into a smile, and he reached across the table to slap Dimitri on the arm.
“This is great,” he said. “Really fucking great.”
“Yeah? You think so?”
Alex flipped open the book again, made a note of something on his laptop, then nodded. “I do. You’ve always had good ideas, and the one we did back in New York all those years ago was really good. But this one goes way beyond that. It’s way better than when we tried it the first time. This is going to be a hit.”
“If we can get the funding.” It was the thing that had hung over him for years. Back then, he’d begged and borrowed from everyone he knew, sinking all of his own savings and earnings from Aliens Don’t Dance into the project. No one had recouped their money on the investment, but over time, Dimitri had paid back every single one of his family members who’d believed in him, thanks to Alex’s meticulous financial records. But when they’d approached backers in LA a few years ago, they’d turned him down. He’d be damned if he let that happen again.
So he hadn’t tried. Natasha had cut right to the heart of it. He hadn’t even put himself in the position of having anyone say no to him.
“We’ll get funding.” Alex was typing again. “This is too good. Only an idiot would turn this down. It has that ‘same but different’ quality the execs are always looking for, and it’s the kind of show only you could do. It has your stamp all over it. If we get the pitch together immediately, we can line up some meetings before I go back to Jersey. Where’s your assistant?”
“I fired him.”
“What? Why?” Alex scowled at him. “I interviewed two dozen people to find him for you.”
“He was scared of me.”
“That means he was smart.”
“I can’t have someone around all the time who’s scared of me.” Dimitri gestured around the bistro. “No one at Kras is scared of me. Sometimes I wish they were, but it’s easier to work with people who aren’t stuttering and shaking when they talk to me. The assistant you hired did that.”
It just hit him. Natasha had never done that. Maybe it was because she’d known who he was from the movie, but even from their first meeting, she’d never cowered before him. She was quiet, and she followed his lead, but it wasn’t out of fear. She’d seen him yell and slam things, and she responded as Alex did, completely unfazed. And she still wanted to be around him.
Alex just shook his head. “We’re going to have to hire some people, if we’re going to get this going before my kid is born.”
“Right. My godchild. How’s Marina?”
“She’s good. Not much in the way of morning sickness anymore, which is why I felt okay flying out here. Her sister is staying with her while I’m gone.”
Good. Marina was good for Alex, who tended toward more serious moods, although his sarcastic side came out with Dimitri. Marina brought out a softer side of him, with her bright laughter and sweet demeanor. She teased Alex, pulled him out of his shell. They would make good parents.
It got Dimitri thinking. What did others see when he and Natasha were together? There weren’t many people he could ask. Hardly anyone had seen them together. But his brother and the Krasavitsa staff seemed to think they’d be good together. They saw something even he hadn’t been able to see for too long.
Natasha was right for him. He’d known it from the moment he first danced with her, first held her in his arms and moved with her in a silent rehearsal space.
Maybe he was right for her, too. He’d have to show her how right they could be together.
But she was probably still at home packing. Real life had intruded on the bubble they’d created over the last few weeks, and she was fleeing like a scared rabbit. Again.
Alex was typing with one hand while flipping through the Idea Book pages with the other.
“You really think we can do this?” Dimitri asked.
His cousin stared at him over the laptop screen, eyes dark and intense like they got when he was working. “Yes. Don’t be stupid.” He went back to typing.
“I just mean—”
“Mitya, cut it out. We’re doing the show. It’s brilliant.”
“Really?”
“I’m not going to sit here inflating your ego. It’s too big as it is. And if you make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke, I’ll murder you right here in your own restaurant and then Nik will be my child’s godfather.”
“But don’t you think—”
Alex rolled his eyes and shut the laptop. “Stop making excuses. What the hell is wrong with you? None of the things that stood in our way before are there now. This is the best idea you’ve ever had, and you’re more famous than you’ve ever been, thanks to that dumb show. What’s the problem?”
Dimitri sucked his teeth. Maybe if he told Alex the problem, his cousin would have a solution. “It’s that dumb show. That’s what’s in the way.”
“Why?” Alex frowned. “Didn’t you turn in your contract? I looked it over for you weeks ago. It’s good to go.”
“I haven’t turned it in yet.”
“For god’s sake, why?”
Because it felt like failure? Because they couldn’t do what they were about to do without it, and he hated to admit how much he needed it?
Those had been the reasons before, but now, he had a whole new reason that outweighed all the others.
And Alex’s faith scared him. What if they failed again? What if they couldn’t do it before Marina gave birth, and he lost his biggest supporter? It would all fall apart without Alex. Dimitri came up with the ideas, but Alex worked tirelessly behind the scenes to make them happen.
Alex had helped him since the beginning. Lining up ballroom dance competitions, and making sure Dimitri had transportation and costumes. Securing auditions, including the one that led to Aliens Don’t Dance. Every step of the way, Alex had been there, pushing him, cursing him, believing in him.
Instead of answering Alex’s question, Dimitri asked one of his own. “Why do you do all this?” He gestured at the laptop, the Idea Book. “Why do you help me?”
Alex gave him his patented unimpressed stare. “Because you’re family, stupid. And you’re more talented than I’ll ever be. Our parents brought us here to make a difference. That’s what my dad used to say, remember? ‘The Kovalenkos in America. People are going to know our name.’ I don’t have the talent to do it, but you do. If I can help, it’s just as good. Besides, I hate the spotlight
, and you eat that shit up.”
“You don’t do this for Nik, though.” Dimitri didn’t know why he was harping on this, but suddenly it seemed important to know why Alex was here, why he had always been here whenever Dimitri needed him. “Nik’s a performer, too.”
Alex shrugged and opened the laptop again. “Nik’s not as serious about it. He doesn’t remember what it was like before we moved here. He doesn’t know how good he has it. If he were serious, I’d help him, too. But he doesn’t want help. He doesn’t see how much more we can be and do when we work together. He’s stuck on doing it himself.”
Alex could have been talking about Natasha, and it was only then that Dimitri noticed the similarities between Tasha and Nik. They were even the same age.
And just like that, he got her. She wasn’t ever going to be okay with him trying to fix things for her. But he could help her do it herself.
And then he had a plan.
“The Dance Off threatened to fire Natasha for living with me.”
Alex’s eyebrows raised. “Huh. That’s messed up.”
“She’s trying to move out. I was thinking, if we can get this show going, we can hire her as choreographer.”
“I thought you were going to choreograph it.”
Dimitri shook her head. “She’s better than I am. She’s amazing. And she gets the show.”
Alex smirked. “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you admit someone is better than you are at something. Must be true love.”
“Shut up. But if we can get this going before the next season starts, we can hire her, and she can quit The Dance Off.”
Eyes narrowed, Alex leaned in. “And then she can live with you and it won’t be a conflict of interest? She’d be dating the boss.”
“But it would be different. We’d be a team.”
“And what about you? You’d stay on The Dance Off?”
“Yeah. It’ll build publicity for Dom Navsegda, and make it a bigger hit, and we’ll both be successful from the new show.”
“Hmm.” Alex pressed his lips together and turned back to the computer.
“What? It’s a good plan, right?” He didn’t want to quit. Well, he did, but not now. One more season, while he got Dom Navsegda off the ground. He needed it. Without The Dance Off, everything would be too uncertain. How would they get the financial backing, the publicity, to make it a hit otherwise?
“Sure, man. Good plan.”
Alex’s face had settled back to its impassive lines. Dimitri was sure he was lying. But he couldn’t think of another solution that worked best all around. He got to his feet.
“You good here? I’m going to go get her, tell her she can quit and do this instead. I want her involved in the pitch process.”
Alex didn’t look up. “Yeah, you do that.”
As Dimitri walked away, he was pretty sure he heard Alex mutter “idiot” behind his back. He didn’t turn back to ask why. His attention was set to Natasha, and he couldn’t wait to see her again, to tell her he’d found a solution for their dilemma.
And to make sure she was still there.
42
The first thing Natasha noticed was the smell. Her apartment no longer smelled like hers. The scents of adobo, coconut oil, and ginger had faded from the air, replaced or overpowered by the impersonal smells of fresh paint, plaster, and the lingering odor of whatever had been used to drive back the infestation.
This apartment had been her home for years. It was the place where she could relax, the place she could navigate in the dark. But now, it looked foreign to her. Plastic covered the floors and all her furniture, none of which were in the right spots. Most of her stuff was still here, but now, instead of looking like her things, her belongings that had once been so important to her, it was all just . . . stuff. She’d lived just fine without it for weeks.
Uneasiness slowed her steps as she ventured further inside, her footsteps crinkling the huge sheets of brown paper covering the carpet. A fine layer of plaster dust coated all of the plastic-covered furniture, and hung thickly in the air. Natasha opened Gina’s door first, where she’d stashed all her shit before leaving. It, too, had been painted, her stuff moved to the center of the room and a giant plastic tarp thrown over the pile.
Not Gina’s room anymore. Not Gina’s apartment anymore. Her roommate, her best friend, wasn’t ever coming back. Gina was gone, off in New York City, or Alaska, or wherever she and Stone found themselves at the moment.
A sinking sensation in her gut weighed her down, but she pushed through, maneuvering around the now unfamiliar living room toward her own bedroom.
The door was ajar. Natasha nudged it open further and stepped inside.
Her room, her haven, was bare and white. A fresh coat of paint masked the repairs, and the smell was stronger in here. Without her tall lamps, it was dark, but enough light poured in from the curtainless window to show they’d done a good job on the ceiling, fixing the hole and smoothing over the damage from the leak. They’d even installed fresh wall-to-wall carpeting. It would be like moving into a brand new apartment.
Once, the thought would have filled her with excitement. Getting the whole place painted without having to do it herself? It was a renter’s dream. But the thought of filling this cold, alien space with her things no longer appealed. Refilling her closet would be exhausting, just from the sheer volume of her wardrobe. Why on earth did she own so much clothing?
Dimitri was right. She had to take a good hard look at her spending and figure out why she was buying so much and living beyond her means.
But that was a problem for another day, and she didn’t want to think about Dimitri now. Or how comfy and inviting his bed was. Or how he had a pool and a private dance studio space. They couldn’t continue.
She had her apartment back. Calling it “home” at the moment just didn’t feel right. But she had a place to live that was hers and hers alone. No one could accuse her of awful things now.
And she could live here rent-free for the next two months. She’d be able to recover before the season began without having to hustle. She could teach a few of the less strenuous classes so she could pay her other bills and buy food, but once she was settled in, she’d take a look at her expenses and pare down. She probably didn’t need to pay for cable TV and all the streaming services.
And best of all, when her mother came to visit for the premiere, Natasha could show her that she had her own place with a guest room for Esmeralda and her friend to stay in. A guest room. For a family that had to portion off the living room to make a bedroom, a guest room was the height of luxury. When Natasha unpacked, she’d decorate and make this place look even nicer than before. Maybe then Esmeralda would see how well she was doing, and finally offer some praise.
Natasha limped into the kitchen, which would need a full scrub down. White footprints from the workers’ boots covered the tiles, and the dust had gotten everywhere.
Maybe this didn’t feel like home, but she would sure make it look like it was before her mother arrived.
Sliding her phone out of her back pocket, she sent Kevin a text. All looks good. You can bring everything up.
Kevin was chilling in the garage. She’d pointed out the luggage cart before she came up, so he could unload her bags onto it and bring them up in the elevator.
Before he arrived, she sent one more text, even though her muscles locked with tension, as if trying to stop her.
I need this job. I’m sorry.
43
Halfway up the stairs to Natasha’s apartment, Dimitri remembered her building had an elevator.
Too late now. Didn’t matter. Blood pounded in his veins, amped by anger.
Anger was easier. Easier than fear, easier than betrayal, easier than loneliness. The phrase nichto ne vechno ran though his mind. Nothing lasts forever.
No, damn it. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He wouldn’t lose her. Fuck The Dance Off and her producer for their meddling. Whatever had happened, he
would fix it, and he’d bring Natasha home.
He was convinced now. Home was what his house had become over the days she’d lived there, a place they created together. All these years, he’d been looking for a sense of home again, and he’d found it—with her. She was home to him. She’d given him a feeling of stability that had been missing from his life for twenty-five years. And he had the feeling, or at least the hope, that he’d been able to do the same for her, that his efforts to show her that he loved her, that she was worthy and deserving of love, had succeeded.
Regardless, he wasn’t giving up without a fight.
When he got to her apartment, his chest heaved with exertion and emotion. The door was open, but he pounded a fist on it anyway as he entered.
Five heads whipped around in his direction. Natasha sat on the floor in the center of the living room, flanked by Kevin Ray and Lori Kim. In the kitchen stood two other pro dancers from The Dance Off, Jess Davenport and Mila Ivanova.
Shit. An audience.
“Everybody out!” he barked.
Kevin’s brow lowered. He opened his mouth, but Natasha laid a hand on his arm.
“It’s fine. Just give us a few minutes, please.”
Lori got to her feet. “Let’s go to the froyo place on the corner,” she suggested in a nervous voice, and sidled past Dimitri without looking at him.
The other dancers followed him out into the hallway. Kevin stared him down, Jess seemed unconcerned, and Mila muttered in Russian, “Don’t be an asshole.”
Dimitri shut the apartment door behind them, then went to help Natasha to her feet. “Tasha, what the hell are you doing?”
The words tumbled from her lips in a nervous rush. “They gave me my apartment back, rent-free for the next two months. I need the job, and I need this place. I’m staying here. I’ll make arrangements to get my car back soon.”
“You can get the car when you come back—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Don’t ask me.” She wouldn’t even look at him, keeping her face turned away. “If you ask, I won’t be strong enough to say no, so please, if you love me, don’t ask.”