by Alexis Daria
After a few moments, his arm moved, rubbing up and down her back, his hand a heavy, hot pressure through the thin fabric of her sleep tank. Then his chin rubbed against the top of her head, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. He was slowly waking up.
“Buenos días,” she whispered against his skin.
“Dobroye utro,” he replied. He leaned away so he could look at her face. “You slept okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I . . . thank you.”
Instead of the joke she expected in response, he wrapped his arms around her. “Anything you need.”
They fell into an easy rhythm after that. For the next few days, he was attentive to her needs without smothering, and she made an effort to be more pleasant. She did physical therapy exercises for her ankle, and when he was out at the restaurant, Lori and Kevin visited to keep her company and fill her in on gossip.
She didn’t call her mother or Gina.
Miracle of miracles, her injury had escaped the notice of paparazzi, and Kevin claimed no one at The Dance Off knew she was living with Dimitri.
“Staying,” she corrected him. “I’m staying here. Temporarily.”
Her bank account told a different story. As July ticked into August, all her bills were due, including rent on the apartment she couldn’t currently live in. But since her stuff was still there, she had to pay. She had just enough to cover everything, but after missing so much work, she was back in jeopardy. On top of that, she couldn’t find anyone to cover her children’s ballet class.
Over dinner the night before the class—provided by Dimitri’s restaurant—she mentioned it in passing.
“Will you be around in the morning? I’m not sure I can drive yet, and I need to get to Santa Monica to teach a dance class.”
His expression turned stormy and he dropped his fork onto his steak. “No. You haven’t healed enough.”
“Relax, Macho.” She sipped from her wine glass. The man really did have an excellent selection of wine. “It’s a ballet class for little kids. I won’t have to do much.”
He cut his meat with angry movements. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t cancel, and I can’t find anyone to cover for me. I have to go in.”
He chewed quickly. “I’ll go with you.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she held back a laugh, because he looked perfectly serious. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll go with you. You sit on the side with your foot elevated, instructing the class, and I’ll demonstrate.”
She shouldn’t say yes. It was ridiculous. He was big and bearded and gruff. Her students were tiny and high-spirited and giggly. It would be a disaster.
Or, it would be adorable.
“Okay,” she said.
He nodded and forked string beans into his mouth. It was settled.
24
Dimitri was cleaning up their dinner plates when the restaurant called.
“Yeah, what?” He tucked the phone into the crook of his neck as he loaded the dishwasher.
“Your mother is here.”
Dimitri cursed and closed his eyes. “Put her on.”
“Privet, moy syn.”
He bit back a sigh and switched over to Russian. “Zdravstvui, Mama. What are you doing in Los Angeles?”
“The weather is beautiful. Does one need a reason to visit here?”
Okay, so that’s how this was going to go. “Is Papa with you?”
“No, he went to Florida to visit Nik on his tour.”
Divide and conquer, huh? “Why are you at the restaurant?”
“I was hungry. Come meet me.”
He’d just left there a few hours earlier, and he’d already eaten, but he couldn’t say no to his mother. “Fine. But I can’t stay long. You have a hotel already?”
“Yes, a good one. Don’t worry, I won’t intrude on your love nest.”
Ne bylo pechali. His love nest? “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No, of course not. See you soon, Mama.”
He dashed into his room for shoes and sat by Natasha in the living room to put them on.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Where are you going?”
“Emergency at the restaurant.”
“You were just there.”
“This can’t wait. I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon.”
Her lips pursed in a worried frown. “I have to leave early tomorrow for the dance class.”
“I won’t be late.” He kissed her forehead, paused because he wanted to do more, then thought better of it. If his mother got tired of waiting, she’d come here. “I promise.”
She shrugged and turned back to her laptop. “See ya.”
He ran out to the car and prayed for no traffic. He felt bad leaving Natasha at home alone. He knew she was bored, and pissed off at having to sit around doing nothing. She was used to working all the time and wasn’t the kind of person who handed idleness well.
If he could convince her to move in, to let him take care of her, she wouldn’t have to work so much. Sure, she could still work as much or as little as she wanted, but he didn’t think the constant cycle of money-making gigs made her happy. He got it, and he’d been in that position himself, but now he had enough sources of income that he could live comfortably and take care of the people he loved. Really, it was all he wanted out of life. He loved dance, loved being a dancer, but it was secondary to his love for his family and desire to make them comfortable.
Natasha fell into that category now, whether she believed it or not.
She obviously didn’t believe it. But she hadn’t pulled away from him, so he was trying to give her space. Being there, but not pushing. When he pushed, she retreated.
But now they were locked in this weird stalemate. She didn’t seem like she was about to run away, which made him happy, but their relationship was no closer to where he wanted it to be, and that worried him.
What if it never got to where he wanted it to be? What if she just didn’t want that with him?
It was the fear that kept him from laying all his cards on the table. It was the same fear that had him avoiding his cousin, Alex.
What if he put himself out there and was rejected?
He didn’t know how to proceed with Natasha. Did she need more space? She seemed fine with sharing his room, but she’d made a really big deal about it in the beginning. Maybe she wanted her own space back, but didn’t want to tell him.
Bringing his mother into the equation would not help matters, that he was sure of. Natasha had enough issues with her own mother. He didn’t know what the woman was like, but his mother was likely the opposite. Oksana Kovalenko did not hold back her opinions, and he’d gotten his pushiness from her. If Oksana met Natasha and liked her, she’d be planning their wedding by the end of the week.
And while he liked that idea, he’d bet Natasha wouldn’t, and it would ruin all the progress they’d made. As much as he wanted his mother to meet the woman of his dreams, it wasn’t the right time. He had to find out how Natasha felt first.
So, ask her, Alex would say.
Alex was the pragmatic one. Dimitri was the dramatic one, although he preferred the term “passionate.” It was the kind of thing he might have asked Alex about, if he weren’t actively avoiding him.
Stop running away from your dreams, Alex’s most recent text had read. Asshole.
He pulled into the lot next to Krasavitsa and jumped out of the car, tossing the keys to Raul, the lead valet.
“Back again?” Raul asked.
“No rest for the wicked.” Dimitri went in through the front, nodding at everyone as he passed.
His mother was seated at one of the best tables. It boasted both a full view of the restaurant and relative privacy.
“Mama.” He leaned down to greet her.
“You walk in here like you own the place.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“I do.” He sat across from her. “Now, you want
to tell me why you’re really here?”
“I told you, I’m having dinner.” She spread her hands to indicate the assortment of plates on the table.
“What, did you order one of everything?”
She winked. “I know the owner. So, let’s get to the real reason why I’m here.”
He held his breath. Here it came.
“I want to meet her.”
He exhaled. Yup, there it was. “Not yet.”
His mother’s brows—waxed to within an inch of their life, since they were naturally as thick as his own—arched. “Why not?”
“She’s . . .” One of the waiters appeared with an extra wine glass and set it at his elbow. Dimitri poured from the open bottle of red on the table, just to have something to do. “Skittish.” There. That was the perfect word for Natasha.
His mother frowned and repeated the word back to him. “Puglivaya? What does she have to be skittish about? You will make a great husband. I made sure of that.”
“I know that. And you know that. But she . . . she doesn’t trust me.”
His mother frowned and munched on a french fry. They were her weakness, and he’d grown up with a healthy appreciation for fries. Krasavitsa made excellent fries, crafted to his specifications. He trusted his head chef, but not with fries. They were skinny, salty, slightly crunchy, and served in a cone with ketchup and garlic aioli on the side.
“Why doesn’t she trust you?” His mother pinned him with a shrewd gaze. “Have you given her reason not to?”
Dimitri stole some of her fries and scooped up a healthy dollop of aioli with them. “I guess so.”
Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to know.”
“It’s better that you don’t.”
“So, what are you doing to show her that she can trust you?”
He finished chewing, lest she tell him not to talk with his mouth full. “I’m trying to show her.”
“Odobreniye.” She shrugged. “But how?”
“What, specifically?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she sprained her ankle.”
“How? Is she also a dancer?”
If he wasn’t careful, his mother would ask enough questions to guess Natasha’s identity. She watched The Dance Off. Lori Kim and Danny Johnson were her favorites, but she certainly knew who Natasha was, and would likely have opinions about her. “Um, yes.”
“Do I know her?”
Chert. “Mama . . .”
She held up her hands. “Fine. You tell me when you’re ready. Continue.”
“Right. So, she sprained her ankle, and I’m taking care of her.”
His mother’s expression softened. “That’s sweet of you.”
“I’m trying to show her she doesn’t have to be alone. But she thinks she does. She doesn’t want my help.”
“Women want to be independent, Mitya. She’s not going to want you because she needs you to make her life good, but because her life is already good and you make it better.”
He sat back in his seat and mulled that over. “You’re saying I shouldn’t want her to need my help?”
“I’m saying, if she wants to prove she can do it on her own, she doesn’t want you to prove that she can’t.”
Frustrated, he swirled the wine in his glass and scowled at the soft light reflecting through it. “So, what do I do? Nothing? Don’t help her? She’s in a bad situation. She needs help.”
“Are you sure?”
When he blinked at her, she looked away and sipped her wine.
“Am I sure about what? That she needs help?” When his mother didn’t answer, he leaned in. “She does need help. She’s broke, her apartment is under construction, and she’s injured. I’m doing everything I can to help her, short of giving her money, and that’s only because I know she won’t accept it. She needs help.”
His mother was immune to his stubbornness. After all, she was ten times more stubborn than he was. She only shrugged and said again, “Are you sure that’s what she needs?”
He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. “I’m . . .” He had been sure. But now that his mother had pointed it out, his brain started poking at the problem from different angles.
An uneasy feeling spread through his gut. What if he were going about this all wrong? Trying to anticipate and meet all of Natasha’s needs. She needed a home, he gave it. She needed a ride, he drove her. He was trying to show her he cared, but she wasn’t buying it. What could he do differently? What did she really need?”
I don’t want your help, she’d said. I have to prove I can do it.
What else had she said?
You’re going to let me care about you.
You shouldn’t.
Why?
Because I don’t deserve it.
Those words had haunted him. And now they gave him his answer.
“I have to show her . . . that she deserves to be loved.”
“Ah.” His mother smiled and reached for his hand across the table. He clasped her small fingers in his big ones, stunned as always that his larger-than-life mother was, in reality, a small woman. Her eyes glistened, and she smiled like she was proud of him. “And how do you do that?”
“I guess it’s not by bullying her into physical therapy exercises.”
Once again, Oksana looked to the ceiling for patience. It was something she did a lot around him. “Figure it out, Mitya. I believe in you. Now, drop me off at my hotel and go back to your woman.”
As they left the restaurant and waited for Raul to bring the car around, Dimitri gave his mother a sidelong glance. “Did you really fly all the way to California to ask me about this?”
She shrugged. “I had the miles. And besides, you’ve been ignoring your cousin, so why should I think you’d have this conversation unless I forced you into it?”
He shook his head and took the keys from Raul when he pulled up. After they climbed in and his mother buckled up, she said, “I still want to meet her.”
He sighed. “Soon.”
He hoped.
25
Little Lilac Dance Studio was located in Beverly Grove, not far from Dimitri’s house. Natasha briefed Dimitri on the class while he drove.
“I met Lilah, the owner, after I moved here. We were roommates for about three weeks, before Gina got here, but we kept in touch. After I started working on Everybody, she asked me to teach a children’s class during the off-season. It’s good promo for the school.”
“So, she’s using you?”
She shook her head. “I mean, she’s paying me. Not a lot, but . . . This isn’t a class for training the next ballet prodigies. It’s about having fun through movement. And I . . . I can’t explain it.”
His gaze cut over to hers for a split-second. “Try?”
Closing her eyes, she tapped into the feeling of being at Little Lilac. No, it didn’t pay much, certainly not as much as some of her other gigs, but she’d been doing it for years, and she enjoyed it.
“The kids are adorable and enthusiastic. I teach them the basics, but we also play games, sing songs, and do arts and crafts activities. With every other class I teach, the people are there with an agenda. These kids . . . they just want to have fun. And . . . they love me.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, without looking at her, “Of course they do.”
She ducked her head. Until his declaration in the living room a few days ago, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had said they loved her, except for these children. Abuela used to say it, but Mami? Never.
She’d be better off staying quiet for the rest of the ride, but he’d pulled the lid off her feelings, and there was still more she wanted to share. “With everything else I’ve done for work since moving to Los Angeles, Little Lilac is the one that feeds my soul.”
“That’s good. This business will chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful. How young are the girls?”
“This is the three-four-five class. And
they aren’t all girls. There are two boys in the class, too. We call them ‘friends,’ as opposed to gendered terms.”
He nodded and didn’t question it.
Nerves fluttered in her belly as they parked in the tiny lot next to the studio. Lilah had won money through a talent competition and used it to open the studio. It was her passion, in a way dancing professionally had never been.
Natasha envied her that a little, the same way Gina’s dreams and drive sometimes made her feel inadequate for not being as ambitious.
“Don’t you want more, Tash?” Gina used to ask. Natasha always gave a flippant shrug in reply, and said something along the lines of, “More than paying my bills and living large? What else is there?”
Inside, though, she envied their dreams, their direction, their sense of hope.
Hope. Thanks to Esmeralda, she’d locked that urge away a long time ago. What was the use in hoping for more? In wanting more?
But as Dimitri came around and helped her out of the passenger seat, handing her the crutches one at a time, her heart fluttered with something suspiciously like longing.
Natasha slammed it back down. No use longing for something she’d never have. Sure, he wanted to help her now. How long would that last? It wasn’t worth entertaining the idea.
And anyway, they had a ballet class to teach.
“Do you have any experience with this?” she asked, crutching her way over the gravel to the side entrance. At least Dimitri had stopped insisting on carrying her everywhere.
“You think I can’t teach a kids’ ballet class?”
“That’s not what I said.” She handed him the key to unlock the door. He held it open so she could hobble in. “I didn’t ask if you could, I asked if you have experience with this sort of class.”
“You wanna make a bet?”
She rolled her eyes and pointed to the locker where he could stash her purse. “What kind of bet?”