Dance of Deception

Chapter 34

34

LYRA

Naomi can't stop fidgeting.

She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing wrinkles that aren't there from her costume, adjusting the beading on the bodice, her fingers moving too quickly.

Milena watches her, arms crossed, smirking. “You keep that up, you’re going to tear the damn thing.”

Naomi exhales sharply. “It just… It has to be perfect.”

The dressing room is buzzing around us with frantic pre-performance energy.

It’s not opening night. We’re a long ways from that. But it's still a performance—the first preview of Swan Lake , for a small invited audience comprised of VIPs, Zakharova backers, and other “friends of the company”.

“You are perfect,” I tell her, stepping beside her. “You’re ready.”

Naomi shakes her head, her hands twitching at her sides. “I don't know. This is big.” Her voice lowers. “These are people who decide whether or not we have a future in this company.”

Milena rolls her eyes. “Okay, first of all, no they don’t. Secondly, you were cast in the role for a reason. You’re going to kill it.”

Naomi is always convinced she’s a fraud, that she’ll screw up. I’ve never met her father, but from what I gather, Congressman Kim is probably a huge part of that inferiority complex, even though Naomi is incredible.

“Yeah, well…” She looks down, fidgeting with her hands. “It might be my role for now …”

It’s worth mentioning that Naomi’s self-confidence has only taken another hit since Madame Kuzmina announced Dove as her understudy. Dove who is, no joke, really fucking good.

No better than Naomi, but try telling her that.

“Guys, I don’t…” Her face twists in the mirror. “This is a lot. I mean, the backers?—”

“You’re very talented.”

The three of us turn to see Dove standing behind us. She’s dressed and ready to go, as she’ll be dancing in the corps de ballet tonight, and her usual goth- Barbie aesthetic somehow looks even more intimidating in full stage makeup. Her pinkish-silver hair is skinned back in a tight bun, and her posture is calm, collected—like nerves are beneath her.

Naomi blinks, clearly taken aback. “I—thank you,” she says.

Dove just shrugs, smoothing a hand over her tutu. “Have fun out there.”

Naomi smiles. “Thanks.”

After Dove walks away. Milena slowly turns to us, her blonde brow arched.

“ Soooo , we like her now, yes?” She looks imploringly at Naomi. “ Can we like her? Please? She’s so fucking cool.”

Naomi blushes, rolling her eyes. “Why are you asking me? I think she’s great.”

Before I can say anything, someone clears their throat behind me.

“Ms. Barone?”

Bianca lifts her head from where she’s doing some last-minute stretching on the floor behind us. I follow her confused gaze to a young woman standing in the doorway, holding a huge bouquet of black roses.

“Yes?” she says, a puzzled look on her face. “But it’s actually Mrs. Drakos now.”

The woman with the flowers frowns. “Oh, sorry. This is for Barone?”

“Hey—dumb-dumb.”

I turn to scowl at Milena, who's elbowing me in the ribs. “What?”

“That’s you , bitch.”

Fuck me. It is .

“Uh, here!” I blurt, stepping forward.

The woman smiles and hands me the huge bouquet. “For you, then.”

Naomi lets out a low whistle. “That’s—dramatic.”

Milena smirks. “I wonder who those are from.”

I feel my face heat. I really wanted Carmine to be here tonight. But the performance tonight is only for high-level investors in the company. More to the point, this morning, he had to jet off to Chicago on business at the last minute.

But it’s fine. Again, it’s only a preview.

“Thank you,” I smile to the woman.

She glances around the room. “So, we’ll just bring in the rest, yeah?”

My brow furrows. “The rest?”

“Just a minute.”

She turns on her heel and walks out of the dressing room before I can ask what the hell she means. Then the door opens again, and she comes back in with another huge bouquet of black roses.

Two other women follow her, also holding bouquets.

Two more follow them .

What. The. Fuck.

By the time the five of them have made about four trips in each, the dressing room is drowning in gorgeous black roses.

And everyone is staring at me.

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s the subtle, small gestures that really keep a marriage together,” Milena deadpans.

Bianca walks over, a smirk on her face as she eyes bouquet number forty-three in my arms. “I did warn you he could get obsessive.”

The performance is flawless.

Naomi's Odette is innocent and lyrical, her Odile sharp and dramatic, every line of her body perfect. The thirty-two fouettés that she was so worried about go off without a hitch. Me, I let myself fall into the music, moving in perfect sync with the rest of the swans.

Midway through the last act, something shifts.

I feel it before I see it. A sensation that I’m being watched—which, yes, is stupid, given that I'm literally on stage in front of an audience.

But it’s not the feeling of being normal-watched.

It’s darker than that. Fiercer.

More intense.

I don’t dare break focus, but my heart beats faster, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

The next time I'm facing the audience, my gaze flicks into the house, and I see him.

Carmine.

Front row center, seated with the VIPs.

He came.

A wild tug ripples through me, and for the rest of the performance, my every movement is now heightened, electric.

After the final bows the curtain drops and I turn, walking quickly off stage into the darkened wings.

I startle when a tall figure steps out of the shadows in front of me, but my jangling pulse slows when I realize who it is.

Kir watches me with his usual smirk, clapping his hands slowly. “Magnificent performance,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

I smile a little stiffly at the powerful Bratva kingpin who also happens to own the very building we’re standing in.

Kir’s gaze flicks past me, nodding in the direction of the audience.

“I believe I saw your husband out there.”

The way he says it makes my stomach tighten.

“You know,” he continues casually, “this show was exclusively for VIPs and high- level backers of the company. That means an annual contribution of five million.”

He waits a beat, letting the words sink in.

“Oh…” My brow worries. “I'm sorry. I…I guess he just really wanted to see me?—”

“Carmine cut a check at the door.”

My eyes go wide.

Kir smiles. “So—yes, Lyra, I think he really wanted to see you dance tonight.”

I stand there in shock, my skin tingling as I try and wrap my head around what he just told me. Kir clears his throat, smiling as he runs a hand over his chiseled jaw.

“You can tell your husband that the board thanks him, and that his name will be added to the gold-level patron plaque on the wall in the lobby by next week at the latest.” He dips his chin. “Again, lovely performance, Lyra. I particularly enjoyed your work in the pas de trois .”

Before I can find my words, Kir turns and disappears into the shadows.

Well… wow .

I turn to head back to the dressing room, when suddenly, something hard, muscled, and savage crashes into me. Powerful arms wrap around me like iron. The familiar, overwhelmingly masculine scent of leather, tangerine and rosewood swirls around me.

A grin lifts the corners of my mouth as I twist in Carmine’s arms to look up into his piercing blue eyes.

“ Hi ,” I blurt through a big grin. I laugh as he scoops me into his arms, dragging me into the shadows. His mouth crashes against mine, desperate and unyielding.

“What the fuck did Kir want?” he growls against my lips.

I ignore his jealous possessiveness and the raw fury vibrating off him. Instead, I whisper, “Did you seriously spend five million dollars to get into the show?”

His scowl deepens. “That Russian fucker has a big mouth?—”

“ Thank you ,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his again. “For showing up.”

He shakes off his irritation, his grip tightening to lift me slightly off the ground as he kisses me harder, deeper, like he needs me to feel just how much he wanted to be here. His breath is hot against my mouth, his voice gruff and absolute.

“I’ll always show up.”

A grin lifts the corners of my lips. “Just like you’ll light the world on fire for me?”

“Exactly like that.”