Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
TITUS
T he evening is one of excruciating boredom and I wish it were over already.
When we are finally allowed to leave, I walk with Tatiana by my side, her questions silenced—for now.
Once again, we take our seats in the car and as we move away she leans back and sighs with relief. “Thank God that’s over.”
“I was sure you would enjoy the experience.”
I’m surprised because most women would. An invitation to an intimate gathering at the Kremlin isn’t something that comes by very often.
“I hated every minute of it.” She hisses, causing a brief smile to light my face.
She has surprised me tonight. Tatiana Pavlov is certainly beautiful, successful and has it all worked out. However, she is a closed book and no matter how hard I tried to read it, I am still none the wiser.
“What happens now?” Her soft voice punctures the still air and I say simply, “You return home.”
“I doubt that’s it, um, Titus.”
She sighs. “I mean, what happens tomorrow, the next day and the weeks and months after? Are we really going through with this and why? You see–” She turns and her eyes sparkle against the shadows of the car as she whispers, “I am a dancer, not a wife. We travel a lot in the Bolshoi and rehearse even harder. I won’t be able to make time for this, so I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“Correction, Tatiana, you were a dancer for the Bolshoi.”
I note fear replaces curiosity and I lean back and sigh heavily. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”
I gaze out of the window at the blurred landscape and say huskily, “We belong to Russia and she is a cruel mother. Everything we possess is because she allowed us to. One day we must pay her back for the dream and it’s a costly one. Your career was allowed, even though you worked hard and excelled at it. It made you into a commodity that she will now exploit, and you don’t have a say in the matter. Russia owns you and if you think you can decide, I pity your future.”
“What about you, Titus? What has Mother Russia done for you that means she now controls your soul?”
I wasn’t expecting her question. If anything, I was expecting her anger and I turn slowly and note the curiosity in her eyes.
“I have my reasons for this; personal ones that are nothing to do with what is expected of me. You see–”
I shift and, staring right in her eye, I whisper, “I have money; more than most. I have a loving family; I am luckier than most. I travel, I live a blessed life and I want for nothing.”
“So you are doing this to maintain your standard of living? How noble of you.”
Her eyes flash and rather than be angry about that, it drags a rare smile to my lips.
“You can believe what you like. Your opinion of me doesn’t matter. You see–” I lean forward, the confined space meaning we are closer than she would probably like us to be and if I could lick the air, I would taste her fear. She shifts away a little, which makes me smile because she seems to believe escaping is an option, and I say darkly, “Let me explain this in terms you may understand. We are characters of the State. We will play a part and that is all you are to me. My leading lady if you like and when the curtain falls, we separate at the stage door and return to our lives. No emotion, no friendship, just a shared stage.”
“Don’t patronize me, Titus.”
Her breath is sweet as I inhale it and I detect a faint scent of cherry, courtesy of her lip gloss.
“I am the actress here. I know how it works and I’m a good one. You, on the other hand, are not. So, if this is as you describe, it won’t affect me. I can switch it on when required, but I’m guessing a man like you would find it harder to do that.”
“A man like me.”
Once again, my lips twitch because I like that she answers me back. Nobody ever does, if they speak to me at all that is. For some reason I intimidate everyone I meet and it’s interesting that a guarded tongue can cause fear in others and she smiles, catching me off-guard for a moment.
“Cold, dispassionate, aloof and rather surly, if I’m honest.”
She pauses, as if wondering if she’s gone too far, and then laughs softly before adding, “You rely on your good looks to blind people to your black heart. Your emotions are kept under wraps and you allow people to talk while you size up their personality. I’m guessing you search for any weakness to use against them and there is a reason why you are the chosen one, if you like.”
“The chosen one?”
I lift my brow and she nods. “Why else would it be you sitting beside me? You are just like them. Boris Fedorov and Denislav. Cold-hearted, conniving, secretive and greedy.”
Now she has gone too far and I lean back and say coldly, “You know shit, Tatiana and the sad thing is you talk it too.”
“Shit?”
I insulted her with one sentence and disregarded her statement as meaningless. I’m good at that.
The car sweeps into her apartment building car park and I say coolly, “You will be pleased to know you are home. Carry on as usual. I’ll be in touch.”
I’m expecting her anger. To storm from the car, possibly with a throwaway insult for good measure. I’m not expecting her to shift a little closer and whisper, “You’re leaving me here?”
I turn and note the pale complexion of a woman who has lost all her earlier bravado and is staring out at the shadows as if a demon is waiting to pounce.
“It’s where you live, isn’t it?”
She nods, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she says fearfully, “Um, but please will you see me to my door, perhaps check inside my apartment too? If it’s not too much to ask.”
I wasn’t expecting this. Her earlier bravado has deserted her in seconds, and I note the raw fear in her eyes as she struggles to breathe.
“Of course.”
I don’t react to her obvious fear and as the driver opens her door, I am exiting my own, with a sharp eye on the shadows.
I reach her side and help her out and once again, as her hand slips into mine, she clasps it tightly as if she is afraid to fall.
I don’t react. I say nothing at all and as we move away from the car, I say to the driver, “Wait here.”
We head to the elevator and my eyes purge the shadows around us because it appears that my ballerina is hiding a few secrets of her own.