Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
VIKTORIYA
T he curtain draws back, and I step onto the stage. The low, dulcet tone of the music begins to swell, and I start to dance. My body moves effortlessly across the stage. I stand on pointe in my ballet shoes without any trouble. It’s like breathing to me. I am the star. Everyone is looking at me.
I spin faster and faster and faster, then land perfectly. The crowd watches me in awe. The men and women who have come to see me dance are getting what they paid for me. I’m putting on the show of a lifetime.
No, wait. Not women. Just men. Only men are in the audience, staring back at me. Instead of watching me dance, they hold up paddles. Why? What are they doing?
I stumble slightly. The men boo at me to get off the stage. I stumble again. My feet feel like cement underneath me. Why can’t I do this? I should be perfect. Always perfect. That’s what my father expected from me. The perfect ice queen who showed no fear.
I dance faster to impress the men, but they’re talking to each other and throwing dismissive glances my way. They don’t care about me. They don’t care about the hard work and countless hours I’ve put into being perfect.
And that’s when it happens.
I stumble once more, but it’s not just something I can walk away from. My ankle snaps under me, and I fall to the ground, screaming and screaming and screaming. None of the men even look in my direction.
I’m invisible to them.
I’m just a woman.
The pain becomes unbearable. Just when I’m about to black out …
I wake up.
Gasping, my eyes open, and my heart beats so fast it hurts as it pounds against my ribcage. My broken rib is slowly healing, but right now, all I can feel is pain.
Glancing around the room, my eyes focus on the familiar wallpaper and closet across the way. The bed I’m in is one I know well now since it’s been my bed for the past few weeks.
I’m in Aleksander’s bedroom. My bedroom.
It was just a dream , I tell myself. Just a dream.
It was more like a memory from my time at the auction. It still haunts me even though Aleksander tried to help me through it with the cage. I’m not sure I can ever get past something like that.
I wiggle my ankle around underneath the covers. It’s not broken anymore. It’s healed. I can dance on it if I want to.
My hands touch my stomach. But am I skinny enough to dance again? I’m back up to a hundred thirty pounds, which is normal for my taller height. It looks good on me. Makes me look not so bony anymore. But it’s too big for ballet.
A tear slips from my eye as I stare at the ceiling. Aleksander is asleep next to me, looking more peaceful than I’ve ever seen him. I wipe my tear away as I look at him, taking in his handsome features. The one strand of dark hair that falls over his forehead. His long lashes that any woman would kill to have. His lips are parted as he breathes softly.
The urge to kiss him hits me like nothing ever has before.
I have to face the reality—I’m starting to care for Aleksander. My hard shell has eased back a little, and he’s peeking over the side of it. It’s up to me to drop it the rest of the way.
I’m just not sure I can. If my dream was any indication, I’m still clinging to my hope that I’ll dance ballet again. That I’ll perform on a stage once more. And that urge to dance is what makes me want to throw up, but I know Aleksander wouldn’t approve. He wants me healthy. He wants me to be happy with him, even while he’s pushing me to new lengths I’ve never gone to before.
But how can I dance again and be the kind of healthy he wants? My entire life, I pushed my body to dance harder, perform better than my sisters, and make my father proud of me. I had to keep myself skinny to do that. It was the only way.
After my ankle broke, I put on a little weight. That’s what led to me developing an eating disorder. Aleksander is denying me that because he wants me to stop hurting myself.
I don’t know how to balance my developing feelings for Aleksander and my desire to dance again.
I place my hand over my heart, feeling a burst of anxiety. Even though my husband is sleeping right next to me, I’m still alone in my thoughts.
“You look tired this morning,” he tells me over breakfast.
“Jeez. Thanks.”
He smiles as he reads the newspaper on his phone. “I didn’t mean it like that.” His eyes flick up to mine. “You just look like you didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”
How is he so perceptive? It’s annoying.
“Just had a bad dream. That’s all.”
He sets his phone down. “Care to tell me about it?”
I hesitate.
“Viktoriya, tell me.”
And just like that, he’s given me permission to do what he says, freeing me from my thoughts. “I was dancing again, but then it turned into the auction. I was back there, and my ankle broke in front of all of those men. It wasn’t a good time, to say the least.” I push my scrambled eggs around. The sight of them is nauseating.
“I thought you were getting over that.”
“It’s not like it’s that simple,” I snap.
He raises his eyebrows. “So, you definitely didn’t get a good night’s sleep.” He sighs and leans on the table. “Viktoriya, you can’t keep letting this get to you. I thought your time in the cage helped you move on.”
“I thought it did, too, but clearly not. I can’t just change overnight, Aleksander. It’s not that simple.”
“I never said it was.”
“Seemed like you were implying it was.”
He smirks as he shakes his head. “There you go again. Placing that wall back up.”
I huff and scoot my chair back, standing up. “It’s protected me all my life. I can’t let it fall. Even for you.” Last night, I let myself admit I was falling for Aleksander, but in the light of day, I see how foolish that is. I can’t let myself fall for a man like him—one born in the slums who’ll never be worthy of me, not in a million years.
Aleksander sits back in his seat, observing me. It makes me feel like I’m under a microscope. I hate him. I have to. There’s no other choice.
“I have an idea,” he finally says.
“You always have ideas. I hate your ideas.”
“You want to dance again. That’s obvious. So, why don’t we put on a show here? I can invite people over. I can set up a stage in the backyard. And you can dance for our guests. Would that help?”
Panic spikes through my chest. He’s offering me a chance to dance again. That’s all I’ve wanted for the past year. So, why is the thought of dancing again so terrifying?
Because I’m no longer perfect.
Aleksander has made me aware of my faults. He’s made me confront my fears. I’m no longer the Ice Queen. I’m becoming more and more just … Vik. I’ve never been just Vik. Sure, that’s what my sisters call me, but I’ve never thought of myself like that. I’ve always been Viktoriya Morozova, Ice Queen. Frigid Bitch. Take your pick.
“You want me to dance?” I ask slowly.
“I can tell how much it’s paining you not to be able to do it. So, I can make it happen. I can assemble a stage for you, and you can dance for our guests. It will be on a smaller scale than what you’re used to, but you have to start somewhere.”
“Re-start,” I say. “Re-start somewhere.”
His smile deepens. “Exactly. So, what do you say?”
“You’d do that for me?”
For just a moment, Aleksander’s expression turns serious. “I would do anything for you, Viktoriya.”
For the first time, I feel the urge to make Aleksander proud. It’s no longer my father in my mind.
I tell Aleksander exactly what I’m feeling: “I would love to dance again.”
I just hope that speaking my truth will set me free.
With Aleksander’s connections, it doesn’t take long for the stage to be built in the backyard. There’s a part of me that kind of wished it would have taken longer.
I stare down at my outfit. It’s a leotard with a flowy, short dress over it and skin-colored tights. My ballet shoes are resting on the floor. I haven’t worn them in a year.
I stand on my ankle, testing the weight of it. It doesn’t buckle, which is good. But I feel a slight twinge, letting me know my ankle will never fully be the same.
I will never fully be the same.
Putting on the outfit is easy. It’s the shoes that are the hard part. Slipping them on feels like a second skin, but it also reminds me of everything I’ve been through in the past year. My broken ankle. The healing process. Gleb and the auction and Akim. Killing Akim. Marrying Aleksander.
I’m a changed woman.
I’m just not sure if it’s for better or worse.
Once I’m dressed, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror. I look like a ballet dancer. But can I move like a ballet dancer?
I do a test plie, rising on the tips of my toes. My ankle remains steady.
But then it wobbles, and I stumble forward, catching myself.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready again.
The bedroom door opens, and Aleksander walks in. “Our guests are arriving.” He looks me over. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’ve never seen me in a ballet outfit before.”
“I haven’t. I never got the pleasure.”
I shiver slightly at his words.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, standing behind me. The weight of his presence fills the room.
I’m feeling scared. But there’s no way I can tell Aleksander that. He did this entire thing for me. He wants me to get better. I’m not sure I ever can.
Instead of admitting my fears, I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I was born to dance. How do you think I feel?”
“I think you’re ready.”
The guests are all out in the backyard, sitting on rows of chairs. I spy Sofiya and Mila. Of course, Aleksander would invite them. They’re my sisters. Other than them and a few other women, most people in attendance are men.
Men I don’t know because they work for Aleksander and Mikhail. I’m not privy to every part of my husband’s life. It’s for my own safety, but it’s not fair that I don’t get to see every facet of his life, yet he gets to know every inch of mine.
I remain in the house, staring at the crowd, forcing myself to breathe deeply. Aleksander walks outside and onto the stage, thanking the guests for coming today to support me. It’s only humiliating. I’m a charity case. A thing for him to pity.
All because no one will hire me to dance.
“Viktoriya Morozova!” Aleksander announces, motioning me toward the stage.
My feet are rooted to the floor.
The guests murmur and look around. Sofiya sees me in the doorway and mouths, Are you ok?
I’m not fucking ok , I want to snap at her. I never asked for Sofiya’s pity, either. She’s my younger sister. She should not be the one seeking to comfort me. I will not allow it.
With a deep breath, I walk outside. The guests clap as I get on the stage and take a low curtesy.
Aleksander sits in the front row, sinking his deep, intense eyes into my soul.
Then, the music begins. It’s from a recording, not a live orchestra, which makes it feel cheap. It makes me feel cheap.
I force myself to move.
This is a dance I’ve done countless times before. I could do it in my sleep. I start off slow, getting the feel of the music and movement tied together.
My eyes catch Sofiya’s, and I stumble slightly before rightening myself. She frowns. I shake my head and pull myself together. I can do this. I have to.
I start to move faster. I go on pointe and feel like I’m suspended in the air.
Then my ankle wobbles, and I crash to the stage. It all comes flooding back. The night I broke my ankle. The way I cried and how Mila tried to comfort me. The way Mikhail turned away from me because all he wanted was Sofiya.
I was rejected by him. I was rejected by dance.
I bore my eyes into the stage, not daring myself to look at the audience. I can feel the tension in the air. The awkwardness of watching someone make a mistake.
I am not perfect. If my father saw me now, he’d be so disappointed. He would have walked right out of my house in disgust.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mila and Sofiya approaching the stage. I know what they’re doing. They want to help me.
I can’t let them do that. It will only make me look more pathetic.
I force myself to stand up and run my hands down my outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles. Mila and Sofiya stop. I don’t look at them as I resume dancing.
I try to move as effortlessly as I once was, but my body feels clunky like I’m moving through cement. I can’t quite get back on track. Because of my fall, I’m behind on the music and have to catch up to the right spot, which makes me more disoriented.
And then the worst thing happens—I fall again.
The floor rushes right up to me, and I land on the side of my body. I lie there, looking out at the guests Aleksander invited for me. He was being thoughtful.
Or was he trying to humiliate me like this?
Am I being punished for my attitude?
Aleksander doesn’t move to get up as he locks eyes with mine. I need help, but I would never ask for it. He knows this. He wants me to figure this out for myself, to get better, to heal.
But I’m paralyzed by my fear. By shame. By the crippling desire to be perfect.
Mila and Sofiya rush onto the stage and hover over me.
“Vik?” Sofiya asks, gently placing her hand on my arm. “Are you hurt? Do we need to take you to the hospital?”
No hospitals, I want to snap. It’s what I would have snapped at her if I were my old self.
But all I can do is lie here in fear.
“Vik?” Mila crouches beside me. “Are you ok? Please, answer me.”
All I can see is Aleksander’s eyes. He still doesn’t move. It’s like we’re both frozen.
I can feel my hand reaching out—toward him—before blackness overtakes my vision.
My eyes jerk back open, and all I can see are my sisters.
“Vik,” Mila cries, trying to hug me.
“Give her some space,” Sofiya advises as she places her hands on my shoulders. “Can you sit up? You passed out.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Just a minute. Come on.” I let her sit me up.
The rest of the guests are gone. “Where is everybody?”
“I sent them away,” Aleksander says, moving into my field of vision. “Viktoriya, what happened? Why did you freeze?”
I push myself to stand and jerk away from my sisters’ outstretched hands. “Why did you think this would be a good idea?” I snap.
“You’re upset,” he states.
“Of course, I’m upset. You made me look like a fool. I didn’t want to do this.”
“You never told me that. I was doing this for you.”
“I wasn’t ready!” I shout.
He sucks in a quick breath and turns to my sisters. “Leave.”
Sofiya ignores him. “Vik, what’s going on?”
“He told you to leave,” I respond.
She backs away like I slapped her. “Fine. Come on, Mila.” She walks back into the house without a backward glance. Mila looks back, though, before following Sofiya, leaving me and Aleksander alone.
He steps onto the stage, invading my personal space. “You should have told me you weren’t ready.”
“Would that have mattered? You would have pushed me to do it anyway. You want me to get better. Well, I’m not getting better, Alek.”
“You’re not letting yourself.”
“Oh shut up,” I snap. “Just shut the fuck up.”
He goes eerily still. “Don’t speak to me that way, Viktoriya.”
“Why not? You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever the hell I want!”
“I’m not the one who made you look like a fool. You’re doing it all yourself.”
That draws me up short. My skin is itching and tingling and feels like it’s going to peel right off me. My heart is pounding like it’s going to rip right out of my body. My mind is spinning like it’s going to kill me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit in a softer voice. “I don’t know. But what I do know is I don’t need you telling me what to do.”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d still be throwing up after every meal. I saved you. I’m helping you. I wanted to marry you because you were a challenge, but now I know I want to make you get better, Viktoriya.”
“I never asked you to help me get better.”
“I’m doing it anyway,” he growls, grabbing my hips.
“You … drive me insane,” I say.
“That makes two of us.”
And then he kisses me.
I let myself get drawn into his body as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My body is bruised from my fall. My rib still hurts slightly. And my pride is ruined forever.
I push all that aside just to be in this moment with Aleksander.
I pull him toward me, and we fall onto the stage, but that doesn’t stop us from kissing.
He rolls on top of me, his fingers tugging the top of my dress down. I gasp when the cool air brushes my bare breasts. He makes a low sound deep in the back of his throat as he kisses my neck. I arch into him, searching for more.
“I think you need to be punished,” he says into my ear right before he flips me onto my stomach and spanks me.
I cry out, my fingers scrabbling to find something to hold, but it’s just wood beneath me. Aleksander pushes my dress around my waist and tugs my tights off, exposing my ass. He spanks my bare skin. The sound that escapes me is between a cry and a moan.
“Alek,” I call out.
Spank, spank, spank. All I can focus on is the pain. Nothing else matters.
He brings his fingers between my legs, rubbing right up my slit. I moan, my hips bucking back to get more friction. Wetness starts to seep from my body. I’m out of control. I’m an animal.
And I need him to tame me.
Aleksander growls deeply, and I hear him pull his zipper down. Then I feel his cock right against my entrance. “Get on your hands and knees.” He pulls me into position before I can do it myself.
“Oh!” I cry out as he thrusts into me. He begins to take me from behind like an animal himself. Never would I have thought I’d let myself be debased like this.
Tears slip from my eyes even as pleasure surges through my body.
Aleksander isn’t gentle with my body. It’s rough and raw. It’s wild. It’s a punishment.
He’s taking away my control, but I need it. I need to feel like my own thoughts matter.
“Stop,” I say.
He immediately does. “Viktoriya.”
“Get off me.”
After a quiet moment, he slips out of me. I turn to face him, taking in his erection and his flushed cheeks. Then I push him onto his back and get on top of him.
I sink onto his cock. I moan, shifting my hips around. This new position allows him to go deeper and hit that pleasurable spot within me. Aleksander watches me for a moment before he grabs my hips and helps move me on top of him.
“You need this?” he asks gruffly, lifting his hips to meet mine,
“Yes!” I thrust my hips back and forth, riding him. My fingers dig into his chest. He arches up, groaning low in his throat.
I move faster and faster. I need to get away from my thoughts.
But I need to be in control.
I want Aleksander.
But I hate him for how he makes me feel.
I just need to …
I cry out as I come, my body shuddering and trembling. Aleksander quickly follows as he grips my hips and releases into me.
I remain seated on his hips, staring at him while I catch my breath. He looks right back at me, never taking his eyes off me.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Why do you make me feel this way?”
He doesn’t give me an answer because there’s no answer to give.
I get off him, push my dress back over my hips, and tug my straps up. I leave my ruined tights on the stage before walking off it.
I head back inside and straight to the bathroom. But instead of throwing up, I turn on the shower and get in, clothes and all. I wash away the shame of the day. My humiliation over falling in front of a crowd.
I can’t dance. I know that now. No one will ever hire me again.
But I can’t give it up , a voice whispers within me.
I get out of the shower and strip off my wet clothes. I leave them on the floor for the housekeeper to get them.
Aleksander is waiting for me outside the bathroom, a frown on his face. “What were you doing in there?”
“Just taking a shower.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
He nods, accepting my words. There’s no doubt there. He believes me.
So, if Aleksander is able to believe me, then why can’t I believe in myself?
I know at this moment I need to leave. I can’t let him have this control over me. It’s making me lose my mind.
“I need to get dressed,” I mutter, walking past him to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop me.
For all his faults, that’s not one of them.
But the reality is he doesn’t have many faults. I’m the messed up one. That’s why I need to leave.