3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Pasha
A week. A week since I had slept with Alyssa.
A week since Mia had gotten engaged. A week since she’d asked me to fill in for her father at the wedding.
I was hardly old enough to understand a father-daughter role, but when she’d gone with the big-brother angle, I couldn’t say “no.” She was my American little sister.
I had an actual sister I talked to in Russia sometimes, but the distance between us grew the longer I was on American soil. Whenever I spoke to her, she made me think about home, going home, leaving Mia and the job behind. At some point, my visa would expire, and I’d need to make a decision.
It had been one week since Alyssa turned my life upside down. The timeline wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t convinced Alyssa didn’t want more than one night.
In the moment, I hadn’t been able to turn down a chance to be with her—despite my personal rule about workers on the tour. What man could let an opportunity with his secret crush pass? She was funny, fiery, and gorgeous. That night, I’d liked her bluntness, her confidence.
Was she trying to spare my feelings now?
I couldn’t figure her out. Every time our eyes connected, that night sparked between us.
That couldn’t be one-sided. Every time, the reminder of our night together stirred up hot coals from a smoldering fire.
I wanted her, ached for her low in my belly, felt a hunger not yet satisfied.
After Zoya died, I became career focused because I hadn’t been ready for someone else, despite the counseling, despite my friends saying I needed to get back on the horse. How could I ever be with anyone else the way I’d been with Zoya?
I applied to work on Mia’s tour on a whim, never thinking I’d have a chance. What would my Russian security degree mean to anyone in America? And my English had been terrible.
But Laura Malone had seen all of those things as positives, and as soon as I agreed to take the job, she pulled string after string to get me on American soil, to secure my visa. A man who could offer only minimal communication probably seemed like gold to her—do the job and keep quiet.
“Are you listening to me?” Mia huffed, pressing Pause on the tablet resting on her lap.
“Yes.” I wasn’t. Didn’t have a clue what she’d been picking apart as she scrolled through countless videos and talked about dance steps and music choices.
I loved her like a sister, but none of these videos meant anything. They hadn’t set a firm wedding date yet. When that happened, I’d worry about whatever ridiculous dance moves she came up with. At this moment, I simply needed to pretend I was interested.
“So, you’re not freaking out about us setting a date for as soon as the tour is done?”
I blinked and stared. “What?”
She smacked my arm. “I knew you weren’t listening. Yes! The date is set for two weeks after the tour finishes. We’re going smallish, but… ”
“But?” I raised my eyebrows and tried to process her words. Two weeks after the tour. What videos did she show me? What did I agree to without realizing I was doing it?
“Well…” Mia bit her lip, drew her long, dark hair around her shoulder, and played with the ends.
Whatever she was going to say, she didn’t think I was going to like it. Those habits were nervous ones.
“We’re going to livestream the event for fans.
” When I opened my mouth, she held up her hand.
“Like, it’ll get rid of paparazzi swarms too.
You know? If I’m showing everyone in real time, what does the media get?
I don’t want helicopters and drones and all that crazy crap scaring Victoria.
She’s going to be a flower girl, and I think it’ll be enough of a challenge to get her to walk down the aisle in a straight line. ”
“Livestream?” Just the word sent a frisson of fear snaking down my back. “Livestream?” Could I back out of the dance? Maybe just do the walk down the aisle? She knew a lot of dancers, people who’d kill for an opportunity like this to be seen on such a huge platform. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Tyler and I talked about it until I couldn’t think about it anymore. We’re doing it. I knew you weren’t listening while I was going through those videos. So, was there a dance you thought we could do from the ones I showed you?”
Hot and cold flashes were hitting me like waves, and pools of sweat were accumulating under my armpits. “I’m not a dancer.”
“I know,” she said. “I know. But it’ll be fun. No one is going to expect great things. It’s just—for fun.”
Fun for her, sure. She could dance. I’d witnessed her pick up choreography after one or two run-throughs of a whole routine.
Other dancers had to have a routine broken down, certain steps replayed to get the right rhythm or precise movement.
I’d seen the repetition in rehearsals. Not Mia.
To her, dancing was like walking—natural. Of course this would be fun for her.
Terrified. I was utterly terrified.
“We can pick an easy one,” she suggested.
“What does easy look like?” I peered at the screen on her lap, trying not to let anxiety grip me so hard I couldn’t think.
No matter what, I wasn’t going to let her down.
Maybe if I watched the video during every spare hour before the wedding, I’d be able to do it well enough to be passable. Was I okay with well enough?
Why had I agreed to this?
“I don’t know.” Mia flicked through videos. “We can do something modern or something classic? What do you think would be okay for you?”
Nothing. Nothing would be even remotely okay. I’d have to work for hours no matter how simple she went, no matter how easy she believed it to be.
“It’s your wedding. Your day.” I wanted to do the right thing for her, even if it made my life impossibly hard. She’d come a long way from the girl sitting beside me in the car outside Tyler’s secondhand shop. If she wanted a fairy tale, I would play my part.
She perked up and flicked her finger up the screen. “Well, if you don’t care…”
Not exactly true. I cared. A lot. But I wasn’t going to let my fear stop her from getting what she wanted. Somehow, I’d figure out whatever dance she selected.
“Which one?” I asked .
With her finger, she tapped the screen, and a lively song started, the two people whirling and swirling across the screen. I’d seen this sort of dancing in movies, but I didn’t know what it was called.
“I’ve always loved swing dancing,” she said. “I thought about trying to talk Tyler into it, but I want something really romantic with him. You know? So, then I thought… maybe Pasha will do it with me?” She gave me a hopeful look.
I suppressed a sigh as I focused on the screen. “This one?”
“Like this, yeah. But you know Alyssa Miller?” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “She competed in swing dancing as a kid, so I’m going to see if she’ll choreograph something for me. Fun but not too hard for you. Is that—would that be okay?”
I stared at the screen. Alyssa’s name caused another sweat to break out, but this one had nothing to do with anxiety. The guy in the video was tossing the woman around like she weighed nothing, their bodies brushing together over and over.
Did Mia know I had a thing for Alyssa? I thought I’d kept my ogling under control. Before I spoke, I cleared my throat. “Alyssa?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew her. You gave her a ride back in the car after the bar the other night?” Mia stood up, never able to sit still for long, and started making a bottle for Victoria.
The bottle was the only way they could rouse Victoria without her screaming bloody murder. Like her mother, she loved her sleep.
“Back in a sec,” she said, waving the bottle. “Gotta get this to her to drink before I get her out of bed. Don’t poke the bear.” She winked before disappearing inside their bedroom.
Was having Alyssa as the choreographer an unexpected bright side?
I got hard just thinking about her in any detail.
Replays of our encounter happened all the time: in the shower, before I drifted to sleep, or when I caught sight of her after a show.
Every detail was burned into me, like she’d branded me.
Casual sex wasn’t for me, and the women I had indulged with, when I’d let need outweigh sense, weren’t ones I had crushed on for months either before or after.
The embers of my encounter with Alyssa glowed red hot, on the cusp of lighting another, bigger fire. Could I be around her without making an ass of myself, without burning down the life I’d constructed since Zoya’s death?
“So,” Mia said, reappearing in the doorway. “What do you think? Wanna swing with me?”
The video Mia had put on was coming to a close. Could I do this?
“Yes,” I said, not entirely sure my answer was truthful.