Dirty Obsessions - The Lion and The Mouse

The classical ballet barre outlined the wall across from me.

A shelf rested against the other wall. I spotted some of my ballet shoes and luggage.

“Yefim packed your ballet stuff and brought it here. I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s what you had him do earlier.” I scanned the space. “Thank you.”

“You noticed Yefim was gone?”

“Of course I did.”

Misha sighed.

“Stop it. I’m not going to have my guards be forks and spoons.”

“Even if it’s better that way.”

“Your guards aren’t forks and spoons.”

“That’s a different situation. I’ve grown up with a lot of them.”

I shrugged. “Yefim is my friend.”

“Whatever,” Misha muttered.

I grinned.

“What?”

“The way you said whatever. It reminded me of Maxwell. You said wuteva like you’re from Harlem.”

“Maxwell is growing on me.”

“Like Yefim is growing on me.”

Misha gestured to the room. “You can practice in here whenever you want. I wish that I could have given you windows but we’re underground. There’s nothing like natural light. You deserve everything to be perfect, but—”

“This is perfect.” I turned to him. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Ava. I don’t know how long you’ll be down here.”

I tried to keep my worry out of my voice. “What’s going on now?”

He went over to the shelf. “There’s your leotards, shoes, and—”

“Misha, what happened today?”

Misha faced me. “Do you think that I should always give you an update?”

“Of course I do.”

“I won’t.”

I crossed my arms. “You will if it has something to do with me.”

He walked over and stopped in front of me. “I thought we settled this in our bedroom.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“You don’t need all the details.”

“I don’t want to be in the dark.”

“Some darkness is fine. It provides shade.” He reached out for me.

I backed away. “What happened?”

“I’ve seen how this goes for some men in my world. When it comes to a woman like you, there need to be some secrets and—”

“A woman like me?”

“You weren’t born into this. You didn’t volunteer to participate or—”

“I’m not doing this with you, Misha. We agreed to keep me in the know. Stop playing. Where did you go when you left?”

He frowned. “Club Pleasure.”

“The nightclub from earlier?”

“If we’re going to do this, at least you can dance or do warmups. I like watching you move.”

It was an absurd request, but one I liked. Dancing made me feel comfortable and relaxed. Whatever news he had to give me, calming down would help.

I took off my shoes and grabbed my ballet shoes. “Go ahead and tell me.”

“You can’t dance in those pants.”

I smirked. “I don’t need to put on a leotard.”

“You do.” He placed his hands in his pocket. “I’m not saying anything until you take this rehearsal seriously.”

“Whatever, Misha.” I rolled my eyes and picked up a leotard. “You’re just stalling.”

“I’m not.” He took a small black device out of his pocket. “There’s a portable Mp3 player on the wall over there. Here’s the remote.”

“Thank you.” I put my hands on my hips. “You can put on some music while you turn around.”

His frown deepened. “I’ve seen it all before.”

“But you haven’t said it all. Until you do, you cannot turn around.”

He smirked. “Is that how we’re going to do this?”

“Exactly.”

He turned around, extended his arm, and pressed on the device. The sound of a sorrowful cello filled the room. Violins and violas joined, but not too loud to overtake the cello. My heart stirred. Misha had chosen the song Andante Cantabile—one of Tchaikovsky’s most famous compositions. It showed how much Misha knew about ballet and even classical music.

This song had been included in the recent premiere ballet called The Red Shoes. It was based on a 1940s film of the same name. The story was about a ballet dancer whose struggle to choose between her ambition and her heart lead to tragedy. It also included a ballet-within-a-ballet. The other story within the story was about a bewitching but deadly pair of magical shoes that made the heroine dance to her own destruction. The song Andante Cantabile was used for a scene showing the tortured soul of the ballet’s tyrannical producer Boris.

O and I had gone to see this ballet last year. Upon seeing it, I always played this song over and over during my private practice. I couldn’t get enough.

Wait a minute.

I thought back to Misha’s Combat Room. If he could shut down a country, surely he could monitor me.

Did Misha stay up to date with the ballet world? Or was it that he remained up to date with me?

I took off my shirt, folded the material, and placed it on the floor. “How did you learn about this song?”

“From you.” He kept his back to me. “You love it.”

I swallowed. “You watched me practice to it?”

“I did. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but. . .”

“You knew it would scare the shit out of me.”