My eyes drifted down, and my cheeks bloomed with heat. Oh, my God. Now, I was checking out his package!
“You remember my wife, Joy, and our daughter, Adrianna. Or Ana as we call her.”
I internally rolled my eyes. My name was Adrianna, not Ana. I always hated the nickname. It made me feel like a child being reprimanded, yet they continued using it, knowing how much I detested it. Grin and bear it, I told myself. Grin...and bear it.
As Konstantin shook my mother’s hand, I chuckled on the inside. Her hand was enveloped in his and I would bet she worried he’d chip her nail polish. It was a damn handshake for Christ’s sake, yet she acted like she was so fragile. There was nothing more annoying than when my mom acted like she was made of porcelain. I guarantee her dainty, cold fingers rested in his hand like they were dead, which only seemed to match her icy demeanor.
“Hello again, Kova. You have a nice...facility,” she tried to say with sophistication. I could see right through her bleached teeth and her pretentious personality. An air of money surrounded her and she wore it like a second skin. My mother and I couldn’t be more opposite.
Konstantin turned my way and I nearly lost all common sense. His emerald eyes were encircled by a thick black ring with faint web like lines in the irises. Mesmerizing. They reminded me of a rainforest—beautifully alluring, uncharted territory with no true knowledge of what lurked all around. Framed between thick lashes, his gaze was penetrating, like he could read my deepest, darkest secrets.
“Ana, it is a pleasure to see you again. Last time I saw you, you barely reached my knees and were running around with pigtails. You have grown so much,” he said.
Pigtails? I think I stopped with the pigtails around five. If that was the case, he was clearly over twenty-five.
“Adrianna.” I emphasized my full name. The ends of his lips curved upward just a hint and my stomach tightened. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear demurely and returned the smile.
“Are you sure you are ready for this? The elite program is completely different than level ten. Much more intense. I have already explained this to your father, but I want to assure you this is going to be nothing like your old gym. You are going to be exhausted, and probably bruised and sore until your body adjusts to the training. Just because your dad and I go way back, do not think for one minute I will be easy. I hope you are ready for that kind of conditioning.”
The overwhelming urge to repeat his thick accent hit me with a vengeance. I wanted to throw my hands in the air and speak extra loud like a boisterous Italian and repeat every word Konstantin had just said. The way he spoke was so sexy, and that whole intense demeanor thing he had going on worked in his favor.
“I am,” I responded confidently.
Glancing back at my parents, he said, “How about we head into my office and go over some paperwork before taking a tour of the gym. Yeah?”
The next thirty minutes were spent going over all the fine print and signing medical release forms. For all I knew, my parents could have sold me into slavery.
My mother appeared as if she suffered from constipation no matter how hard she tried to look composed. Gymnastics, along with legal documents, were so out of her element. Pretending to be a concerned mother was not in her comfort zone. Charity fundraisers were more her thing, where she could dress up, plaster on a phony smile, and act like she gave a shit about something. It was hard to blame her as my own thoughts drifted around the room, taking in the various medals and trophies, quickly losing interest in the topic myself.
The paperwork didn’t interest me, all I wanted to do was get on the floor and feel the carpet beneath my feet. Floor was my absolute favorite event, though I excelled at vault. It was where I felt free and could let go, flying through the air at my heart’s desire. I loved tumbling, loved defying gravity, and secretly prayed to God I wouldn’t land on my ass each time.
I despised beam with pure hatred. But that was another story entirely.
I looked over at my dad in deep conversation with Konstantin. He was interested in knowing more about my training, but then again, he liked reading the small print and knowing exactly what he was paying for. It was why he’d done so well with his own company. No one could nickel and dime him. He loved money and made sure he knew where every penny he made went. And it didn’t matter this was a friend he should probably be able to trust, he’d still cover his bases. However, I wasn’t stupid. I knew this was more about the business side of things for him than giving me something I loved and was passionate about. This was just another deal for him to analyze and negotiate over, rather than my future.
In the midst of explaining the forms and going over my strict training regimen, I heard the words ‘dance class’ and my attention snapped back to the conversation.
“Dance class?” I butted in.
Konstantin lifted a perfectly arched brow, his eyes narrowing as if just realizing I was in the room.
“I was mentioning to Frank that you will be taking ballet class, along with jazz.”
My mouth gaped open. “Ballet?” I asked, annoyance thick in my tone. Please tell me this was a joke. There was no way in hell I’d take ballet. I hated ballet.
“Yes, Adrianna. Ballet. It helps with posture and grace on the floor. Not to mention, flexibility and core strengthening.”
“I have grace and fluidity on the floor already. I don’t need extra dance classes.”
I never had to take ballet back home, so I was certain I didn’t need to take it here. All these extra classes would take away from the one thing I came here to do, and I refused to let that happen.
Konstantin slowly placed his expensive looking, shiny pen down. It was unnerving how he stared at me and I wanted to look away, but I held strong. I kept my eyes trained on him, focusing on the black flecks glittering in his eyes, showing him I wasn’t weak.
“I am going to make it easy for you. You play by my rules here. You either take the classes or you will not train at World Cup.”
Easy. As if I was some moron who didn’t comprehend complex words. My parents hadn’t spent thousands of dollars a year on a private tutor for nothing. I’d had straight A’s since the fifth grade, I was already taking Pre-Cal and college level courses, and he was treating me like I couldn’t spell D-I-C-K.
Slapping on a fake smile, I said in a sugary voice, “Ballet really isn’t necessary. It’d be a complete waste of time. I’ve never needed it before and I don’t need it now.” I finished with a few rapid blinks and waited for his response. This was what I liked to call my “social event face”, a skill my mom taught me. Sweet, innocent, and full of shit, and if you lived in Palm Beach it was considered a standard fashion accessory.