“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Sorry I said that.”
She didn’t answer. She was staring at the roses, drooping hauntingly on their stems, the roses that cancelled out the Wilder’s white bouquet and his oversized scarlet arrangement. She touched one of the flowers and a cascade of petals fell to the floor. “What kind of florist would create such a thing?”
“I’ll throw them away for you,” he said, picking up the vase and tucking it under his arm. He’d throw it away—right after he showed it to Liam. Shit was so fucked up sometimes. He hated all the anger and sadness in the world. He hated asshole fathers and psycho fans, and mean ballet partners like him.
Yes, he was mean to her a lot. She brought out that beast in him and he didn’t know how to handle it, except to push her away. He needed distraction and distance from her pretty smelling locks, her witchy green-eyed stare. He needed release, alcohol and partying and beautiful people. That’s what Saturday nights at Liam’s house were for.
*** *** ***
Petra watched him go with the usual feeling of conflicted longing. Why did he have to be so virile and attractive? Why so careless with her feelings? And then so sweet, worrying for her safety?
Why did he have to bring up her father, tonight of all nights?
She’d secretly wished Petr Grigolyuk would be here, secretly fantasized about him showing up backstage. She’d built the whole thing up in her head, the way he’d be awkward, as if he wasn’t sure his estranged daughter would accept him. She would have played it cool at first, but then she would have said, “I’m glad you came to see me dance.” From there, they could have started a relationship, even if it was just a friendship...
Ugh, she hated herself. When the flowers were delivered she’d pounced on them, thinking surely one of the arrangements had been from him. But why on earth would her father send her flowers after ignoring her from birth?
Rubio had gotten her flowers. Beautiful roses, tons of them. She traced the petals of one scarlet bud. Muitos abraços. She’d keep that card forever, just like she’d remember this night forever. If she’d ever given such an inspired performance, she couldn’t remember it, and it was all because of him, The Great Rubio, who was truly great as a ballet partner. Was he trying to make her crazy, being utterly charming and talented, and then devastating her with his careless mention of her father? Was he playing some game with her? She wondered if it had to do with his kinky, dominant thing.
Speaking of which... She looked down at Liam’s card. Big white house. You can’t miss it. How many friends could Rubio have who lived in big white houses in Regents Park? Who happened to be “busy” tonight? Busy hosting a BDSM party, she was sure. She never would have guessed Liam was the friend Suzanne and Hannah had been talking about. He seemed too polished and sedate for such depravities, and if he was married to Ashleigh Keaton, then she was a closet freak too.
Right now, probably this moment, Rubio was headed to this party to get his kink on. Inappropriate fantasies crowded her brain, making her feel dirty. She threw down the card and got ready to leave, wiping off her makeup, showering and drying her hair. She had to get over this sexual obsession with him. She knew it was only because of the mystery, because she didn’t know what he was into, or what he did at those parties in the big white house.
But there was a way to find out.
A wig from the wardrobe room, some heavy makeup and dark eyeliner, and Liam and Rubio wouldn’t know her, especially if she hid herself in the crowds. There’d be crowds there, wouldn’t there, if it was such a big house? If she wore dark, nondescript clothing and kept her head down...
No. It was a ridiculous idea. A dangerous idea, because if Rubio discovered her she’d never live down the embarrassment. Or if Liam and Ashleigh discovered her...
But he was heading to that party right now.
Petra groaned and put her face in her hands. What else was she going to do tonight? Go home and worry about the dead flowers? After the high of the performance?
She stared at Liam’s card, turning it over and over. It didn’t take long to convince herself this was something she had to do. This was the only way to get over him, to get past the curiosity and craving that dogged her. It was just...necessary. With that suspect rationalization, Petra headed for the wardrobe room before she lost her nerve.
Chapter Six: You
An hour later, Petra stood outside the Wilders’ house, her knees knocking together beneath her black knit dress. She had prettier dresses, and fancier ones, but she wasn’t out to get noticed—she needed to blend in. She flicked her synthetic black hair over her shoulder, then reached one last time to be sure all her real hair was hidden beneath the tight cap of the wig. Theater wigs were great because they were designed to stay on and not slide around a lot. She’d added a few pins just in case. In case of what? In case she had wild sex with someone? So it wouldn’t come off? She wasn’t going to the party to have sex, or even to spy on Rubio. She was going to prove to herself that her fantasies were just that—fantasies. She hoped to God that Rubio was gross and unattractive while he was having sex. She hoped he had a terrible “o” face and no rhythm and a miniscule dick. She hoped the BDSM stuff was cheesy and laughable.
That’s what she hoped, but she had no idea what she’d actually see, or if she’d even get in. There were men inside the door checking people against a guest list. Crap. She’d pictured this entire thing being open and anonymous. In desperation, she huddled behind a couple and climbed the stairs with them. The doormen waved the couple through with a greeting. Petra tried to slide in after them but one of the men held out a hand.
“Good evening. Have you been here before?”
She froze. “No... I’m, uh... I’m new in town. But I know some of the people here.”
That was true. She knew Rubio and she knew Liam and Ashleigh. A little.
“Would you mind naming names?” the shorter, stockier guy asked. “Did someone invite you? Are you on the list?”
“I work with Fernando Rubio,” she said, because it was probably the only way to gain admittance. “I dance with the London City Ballet.”
The doormen glanced at each other. “She does have that look about her,” one of them said.
“Mr. Rubio invited you?” the other one asked.
She nodded, a flush burning across her cheeks. “He invited me to come check things out. He didn’t tell you?”
Please, please, don’t find him to validate my story. I’m totally lying to you. The taller one looked at his cohort. “Should we ask Liam?”
She pushed down rising panic. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if they called Liam. She could pretend she was here for advice about the dead flowers. Although, with the fake hair, and the way she was dressed... The guys studied her, and it suddenly seemed that everything about her must be completely transparent. That she was wearing a wig, that she was lying, and that she hadn’t been invited here at all.
Just as she was about to turn and flee, the shorter one gestured her in.
“How much trouble can she be?” he said to the other guy. “If Liam has a problem with her, he can throw her out.”
The tall one grinned. “Have fun, sweetheart. Bar’s by the kitchen, play room is down the staircase. Drinks stay in the living room and no scening while intoxicated. Absolutely no drugs.”
“I don’t use drugs,” said Petra, feeling like a suck up. Just shut up and go in before they change their mind.
She hurried into the marble-tiled foyer. The house was packed with mingling, well-dressed people, all engrossed in conversations. Her heartbeat calmed as she realized it would be pretty easy to hide in the midst of this noisy crowd. She went to the bar and asked for a vodka shot. The bartender had a thin face and white blond hair like hers, and was wearing a toga made of gold lamé. The other bartender was in full leather. Gold Lamé Toga poured her a generous shot of luxury-label vodka. “How much is it?” she asked over the din of the electronic music.
?
??No one pays for drinks here.” His youthful features twisted into a grin. “Your first time at the ball, honey?”
She nodded and dug for a tip. “No,” he said. “Go have fun. Mr. Wilder foots the bill. But we’re required to cut you off when you get sloppy.”
“So don’t get sloppy,” boomed the other bartender, tipping his leather hat to her.
“I’ll try not to.” She smiled and tossed the shot back, then winced as it burned down her throat. The Russian half of her enjoyed vodka, whether that Russian half was legitimate or not. While she waited for the liquor to calm her nerves, she looked around the Wilders’ place. The main room had a soaring ceiling and swanky leather furniture, ornate molding, and gold-framed art on the wall. Real estate here must be crazy. Just how big was this Ironclad security company Liam owned?
Petra shrank back as Liam walked by in a button down shirt and jeans, but his attention was on his wife and her group of friends. That crisis averted, she scanned the room, but she didn’t recognize anyone else. Either Rubio wasn’t in attendance, or he was downstairs. She asked for one more shot, for courage, downed it in one gulp, and skirted the outside of the crowds until she reached the wide marble staircase that led below.
What would she find down there? How hard did this sexy crowd party? She lifted her chin, prepared to see just about anything as she moved into view of the lower floor. She heard the sounds of impact first, thuds and smacks and screams, but they were happy screams. As she neared the landing, the play room opened before her in a series of erotic tableaux.