“My guys saw him get on the plane. He’s gone.” His smile widened. “Congrats, Petra. And Merry Christmas.”
“Oh my God,” Petra burst out. “Oh my God. Oh my God!” She hugged Liam and Ruby at the same time, in one big, jubilant embrace. “Oh my God. Thank you so much, Liam. This is all thanks to you, to your hard work.”
“Yes, thanks,” Rubio echoed with a huge smile. “Now we can sleep easier.”
Petra turned into Ruby’s arms and hugged him tight. No matter how panicked she felt about their increasing closeness, she still cared for him deeply. “I was so worried for you,” she said. “I was so afraid he’d hurt you. I couldn’t have lived with the guilt.”
“Baby girl,” he whispered. He grabbed a handful of her hair and breathed it in, nuzzling against her neck. “You don’t have to worry anymore. The fucker’s on an airplane. He’s gone.”
She felt high with happiness and relief, all her exhaustion fallen away into euphoria. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Believe it,” he said, tracing her silver collar. He leaned to kiss her, a deep, hard, kiss that reclaimed her as his own.
Chapter Seventeen: Freedom
Paulsen was gone. No more slipping into cars after work or looking over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t followed. No more waking up at night, frightened she’d heard a sound in the dark. No more nightmares, hopefully.
Paulsen hadn’t given up, of course not. Liam warned that her stalker would probably grow angrier, but he could be angry an ocean away from her. Thanks to Liam’s efforts he wasn’t allowed back in the UK, and Petra had no immediate plans to leave London, so everything was okay.
A couple days after Christmas, she moved back into her old place, even though Rubio asked her to move in with him. “We’ve been living together for weeks,” he said when she balked. But sleeping beside him in Ash and Liam’s forest bed was different, less threatening. It was like sleeping together at a hotel. Moving into his loft was a completely different thing.
So she waffled. She said she’d consider it later, after the New Years Gala. She threw herself into rehearsals, pushing Rubio to practice the balcony pas de deux over and over, even though, by now, the scene had become their calling card. “We done this one million times,” he groused, but she insisted they keep rehearsing. Avoidance? Probably. Sometimes in practice he stared at her neck, and she knew what he was thinking. But Juliet didn’t wear a collar in the balcony scene, so Petra left it at Rubio’s place, where she still seemed to end up every night.
Gala night arrived in a flash, a mere week after their sexy Christmas Eve foursome. It was a big, annual fundraising party for City Ballet, and Petra and Rubio were a huge part of it. It was their responsibility to impress the donors and help Yves raise money. Liam and Ash were there too, dressed to the nines. Try as she might, Petra still couldn’t meet Liam’s gaze without a flush spreading across her cheeks.
Fortunately, there wasn’t any drama or jealousy after the fact. Petra and Ashleigh were closer than ever. They circulated arm in arm at the gala, talking to people they knew, smiling and laughing. Ashleigh pulled her over to some chairs after a while. With the pregnancy, she was getting heavy on her feet.
“I heard you and Rubio are starting rehearsals for Waking Kiss,” she said as she eased her shoes off.
Waking Kiss was the first ballet Rubio had choreographed, and it had been inspired by Ashleigh. To this day, only Ash and Rubio had performed it at City Ballet. Petra wrinkled her nose at her friend. “Is it going to feel weird that I’m doing it? You know? Your ballet?”
“It’s not my ballet, hon. It’s Rubio’s. And no, it won’t feel weird. You two will be beautiful in it, even more beautiful than—” She cut off mid-sentence, stopping Petra with a jerk. “Don’t look. I mean, don’t turn around or anything. Your dad is here.”
Petra almost turned, but then she didn’t. If he sees me here, he’ll leave. But he had to assume she’d be here. She was the star principal of London City Ballet. Her face was on all the signage and invitations for the event. She looked furtively in the direction Ashleigh indicated. Her father stood in the midst of a group of theater heavy-hitters. Everyone paid court to him, including Yves Thibault. Petr Grigolyuk looked the same as always. Tall, handsome, aristocratic in his tuxedo. He looked so much like her. It was humiliating that he wouldn’t cop to being her dad.
The same old feelings of shame and worthlessness washed over her. He’d want to be your dad if you were a cooler person. If you were prettier, more interesting, more talented. “I hate him,” she said under her breath. But she kept watching, reluctantly fascinated. She hadn’t been in the same room with him in years now, and certainly not for this long.
“I hate him too,” said Ashleigh in solidarity. “He’s starting to lose his hair.”
Petr looked up then, right at her. Immediately his eyes flicked to Ashleigh at her side. He smiled at Ash and turned away. Her friend scowled at the back of his head. “Fuckwad. Total dick. You should walk over there and throw a drink in his face.”
“No. Yves would probably fire me. Anyway, if he can’t stoop to acknowledge my existence, I won’t acknowledge his.”
“It’s going to be hard not to acknowledge your existence when you and Rubio take the stage in ten minutes or so.”
“He won’t watch,” said Petra, even though she felt a pang of nervousness. What if her father did watch? Would he admire her dancing? Would he feel proud? Maybe if she danced well enough, he’d come over and say, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t know why I ignored you all these years.
She screwed her eyes shut, fighting the fantasy. She hated that she still clung to that hope after all this time, after all the heartbreak and rejection. Grigolyuk didn’t care about her. He would never love her. She didn’t have a father and that had to be okay.
Ash touched her arm. “How about if I go throw a drink at him on your behalf? Yves can’t fire me anymore.”
“Where’s Rubio?” Petra whispered through a numbing haze of pain. She needed Rubio. She needed to get ready to dance. “Here Ash, take this for me?” She shoved her wine glass into her friend’s hand just as Liam came to join them.
“You okay?” He patted her shoulder in sympathy. “Yves didn’t know he’d be here. He sent me to be sure you’re all right.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Petra said with more spirit than she felt.
Ash made a face. “If that pompous ass crashed this party, they should kick him out. I’ll happily assist the effort.”
“I don’t think Yves can kick him out,” he said. “Ballet royalty is ballet royalty. Just remember,” he said, pointing at Petra, “he’s not the only legend here.”
He gave her a smile meant to encourage, to fortify. She loved both her friends for their unwavering support. Liam was right—Grigolyuk wasn’t the only one here with talent and power. She was going to dance the hell out of the balcony pas de deux with Rubio, and her father could choke on it, or walk out if he wanted. She refused to give a fuck anymore.
“I better head backstage,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Merde, hon.” Ashleigh gave her a hug, being careful with her makeup and her delicate, flowing costume. “Have fun. You two do Romeo and Juliet better than anyone.”
God, Petra hoped so. This had to be their very best performance, even if it was just a showcase event. She found Rubio in his dressing room, still doing his makeup. “Where were you?” she asked. “I’ve been out there all by myself.”
He turned at her sharp tone. “You need my help to walk around and drink champagne? You didn’t have to go out there before the show.”
“And you didn’t have to hide back here. You’re the lead principal. You should have been out there working the room.”
He put on a few finishing swipes of shading and straightened, adjusting his gray satin tunic. “And you should watch the way you snap at me, or I’ll spank your naughty ass when we go back to my place.”
She turned away from him, irritated that he’d try to play with her at a time like this. “I’m not in the mood for that crap right now. We’re supposed to go dance.”
He blinked at her, once, twice. “What happened to you? What’s wrong? Is Paulsen back?”
“No. How would he be back?”
“What then?”
“It’s my dad. He’s out there.”
As soon as she spit out the words, a little of her agitation bled away. Rubio unruffled too, his pinched features transforming into an expression of understanding. “Oh, no. What did he say to you?” he asked, taking her hand. “If he talked bad to you, I’ll punch him in the face.”
“He didn’t talk bad to me. He wouldn’t even look at me. I don’t care though. I’m just annoyed that he’s here.” Ruby tilted her chin until he caught her gaze, but she pulled away from him. She didn’t want his soul-searching, not tonight. She looked pointedly at the clock. “We’re supposed to go on at ten-thirty. Are you ready?”
“Do I look ready?” He bent to brush a whisper of a kiss across her lips. He was ever mindful of her makeup, ever mindful of everything. He really was the world’s best partner and she shouldn’t have taken her irritation out on him.
“I’m sorry,” she said against his cheek. “I’m sorry I was snappy with you.”
“You can make it up to me later. You come sleep over tonight, yes?”
Petra didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure. Seeing her father had brought up a bunch of prickly, angsty feelings, and for some reason they were transferring to Rubio. She was annoyed with his confidence and sexual innuendos, his assumption she’d be there in his bed wearing his pretty silver pet collar whenever he wanted. As she stood at the balcony as Juliet, watching for Romeo’s entrance, she imagined a future gala, where Rubio stood like a king, like her father, worshipped and revered in his fancy tuxedo.
Where would she be? At his side? Or at home, aging and forgotten, bitterly reminiscing about her ephemeral career?