The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,32
abandoning me to a sea of eligible women?“
I smirk. “Why would you think something like that?”
“Hmph. Let’s see. You’re in a somber mood while sitting in a singles bar.” He points at my drink next. “That looks like a glass of unstirred, loaded White Russian you’re enjoying with a shot of Vodka on the side. Do I even need to mention your moodiness at rehearsal on days when a certain designer chooses not to show up?”
We both share a laugh. “That transparent, am I?”
“Like a big fat sheet of glass. It’s quite alright. I knew that sooner or later you’d go soft and give in to the American blood inside you.”
“Is that right?” I ask, wrinkling my forehead at him.
“Partially, yes. But I notice a lot of things you might not think I’m seeing. Like when my most flirtatious dancer strikes a fancy to our designer, and you send me over to set him straight,” he reminds. Nikolai sometimes knows what I want even before I do. Things have always worked that way for us ever since we met.
“You’ve been there for me over the last seven years. We’ve been through some crazy shit together.” I swallow a shot of Vodka, straight and pure. No, it’s not a good replacement for a woman, for her, but the way the heat burns in my stomach as the alcohol settles in can at least ease my burning hunger.
I think of Erin’s face and…reel it in. Getting unfocused as I’m preparing for a large performance messes with my coordination every time. Mother has too much riding on this show for me to fuck it up. The fate of everybody’s careers, including Nikolai’s and even Erin’s, has fallen into my hands. It’s a big fucking responsibility.
“Heard from Sergey?” he asks, making sure not to refer to him as my father. I clench my jaw and pour myself another glass of liqueur. I almost start to believe Nikolai enjoys messing with my head. He’s a psychologist, a head doctor hiding inside of a dancer’s body.
“Why should I hear from him? He has Dmitri,” I remind him.
“Since we’re obviously not here for all of these lovely ladies who are baring everything for us, we...” His words drift off as he stares at a woman in a blue dress walking by our seat. She does a double take in our direction, making sure she smiles extra wide for the both of us. “I don’t know what your goal is tonight, but mine is to make Nikolai Junior happy.” He grabs his crotch, emphasizing his point.
Across the room, our lady in the blue dress walks toward a section near the restrooms. Stopping to talk to a couple sitting near the back, she keeps glancing over at us. Eventually, she finishes her conversation, slinks through the crowds, and heads straight toward us.
“Well, there’s your chance, comrade,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder and nodding toward the woman.
“Ah yes. Good thing I came prepared.” He opens his jacket and shows me enough condoms to last well into the month.
“Always a good thing. Now go.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have enough fun for both of us. Good luck with whatever your mission is supposed to be, as well.” He strolls off toward the woman. They strike up a conversation right away. Watching them makes me wonder what Erin is doing at the moment. My fingers are about two seconds away from punching in her digits on my phone.
Reining my thoughts back under control, I finish my drink, pay the bartender, and walk toward the exit. I’d already texted Hagar a half hour ago, telling him to pick me up from this spot.
Before I walk outside onto the crowded Via Croce Rossa, the street just outside the doorway, I take a final look at the club’s red and black interior. I might not have known what I came in here for tonight, but I think my subconscious does. It wanted to say goodbye.
Chapter Eight
Erin
The Galleria Vittorio’s bustle has me on edge today for some reason. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always a ton of people hanging around. Crowds don’t bother me as much, and this mall is definitely the place to be in Milan. The art etched into the marbleized walkway along with the glass ceiling creates a sight people back home in Louisiana can only dream about.
To make the capes that go along with Nikolai’s lead dancers’ costumes, I need about ten yards of Italian silk fabric. Adriana, who has pretty much