Christmas Captive - Isabella Starling Page 0,11

with her if only to ensure no one took advantage. “Maybe I should come with you.”

“That would be great,” she gushed. “What will you auction?”

“No, not like that,” I muttered.

“But Amicia, you could make some money,” she said. “Lots.”

“How much?” I asked, not expecting her whispered answer one bit.

“Well, if I sell mine for one million… which they said was the going price… I’ll get a hundred thousand.”

“What?” I nearly choked. “That’s… life-changing money.”

“I know,” she nodded eagerly. “You could auction a night with yourself. It could go for five-hundred thousand, and you’d get fifty out of it.”

Those numbers were staggering and remarkable, making me bite my lower lip as I considered her words. I could do it. It would mean finally being able to pay for dancing lessons. It would mean crawling out of the hole Margaret had dug for me. My life would change.

“Who do I need to contact?” I asked Capri, my voice a low whisper.

She smiled, digging in her pink backpack, and pulling out a business card. “Here. His name is Dmitri Sokolov. He’ll tell you everything you need to do.”

“Thank you.” I pocketed the card with a guilty expression. I shouldn’t have been as excited as I was about this. It meant going against everything I stood for, going back on my own promise to never sell myself. But what choice did I have? I was twenty-two years old, with staggering debt left over from Margaret’s death and dance lessons I desperately needed but could never afford.

I danced in a blur that night, my thoughts preoccupied with the business card stuck in the pocket of my jacket. I wasn’t sure whether I’d call Dmitri Sokolov, but a little nagging voice at the back of my mind insisted I should give it a go.

***

The next day, the thought of Couture House was still front and center in my mind, but so was the guilt I felt every time I thought of the opportunity Capri had offered me.

Nasty little thing, Margaret’s voice echoed in my head. Nothing but a cheap slut. I knew you’d end up like this. Like the whore you are.

But the bright side was, I had another audition that day, for a production of Romeo and Juliet that I was extremely excited about. I had spent hours getting ready for it after work, staying up late until I was convinced I had the moves down pat. I learned from a video I’d found online and could only hope it would be enough to convince the casting director I was the right fit for the role.

As I made my way to the theater where the auditions were being held, Dmitri Sokolov’ business card burned a hole in my pocket. I was painfully aware of it the whole time, even as I got changed into my leotard and a pair of worn-out ballet slippers I’d bought at a consignment store.

I stayed in the waiting room with the other girls vying for the role. It was always nerve-wracking to see my competition. These girls weren’t just stunning, with expensive clothes and hairstyles, they also had the training I lacked.

A woman with round-shaped glasses called our names off a list one by one, and the girls disappeared into the room. Some of them came out elated, others looked down, some were even crying. But it was always like this at dancing auditions. It was a cutthroat world in this industry, and it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see the prospects in tears. I’d been told I needed to lose weight, change my hair color, or that I was hopelessly plain plenty of times before. It all came with the job.

I wasn’t called for ages, making me think they’d forgotten about me. By the end, only two of us remained—a pretty blonde with sparkling grey eyes, and me.

As we were sitting in the waiting area, a group of people exited the audition room, and the woman who’d been calling us in told us they were taking a short break and would be back in twenty. We nodded, exchanging shy glances as the group left the room.

“Just my luck,” I muttered. “Being called last when I have somewhere to be.”

“Likewise,” the blonde smiled at me. “I’m already late for my dance lesson. You too?”

I tried to hide the shame burning my cheeks, giving her a non-committal nod. “Is this your first audition?”

She nodded with a nervous smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“It’s the nerves,” I laughed. “But trust me, those never go