Chapter 23

"We'll take security," I say, leaning forward and looking at Dad.

There are four of us sitting on the balcony: my father, Mikhail, Dimitri, and me. When this started, I never would've guessed this collection of people would've been planning things together.

"It's still risky," Dad replies.

"Ania loves ballet. She deserves a chance to practice. If those idiots are stupid enough to hurt her while she's doing the thing she loves most, well, then that's their mistake. Trust me, it'll be their last."

"I've never known you to speak like this," Dad mutters.

"I've never had a reason to before."

Dimitri and Mikhail exchange a look. Dad turns to them. "What do you think? She's your sister."

"I'm surprised she hasn't gone crazy yet—two days with no ballet," Mikhail mutters.

Dimitri looks at me. "You understand what it would mean if something happened to her?"

I'm tempted to say something savage, but they're just protecting their sister. It's a damn good thing too. I need as many violent, capable men as possible looking out for her as long as everybody understands who she truly belongs to. Hell … belongs. When did that happen? How?

In the back of my head, something tells me it happened the first moment I saw her, but that's too Hollywood. It's not my style, even if it feels true.

"I'd expect nothing less," I tell Dimitri.

He nods, and I'm sure there's a glint of respect in his eyes. It all feels surreal, but I can't deny that this is going far better than I ever expected. I never dreamed I'd fall for the petite young ballerina. If I had anticipated that, I never would've guessed her brothers would've approved, even a bit. And I never would've thought she'd feel the same.

I don't want to take advantage of her. That's why I had to leave after I said that stuff about how she belongs to me. What if I told her—it feels so damn true—and she said she felt the same, felt obligated to, or was drunk on the attention. The term love bombing was created for a reason.

Bombs do damage.

"I think it's a great idea," Mikhail says. "We'll keep working away here. Let's hope these morons see sense. If not, well, we'll do what needs to be done. In the meantime, there's no reason Ania can't have some happiness."

"Are you going to tell me yet?" she asks.

"Do you know what a surprise is?" I counter.

She shoots me one of her sassy looks. It feels like a million years ago that we were on the military plane across the country, but also too recent, like I could wake up with half a wooden ballerina in my hand, realizing this was all a fantasy.

"I think I've had enough of those lately," she replies as we drive closer and closer to the studio.

Four cars border us on all sides, with two more trailing behind and a helicopter on standby. There's no way I'll let anything happen to her—to my woman. Again, I push that idea away. I can't let any of that out. It's not fair. Just because I'm going nuts with desire, it doesn't mean I need to force it on her, too.

Finally, I pull into the parking lot. Ania gasps when she sees the sign out front: Westside Ballet Academy.

"Aiden, I don't have my things."

"Everything you need is inside," I tell her. "I know how much you must miss it. After everything you've been through, you deserve this. I can wait outside or?—"

"No, come in, but just you, yeah?"

I smirk, nudging her playfully. It's like we can momentarily put everything behind us. We don't have to think about her brothers, the rival Bratva, the kidnapping, or all the unspoken things between us. "Somebody wants to show off."

She rolls her eyes at me, but her cute-as-hell smile tells me I might be right. That's fine with me. A free show from my lady … How can I complain?

Opening the door, I walk around to her side, meaning to open hers for her. But she's way too keen to get going. She's already burst from the car, hurrying toward the entrance.

"Wait a sec," I call after her. "Just let me clear it with security."

After a quick walkie-talkie conversation, I'm able to confirm that the studio is safe. I lead Ania inside to the changing rooms.

"I'll be just outside," I tell her.

"Why?" she says, looking at me daringly how she does when she's sleepwalking, except now she's wide awake. Now, excitement and confidence flurry through her.

I smirk. "You won't get much ballet practice in."

"Don't be such an animal," she laughs. "Maybe I just want you to see and …" She pauses, then breaks my heart, something I didn't even know was possible. "… and make sure all that food hasn't ruined me."

"Oh, Ania," I say, taking a step forward.

She holds her hand up. "It's not a big deal. I'm serious. I need an opinion, and you said nobody else gets to see me naked."

"Nobody," I say fiercely.

She smiles almost with a guilty look, as if she doesn't think she deserves to.

"Okay then. Where's my stuff?"

I gesture to the locker. "There should be a bunch of sizes in there."

"You just have to promise to give me your honest opinion."

I sit down, reminding myself this is a big moment for her. I try to convince myself somehow not to pounce on her the second I see her naked body. She slowly starts taking off her clothes, giving me small, nervous looks.

When she reveals her breasts, it's like I can taste her nipples again. She pulls down her pants, then her underwear quickly, standing in front of me naked, her cheeks turning red. Fuck. I'm on my feet, staring at the triangle of her pussy, the small gap between her thighs, the perfection of every inch of her.

It's not just the physical. It's something else. She could be any size, any shape, as long as she's Ania. It goes beyond the skin. It's weird. I don't understand it, but it feels so damn true.

"This part," she says, touching her stomach.

"Shh," I tell her softly, walking toward her. "You're perfect, Ania, and you'll be perfect even if you gain a hundred pounds. Damn. Just you … You're enough."

She looks at me almost in awe as I walk toward her, lowering her voice. "Really?"

I reach out, so tempted to bring my hand to her pretty slit, but then I stop myself. This is about her beauty. I need to tame the savage inside somehow. Instead, I gently wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a hug. She makes a sound somewhere between a sigh of relief and a sob.

"You'll always be beautiful," I tell her, " because you'll always be you."

She makes a croaking noise. "Is that a line from a book or something?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If it is, I've never heard it. It's just the truth."

"Since when did you get so romantic?"

"When a certain ballerina came into my life …"

I hold her even tighter. She grips my sides almost desperately like she's been waiting her whole life for somebody to see how perfect she is. I'm not sure how long we stay like this. I'd happily stay here longer, but she laughs and gently nudges me away.

"Hey, aren't I supposed to be putting on a show?"

I smooth my hand down her naked body, over her hip. "I thought you were already."

"Not that sort of show."

"Naked ballet … There's an idea."

She laughs again. "Maybe one day."

I force myself to move away from her, knowing it's going to be damn near impossible if I stay much longer. It's not just her look but her scent, heat, and everything. It's just that she's Ania, Anna, and that's all that matters.

Sitting down again, I wait, my dick rock-solid, as she gets into her ballet gear. Her entire demeanor changes when she's in her gear. She looks ready for war.

"Shall we?"

"I'm ready if you are," I tell her.

She walks ahead of me, her steps suddenly more measured. Appreciation for her craft fills me up as I follow her into the studio. She's never been here before but seems to know her way. Maybe it's the ballet calling to her.

In the studio, she pauses, taking in a long, contented breath as she looks up and down the shiny floor, the ballet bar, the mirrors, the spaciousness. "I love the smell of hardwood floors," she says, turning to me. "Is that crazy?"

I smirk. "If the last couple of days have taught us anything, it's that we're both a little crazy."

"A little?"

She starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, highlighting the muscles in her calves. It stuns me that she thinks her body is attractive because of how thin she is. It has nothing to do with that. It's how capable she is. It's the fact her body has a purpose. It's the way her muscles flex with each movement. It's the concentration knitting her eyebrows.

"What music would you like?" I ask as she continues her warmup.

"I don't usually practice with music," she tells me.

"Oh, really?" I say, smirking.

She performs a spin and then turns to me, her eyebrow raised. It's like she's become a different person in her natural habitat, as though all her intuitive enthusiasm has free rein to bubble to the surface. "Why do I feel like you've got something planned?"

"This is your special day," I tell her. "I'd consider myself a disappointment if I didn't."

Just like usual, Ania can laugh despite everything that's happened. She doesn't let the pain hold her down. "I feel like you're trying to make sleepwalking Ania come out."

My body stirs when I hear the playfulness in her tone. We both know what sleepwalking Ania means—lust, her wet, youthful body, her core getting ready for my hard dick. I have to tame that part of myself, for now. This isn't about lust yet.

Moving to the corner of the room, I take out the CD from my pocket and slot it into the sound system.

"Molly never sings for people," I tell Ania, "except for you. She definitely never dreamed of recording herself singing until you came back into her life."

The squeaking of Ania's ballet shoes comes to a stop.

"Are you okay?" I ask, turning. "The shoes aren't broken in."

She's standing funny, more weighted on one leg. Then I realize it's not physical. It's like the weight of my words is dragging her down. "Mom recorded a song for me?"

I nod. "I told her what I had planned, and she thought it'd be a good idea."

Ania swallows. "Okay, and the shoes are fine. I mean, broken in is better, but I'd do ballet in fricking boots right now."

The music begins to play. It's soft and slow strings, with a subtle piano in the background. Molly sings slowly, making her voice sound like part of the music. There are no words at first, just her voice rising. "Ooooh-oooooh …"

Ania moves slowly, swaying from side to side. She doesn't seem to perform any specific techniques. It's more like she's letting the music take hold of her and move her in whatever direction it chooses. She spins to one side of the room, then begins to bound, deer-like, her arms counterbalancing her with precision.

I sit on a stool in the corner of the room, watching with awe, stunned at her ability. She looks so beautiful, not just physically. It's her clear passion in every movement. It's the instinctual way she shifts from foot to foot. It's her.

Ania stops when the song ends. "That was beautiful. No words, but just beautiful. I can't believe my mom is so talented."

"I can't believe how talented her daughter is. Actually, I can because you've undeniably put in the work."

"Shall I show you the performance I was practicing … before?"

"Show me anything you want. Show me everything."

A blush touches her gorgeous cheeks when I say this last part. She knows I'm speaking about more than ballet.

"Can you start the song again?"

"Sure."

After beginning the music, she moves into her performance, a series of practiced movements she performs with only a few hiccups. Her forehead knits in frustration each time she falters, which tells me she'll only get better. Then, toward the end, she stops with her hand on her head, taking slow breaths.

I run across the room, my loud footsteps seeming out of place. Taking her by the shoulders, I offer her support so she doesn't collapse.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. It happens all the time."

Yeah, and we both know damn well why, but she doesn't need me rubbing that in her face.

"Looks like my beautiful ballerina might need some athlete fuel," I tell her. "I've got energy bars and electrolyte drinks in my bag."

She frowns up at me. It's like I can see the battle raging behind her eyes. She wants to tell me no. At least, the self-destructive monster inside her does. Then it's like I can see her visibly push that feeling away. She nods. "Okay, yeah, and then we'll keep going."

"Sounds like a plan."

Leaving the room, I go down the hallway, grab my bag, and return with the snacks. We sit at the edge of the studio as we eat. I'm not hungry, but I see her eyeing me up, and I know she'll be more comfortable if I eat, too. She eats half the bar, folds over the wrapper, and then stares at it. Holding it in her fist, she shakes her head and unfolds the wrapper.

I resist the urge to say anything. Even I'm proud of you might break the spell. Hell, I don't want her to think that I consider this my achievement. This is all her: her grit, her determination, her passion.

Once she finishes, she stands up, brushing herself down. "I'll have to take it slow. My belly feels … Can I keep going?"

"We can stay here all day and night," I tell her. "If I had my way, we'd stay here forever."

"This is our cave, huh?"

I smirk. "Hmm?"

She smiles. "Mikhail and Mila, when they were sneaking around, they went to this special cave. I remember Mikhail saying they both wished they could've stayed there. It was like nothing else existed when they were in the cave."

I stand up and pull her into my arms, holding her as gently as I can, ignoring the hundred roaring voices telling me to claim her, own her. Own her. Somehow, I've stopped thinking about how crazy that seems.

"Nothing else does exist, just us."

We sink into a passionate kiss, and then she puts her hand on my chest, pouting up at me. "Stop distracting me."

I grin, waving a hand. "Then you better get to work …"