Page 48 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
His gaze, both quiet and assessing, feels more like he’s committing every word to memory, rather than simply listening. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he even softens a bit.
Then, the admittance leaves me far too easily. “I miss it…performing.”
“It gave you purpose,” Ivan says with surprising care.
Despite not being a question, I nod. As much as I want to keep myself perfectly guarded around him, I can’t pretend like it isn’t true. It was all I had.
The longer we go without saying anything, the more I’m convinced the conversation has ended. Though I catch as his head tilts, almost curiously.
“Would you like to again?”
The question leaves him so abruptly that I’m sure I misheard him, or that I just imagined it outright. “What?”
“Do you want to perform? Either singing or playing, whatever you want.”
I stare at him, so close to gawking without fully committing to it. Then a disbelieving sound leaves me. “You’re joking.”
Ivan cocks a brow at me. “It’s a genuine question.”
In a traitorous way, my heart squeezes while I search his eyes for any kind of deceit or mockery, finding nothing but sincerity. I don’t know how to take it.
“You said I need to lay low.”
“I did, and you will, but I can make arrangements if it’s something you’re serious about,” he answers, as if he’s talking about something normal like a dinner reservation, not a performance that would put me in the open again, after the fuss he has made about keeping me here.
Standing there like I’ve been slapped, I’m too aware of how small the room feels now, and how near he is, offering me this like I had asked for before.
“You’d actually let me? You mean it?”
His lips pull fractionally, and he nods. “I can make it happen. Safely, of course.”
I hesitate for a moment, then I laugh to myself almost breathlessly. “God, you’re impossible to read.”
Ivan hums with amusement. “Good. I guess that means I’m still me after all.”
The way he says it makes it sound more loaded than he lets on, but I choose to ignore it. I’m not in the position to push too much, not with a potential show hanging in the balance.
“That’s not really a compliment.”
“It’s honest, at least,” he muses, unfazed about being called out.
Looking up at him, something heavy and unspoken lingers in the air, but I can’t pull my eyes away just yet.
Instinctively, I want to be wary, and I’m tempted to dissect his offer until I find whatever trap could be hidden inside it. Though the hope in my chest is too warm and comforting to ignore.
With a touch of reluctance, I mumble, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think of you.”
At that, his smile settles into a more sincere one, and he leans a bit closer, almost teasing. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Just keep practicing, and I’ll pull some strings.”
I know I should keep my expectations at a minimum to avoid getting too invested in the idea, but everything about the way he’s looking at me only convinces me more to trust him—in this, at least.
“I’d like that.”
“You’ll be back on the stage before you know it,” Ivan says, letting me take in his more pleasant expression a moment longer before he eventually turns away and heads for the kitchen.
Standing there a moment longer, I watch him go, and all the while, something uncertain settles in my stomach.
I don’t know what Ivan will ultimately decide for himself or me, but for the first time in a while, it feels like something might become mine again. Like I’ll finally get to feel like myself again.
