Page 91 of Pas de Trois
“Murphy,” she acknowledges him.
“I came to watch. I need a break from my wife.” Murphy moves across the room and sits on the piano bench, then looks at us expectedly. “So? Are you going to dance or just stand there?”
Anya turns and gives me a final frustrated smile before moving away, going back to the stereo system behind where Murphy sits to restart the song.
I listen to the music and feel and dance as it tells me to. That’s the way I’ve always created my routines. I’ve always choreographed them myself. But shit, do I miss dancing with Anya. I kind of hated dancing with partners before the mess of this life forced upon us by Nikolai.
Not that I didn’t have great partners, but really, it never felt quite right when I danced with them. I was never able to pinpoint why I felt so off about it before. When I danced with Anya for the first time, I knew why. It was because she was the only partner I was ever meant to dance with. There was never a second when dancing with her felt wrong or unnatural or uncomfortable. We’d clicked from the very first count of eight.
I try a few things, some of them work with the music and some don’t. Anya guides me, helps me with my transitions from one move to the next. She’s the only person whose ever been able to see my failings and help me correct them. I’ve never known a dancer quite like Anya; one so spectacular with technique and teaching while also being so beautiful on the floor herself.
I wish I could dance with her now.
We’ll dance together again one day.
“That was cool, you’re a really good dancer,” Stella says as she suddenly appears in the doorway, arms folded. “They force you to dance, don’t they? Like their singer?” She nods toward Murphy, referring to the O’Shea family’s talent slave.
“Yeah,” I reply simply as Murphy shoots to his feet and marches across the room to Stella.
Anya leans back against the mirrored wall behind her, crossing her arms and glancing down and away. She knows better than to get involved in a conversation like this with Murphy and Stella, but it’s clear it bothers her to stay out of it.
Stella lets her arms fall to her sides as Murphy approaches her. She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows in challenge and cocking her head to the side. “What? Am I not allowed to talk to people? Ask questions?”
Murphy grabs her elbow, turning her, trying to nudge her out of the room. “I expect you to talk to the right people, not to a fucking talent slave. You’re my wife. You’re above him.”
Stella jerks her arm away from his grip. “I might as well be a slave. You don’t let me leave. I get scolded for talking to anyone or asking questions. You leave me alone half the time and won’t tell me what you’re off doing.”
I lock my fingers together on top of my head and spin away, pacing the floor while I wait for Murphy to blow. When I turn back around, I see Murphy grab her chin, yanking her head up to look at him.
My hands smack against my sides and I stomp toward them. Anya pushes off the mirror and shuffles in front of my path, holding up a hand to catch me on the chest before I haul off and knock Murphy on his ass for manhandling his woman like that. Anya gives me an admonishing look before whipping around to face them.
“Murphy,” Anya pulls her shoulders back and puts on the Queen Mikhailov voice she’s adopted to cope with her current position, “you’re in my home and I ask that you find a way to use your words to convey your intent with your wife rather than your hands.”
She’s so fucking perfect.
I couldn’t be more proud of her, though I know Murphy frightens her.
His shoulders stiffen and he stretches his neck from side to side before slowly loosening his grip on Stella’s jaw, letting his hand slip down her shoulder, her arm, before releasing her all together. He slowly turns and faces Anya behind him. “Apologies, lass. She tests my patience.”
“Something for you to work on, then? I don’t imagine your wife desires to be treated like a slave.”
Murphy smirks and something strange slips in Stella’s expression. “She might,” Murphy muses. “We’ll let you two get back to it.” Murphy spins to face Stella, twirling his finger. She spins to leave and he slaps her butt, making her jump before ushering her out of the dance studio.
What a fucking pair.
A moment later, Kostya appears and there’s a long, still moment where we all just look at each other. Then Anya moves, jerking her head to indicate she wants us to follow her, and we do, to the stereo in the corner.
“Are you still in this with us, Kostya?” she asks him in a hushed tone. “The quarterly meeting is right around the corner. I need to…We need to know. Do we really have a chance of escaping?”
Kostya glances behind him. “Yes, but it is risky.”
Anya shrugs her shoulders. “It’s riskier not to try. I can’t risk my baby being raised as one of them, with or without me.”
Kostya nods. “I know. I understand. I have a plan.”
“You really think it will work?” I ask.
“No choice. It must work,” Kostya says.
