Page 70 of Pas de Trois
“Maybe I’ll develop a training program for you on the health risks associated with trying to mansplain your way through marriage.” Her fingers come up to make air quotes on the word marriage.
I step aside because I fully expect Murphy to haul off, grab her from the chair, and take her from the room by force—I don’t need to get knocked over in the midst. But Kostya appears at my side, stepping between Murphy and Stella, and greets the Head of House cordially, defusing their tension for a moment.
Once the social niceties have been observed, I take Kostya’s arm and dismiss us away, allowing him to lead me back a few rows. I never thought I’d be thankful to have him around, especially since I distrusted him so much before Ezra came along and everything changed. But he’s quickly become a true ally—it sets my hopes high that maybe one day soon, he’ll help me and Ezra.
My nerves buzz with a prickling energy beneath my skin as we sit and wait. Movement from the aisle beside us catches my attention and I turn my head to see Renata striding forward along the aisleway toward Murphy. I see Ezra pass by our row, behind Luca, as Renata, Lorenzo, and Olivia greet our host.
Ezra’s wearing a navy-blue suit, his white button-down shirt open at the neck to allow space for his collar to show. He turns his head and winks at me as he follows the others and my heart skips a beat. I fight every muscle in my face to hide my grin and surely flushing cheeks.
I will get to spend some time with him tonight. Renata is his keeper, but he’s still my talent, and I’m allowed to have my talent as an escort at the reception. That’s how it’s always been, for no reason other than tradition—I don’t mind the tradition when it grants me time with my love without fear or secrecy.
The Vittori/Fiore crew soon fill in half the row beside us, sitting next to Kostya and leaving me happily at the end. I lean forward, look down the row, and gaze in Ezra’s direction, staring until he sees me. When he does, he gives me a secret grin, briefly putting his hand over his heart, as if he needs to hold it inside for the way it beats for me. I put a hand on my stomach, and though I can’t smile at him right now, I tell him with my eyes how much I love him.
Murphy greets his audience and introduces their recently-acquired talent slave, a singer whose been with them just shy of a year. I feel a stab of pain in my gut and I know it’s nothing to do with the baby—it’s just a pang of knowing for this talent slave. Knowing what she is, what she is forced to do, how she was forced into captivity; it’s an ache of compassion for her.
The lights in the house dim, chattering fades slowly into expectant silence, and the curtain begins to rise. The young talent slave appears on stage, her long, strawberry-blond hair sweeping in waves nearly to her waist, blending into her sparkling gold sequin gown. With her porcelain complexion and ginger-colored hair, she almost looks like she could be a younger version of Cordelia O’Shea.
The young woman entertains us by singing several beautiful melodies with impressive talent. She’s a gorgeous young girl, a truly talented singer who had her whole life ahead of her. Her story is the same as my story. Funded by the O’Sheas’ to develop her talent over the years, she’s only recently been stolen away and made a slave. She’ll likely serve them for years, possibly decades, missing out on every opportunity to live a full and happy life the way she wishes to. I wonder if Murphy and his family are as brutal with her as Nikolai and Vigo were with me.
Of course, they are.
Murphy is the ruthless king of masters.
We’re all siphoned out of the theater following the performance. Renata and her clan exit fairly quickly, but Kostya stays behind with me as I sit and wait for the crowd to thin out a bit. My feet already hurt and I’m tired, so I don’t feel in a major rush to wobble out of my seat and get to socializing with monsters any sooner than I have to. It’s the same old routine at every quarterly meeting—talent show, reception, board meeting.
When Kostya and I finally exit the theater, I approach Renata where she stands with Luca and Ezra, waiting right by the door as was previously agreed upon. My eyes land on Ezra, inadvertently skimming down his body and taking in the absolutely perfect sight of him in a perfectly tailored suit.
My hormonal heart beats double time. “I’ll take my escort off your hands now,” I tell Renata.
My escort.
Just as I always was for Nikolai.
My left hand feels suddenly heavy at my side and I fight the urge to twirl my rings, averse to drawing attention to them.
Renata’s scowl tells me how much she hates that I get to have Ezra on my arm for just a little while tonight. I have to fight my smile at that thought. This experience must be proving to be so eye-opening for her, to realize that it’s these twisted traditions that oppress her so. If it weren’t for tradition, she would be the sole leader of the Vittoris. But that’s not the case and she’ll just have to follow the damn rules like the rest of us.
Serves her right.
“There will be eyes on both of you this evening,” she says as she nudges Ezra forward from the small of his back. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
“Stupid?” I say. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve always followed the rules.” I tilt my head to the side. “Always.”
“Come,” she snaps at Luca and turns on her pointy heels.
I can’t help but grin as Ezra holds out his arm for me and I take it. Kostya is in tow, following us into the reception space just outside the theater. I spare him a quick glance and a friendly smile over my shoulder.
Renata leads the way with Luca at her side and re-introduces me to practically every person at the reception. She does so begrudgingly, but it has to be someone’s responsibility to do this—I thought it would be Murphy, as he’s hosting, but he pawned off the task on Renata, much to her dismay. By the time I’ve been presented as Nikolai’s bereaved wife to what feels like a thousand demons who I only vaguely remember, my feet and calves are aching and I’m desperate to get off my feet.
Olivia—a full month less pregnant than me—has already found a place to perch and put her feet up on Lorenzo’s lap. He’s taken off her shoes and is rubbing her feet.
They look happy.
I feel painfully jealous.
My mind flashes in envy and for a terrible moment, I see myself as Olivia—a happy girl with a smile on my face—and my feet on Nikolai’s lap. It’s a split-second vision and my heart drops into my stomach because that’s not a vision I want.
I never wanted that…not with Nikolai.
