This man has absolutely no regard for morality or societal standards. While I’m not shocked such people exist, I’ve only met them in ballet. The spiteful mean girls—and boys. I’ve never met a person with a destructive mindset who wouldn’t hesitate to use a gun.
It makes him even more dangerous.
I lift my chin. “But wouldn’t you eventually be killed by a villain just like yourself?”
“Probably. Until then, I’ll do what I do best.”
“Which is?”
“Nothing you should worry about. Yet. Now, back to you, prima ballerina, when did you come to the States?”
I empty half the glass, needing more loosening of my nerves. “When I was five.”
“With whom?”
“My grandmother raised me.”
“The American one, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Is she still alive?”
“She passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. It’s more like those apathetic condolences people offer.
“If you were sorry, you’d stop asking me these questions.”
“Any other family members?” he continues as if I said nothing.
“None.”
“Friends?”
“No.” I finish the wine, refusing to tell him about Luca. That’s my secret from the world.
He slides his glass across the table, and I’m once again drawn to the masculine fingers and how they casually wrap around it, how his nonchalance is as breathtaking as his actions. “I understand now.”
I pour more wine to stop myself from ogling him. “Understand what?”
“The loneliness in your eyes. You managed to transform it and translate it with your body language on the stage. That is very creative.”
“I’m not lonely.” My voice lowers at the end, betraying my defensiveness.
“If you say so.”
“I’m not. I have…I have three million followers on Instagram.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“Stop mocking me.”
“Wasn’t that the reaction you were hoping for? Validation by showcasing your fake followers?”
“They’re not fake. They’re real people.”
“What do they know about you aside from your pre-performance and workout selfies?”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“Your Instagram is public. There was no stalking involved. But yes, Lia, I’ve been through it, and I think it’s rather…dull.”
My blood boils, bubbling to the surface, but I mutter, “I don’t care what you think.”
“But you care about what others think. That’s why you keep that page. Be it because of the need for some sort of twisted validation or for attention. Though I don’t think you’re consciously pursuing the latter.”
How does this man read so much into details? How does he go to depths even I haven’t thought about? Consciously, at least.
“Are you trying to prove how much you have a hold on me? Is that it?”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. As I said, I’m just getting to know you, Lia.”
“And then what? After you get to know me, what are you planning to do with me?”
“What makes you believe I plan to do something?
“I’m not an idiot. I know this is only a phase before you move on to the next step.”
He pauses with his glass of wine halfway to his lips. “What do you think I’ll do?”
“Fuck me?”
“Eventually.”
The single word, though calmly spoken, crashes my world and splinters it into a million bloody pieces. My stomach sinks with a mixture of feelings. There’s the sharp tang of disappointment, but that’s not all. Malevolent butterflies claw at my skin with a dark sense of enthrallment.
All the nightmares I had after that night start to scroll through my mind’s eye. The shadowy, blurry images morph into two figures on a bed as one of them rams into the other.
I never wanted to identify them, but now, one of them is as clear as the face in front of me.
Him.
His strong body is pounding what seems to be both pleasure and pain into the person lying beneath him.
One of them is still faceless, and I desperately want it to be me.
“Even if I say no?” I murmur.
“If I were a rapist, I would’ve broken into your apartment in the middle of the night and taken what I wanted. I would not have asked you to dinner.”
“Am I supposed to appreciate the gesture?” There’s a slight slur at the end of my speech. This is probably my third glass of wine.
Shit.
In my attempt to loosen my nerves, I went ahead and got drunk in the company of a monster who wouldn’t hesitate to use it against me.
This is the absolute worst. I not only have a low alcohol tolerance, but I also lose my inhibitions in all senses possible even when slightly intoxicated.
Adrian raises his glass to his mouth, barely sipping. He hasn’t poured himself anything aside from his first. “It’s not obligatory, no.”
“I…I want to go home.” I stand on unsteady feet, then fall back on the seat. I’m still catching my breath when a large presence appears by my side.
He clutches my arm and gently pulls the glass of wine from my fingers. “I believe you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”
“I want to leave.”
“Then let’s leave.” He places a few bills on the table and wraps a strong arm around my waist as he leads me out of the restaurant.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or everything that’s transpired tonight, but I feel like I’m levitating. My nostrils fill with his masculine scent and his firm hold on me only heightens it.
But somewhere at the back of my mind, I still recognize that he’s dangerous. That he’s a monster hidden under a composed façade and gentlemen’s clothes.
I wiggle away from him. “I can walk on my own.”
He releases me, and before I can be relieved, I stumble. Adrian holds me by the elbow and pulls me to him so that my front is flat against his hard chest.
I’m so small compared to him, barely reaching his broad shoulders. I’m thin and tiny in contrast to his large physique and monstrous aura. As if the asshole could use another thing to intimidate me with—aside from my life.
We’re standing at what I assume is the back entrance of the restaurant, because it’s not the same one we used when coming in. The place is empty except for a few cars in the parking lot.
Only a single streetlight is in view. Even in the semi-darkness, Adrian’s eyes are intense but have that sheen of utter calmness. I wonder what it’d take to disturb that look.
To disturb him.
“Why did you wait a week to find me?” I murmur.
“I was busy.”
“Busy gathering information about me?”
“Probably. Why? Have you been thinking about me, Lenochka?” His voice drops with the last word.
I don’t tell him he’s the only one I’ve been thinking about, in the most terrifying way possible, and that when I saw him again in the audience, something inside me unlocked. That I think I had my best performance yet, just because I knew he was there.