“Darling, come and have a drink before we eat.” Jasper holds out a glass of champagne, and I go and take it. I’ve never really liked the taste of this stuff, but I like the effect.
I sip at the drink and wait to be introduced. I’ve already glanced at the couple. The woman is striking, in her late twenties if I had to guess. The man is in his fifties and portly. His face is florid, and he is drinking his whisky fast.
“Dasha, meet Lilliana and Charles Dubouis.”
I shake their hands as we all make pleasantries. Lilliana smiles at me, and it’s warm. Genuine. “I have to confess,” she says, “I am a huge fan of yours, so you have me to blame for this boring business dinner. I told my husband that I’ve never seen anyone dance like you, and I meant it. You’re sublime.”
I blush and thank her. I’m not the best at dealing with praise.
Bohdan is sipping at what looks like vodka, and I can’t stop glancing at him. He’s so handsome in that outfit. He obliterates the other two men in this room with his presence.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell Lilliana. “And that’s a truly lovely thing to say.”
“The first time I watched you dance, I was moved to tears,” she says. “Honestly, you’re supremely talented.”
“Well, thank you,” I say again, blushing more, my face heating. She’s lovely, but I’m so not used to such effusive praise. Bohdan moves toward us, and brushes by, his scent teasing me.
It’s not that oceanic one from earlier; this is different. Now he smells of woods and spice, and it’s darker and richer. He leans against the antique sideboard, crosses his legs at the ankles, and runs a hand over his jaw.
I follow the intensely masculine motion and try to ignore the pulse between my legs. It seems whenever he’s around, parts of me that have been dormant for a long time wake up. The watch at his wrist looks expensive, and I peer closer. It’s a Rolex, but I have no clue what kind. I don’t know much about watches. I don’t know much about luxury in general, despite drowning in it. Apart from bags, all the clothes I buy, I’m ordered to by Jasper. It takes the pleasure out of it when you’re told to do it by the same man who left you lying in a pile of stinking garbage.
Fine jewels I have, but they mean nothing to me. I don’t like diamonds. Call me strange, but I genuinely don’t. They hold no interest for me. I glance at my wedding ring. It’s a yellow gold ring set with a huge aqua marine and two diamonds on either side. Jasper bought the ring because he said it reminded him of my eyes. I’d loved the ring back then for the gesture and the romance associated with it. Now, I hate it.
My wedding ring is plain, at my insistence. Jasper’s wedding band is yellow gold and simple too. Tonight, he’s wearing a pair of grey slacks, with a white shirt and a matching grey vest. His hair is slicked to one side, and his ever-present pipe is nearby, although thankfully not lit. The smell makes me gag.
Jasper looks like a relic from another era, and that’s the way he likes it. He doesn’t like modern fashion much. Jasper likes everything old school. He’s obsessed with Victorian era antiques and paintings. I can’t stand the furniture he buys. All that wood, so heavy and dark. I prefer things to be light and airy.
An image rises in my mind, unbidden of the tiny, sad little kitchens in the block of flats I lived in as a child. Ours was one of the better ones, as was Bohdan’s as it had two bedrooms, one of which doubled up as a lounge. Some of the others only had one room outside of the kitchen and bathroom. They were built in the Soviet era, but many are still being built to this day. They were depressing and small. I always felt trapped. God knows how Bohdan felt having to share his with that bastard of a father.
I glance at him, and he slowly lifts his blue gaze. Emotion hits me right in the gut, and I blink rapidly. We share so much. A past. A culture. An understanding.
We both came from hardship and made something of ourselves. We both know how hard those early years after the fall of the Soviet Union were. I was only a child when it happened and have no memory of the Soviet era, but I know what the decade that followed was like, and it was difficult.
Not for everyone. Some got very rich, others got by, but some of us, we floundered. My parents did. Eventually they split, from the stress I think. Then, thankfully, Mom had enough money to take us to London, and life started anew. I still love London. I adore that smell of the underground you get as you walk by a station, a faint burnt electric scent. I love the parks. The buildings. All of it. London gave me joy, life, and a chance.
Paris, I don’t love. Not because of the city itself, but all it signifies for me. This is the place my soul died.
We are all seated as the food is served. I have Lilliana opposite me, with Bohdan one side of me, and Charles the other. Jasper sits next to Lilliana.
Despite her stunning looks, I’m not remotely worried my husband will flirt with her. He never does. He screws the blondes, but he doesn’t flirt with them. I think he simply lays them down and takes what he wants. The way he did to me for a full year before he stopped coming near me.
The warmth of Bohdan next to me is enticing. I could simply lean to one side, like a listing ship, and rest my head on his shoulder.
For a crazy moment, I get the urge to do just that. I can’t. Jasper would go insane. He’d likely bash my skull in with the ornate candlesticks, witnesses be damned. I almost smile at the thought of how perplexed, then livid, he would be if I did such a thing.
The starter is a huge seafood platter, and I glower at Jasper. I hate seafood. He knows this. Why has he served it?
“Help yourselves, everyone,” he says.
I wait until everyone has served themselves, except for myself and Bohdan, so I can hopefully nibble a tiny bit, and no one will notice. Jasper isn’t eating his; instead, he’s watching our side of the table, but it’s not me he’s focused on but Bohdan.
“Are you going to have some?” Jasper asks. “This was very expensive.”
“No,” Bohdan says.
Not, no thank you. Simply no.
“Oh, but the chef went to such effort,” Jasper cajoles. “A tiny taste.”
“No,” Bohdan says again. “I don’t like it.”
“Ah, yes, I’m so sorry. I remember now.” Jasper gives Bohdan a small smile. “I forgot you told me, of course.”
Jasper is playing games because it’s what he does. It’s a way for him to test people out and find their weaknesses. He found mine easily enough. The need to keep dancing, the obsession with my craft, my mother being wholly reliant on me financially these days. These are all my weaknesses. He knew straight away the thing to do to control me was threaten my mother, then my livelihood by threatening my feet.
I wonder what Bohdan’s weaknesses are? Jasper has just found out what they are not. Bohdan doesn’t care about being polite.
We all eat, me only nibbling at some fruit and a tiny bit of lobster meat, but Bohdan eats nothing.
“The fruit is good,” Jasper says. “You can’t taste the seafood on it.”
Bohdan grins, reaches out, and picks up a piece of melon with his fingers, before popping it into his mouth and chewing ostentatiously. He swallows, wipes his fingers on his napkin and shrugs. “Yeah, it is good.”