“Hello, Phillipe. It’s Jasper. I really need a couple of men who can help me guard Dasha.” He pauses, scowls, and shakes his head. “No, not in three weeks, now. We can’t wait for weeks; Dasha could be harmed.”
How ironic that this man who has beaten me, humiliated me, and threatened me is now worried about my safety.
How fucking dare he? I bite down my anger, though, as I don’t want another thirty minutes with the garbage this evening.
“No, I don’t want anyone I don’t know.” More pauses as Jasper listens, and then he nods. “Hhmm. Yes, hhmm, okay. Okay, call them. One man? Really? That good? Okay. Yes, do it. Makes sense.”
“What?” I ask as soon as he hangs up.
“The men I’d normally use for this are fully booked, but they’ve recommended a firm, highly thought of. They hire out bodyguards; he told me he’d contact them. Normally, I would get two or three men on this, but he says this firm just sends one man, or woman, super close protection style.”
“I don’t think I want super close protection, Jasper. I like my privacy.”
“They aren’t going to be sleeping in your room, Dasha,” he snaps. “But they will be living with us and accompanying you to work for the foreseeable future.”
“Can’t we simply go to the police?” I ask pleadingly.
“No, the police are useless in cases such as this until something actually happens. This company, their bodyguards are trained in deadly force.”
“Fine. If we must.” I don’t push it because I am scared. The note was horrible. To think there is someone out there fantasizing about slitting my throat.
I would have thought the only person who has such thoughts about me would be Jasper. I freeze and turn to stare at my husband. Oh my God. What if this is his way of murdering me and pinning it on some deranged stalker?
No, I tell myself. Why would he pay for protection if that were the case? To make it look realistic, a dark little voice whispers to me. No, no, no. I cannot go down that path. I will lose my mind if I start thinking such things.
“For now, until the person is in place, we are going home. No more practice for you,” he orders.
“What? But the new show is in less than three weeks. I can’t miss practice. Madame won’t allow it.” I refer to the head choreographer, a fearsome woman, who is all of four-foot-ten but terrifying.
“Madame won’t argue with me,” he states. “You can practice at home.”
So I do. I go home, and the next four days are torture as I practice my dance and try to ignore the growing terror I’m feeling.
On the fifth day, Jasper calls me downstairs at midday. “Darling, come quickly please,” he demands in those imperious tones of his that I loathe.
I am sweaty and hot as I’ve been dancing in the studio in the attic, but I do as he says and head downstairs.
When I reach the hallway, he smiles at me. “Our protection is finally here. Come and meet Daniil, your close protection guard.”
I step into the living room, and the whole world stops.
Standing in front of me, smiling blandly is Bohdan.
My breath catches in my throat as I stare into those beautiful blue eyes with the hint of ocean green in their depths. Then I frown. My mind is playing tricks on me, and I am finally going crazy. This isn’t Bohdan. This man has Bohdan’s perfect mouth, strong jaw, and pretty eyes, but he’s got a different nose. His hair is also shorter and darker.
I saw Bohdan only mere weeks ago, and he looked like a grown-up version of the boy I had loved. This Bohdan looks slightly different. Did he have a brother I never met?
“You’re… You look like—”
The man in front of me steeples his hands together, his index and middle fingers only of each hand touching, and he raises them to his lips, as if he’s waiting for me to carry on or deep in thought. I know what the gesture means, though. It means shush.
Bohdan invented it as a way of telling me to be quiet when we were kids, hiding from the bigger boys, or even from our parents. I always used to shut up immediately. It works still, and I purse my lips tight.
It is Bohdan, if he’s making this gesture.
I’m so confused I don’t know what to say. Why is Bohdan standing in my living room? Why is he called Daniil now?
Then I notice that his nose has what looks like a cut across the top. Not thinking, I walk to him and reach out toward his nose. He frowns and steps back. Then he glances at Jasper and gives a soft laugh.
He touches his nose as if self-conscious. “I broke it recently. I hope it’s not a problem? Most of our clients don’t care what we look like.”
I gather my thoughts. I can’t give away that I know him, not until I understand what the hell is going on here. He gave me a signal, and despite what he did to me, despite our past, I trust him more than the other man in this room. My own husband.
“No, of course not,” I say formally. “I just wondered what had happened to it. If you, erm, hurt it on another protection job? It made me wonder how safe I am, if you have to get into fights often.”
“No, not a fight in this case, just a game of rugby. I got tackled by some great oaf.”
“Oh. I see.”
I don’t like his new nose. I liked Bohdan how he was. This nose, it makes him more masculine and a little more rugged. Not quite so pretty, but still beautiful.
I turn to Jasper. He’s watching me with a strange expression on his face. Fuck, I can’t screw this up. Not until I know why Bohdan is here. Jasper, though, he sees everything.
“I’ll make us all some tea, and we can talk about how this is going to work.”
I escape to the kitchen and try to get my breathing under control.
“Someone’s got a crush on the hired help.”
I almost scream at Jasper’s voice behind me.
“You scared me,” I admonish.
“It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type, or I’d demand we send him back.” He chuckles.
“I don’t have a crush on him at all.” Then I go with a partial truth. “He reminds me a little of a boy I knew a long time ago.”
“Oh? Knew how and when?”
“A long time ago. I was a child. He looks a little like him,” I say.
“What happened to the boy?” he asks.
“He died.” It’s not even a lie. Bohdan the beautiful boy did die for me, and Bohdan the betrayer was born.
“I’m sorry. Make the tea and come sit while we sort out how this will work.”
“Of course. I’ll be two minutes.”
I make the tea like some automaton going through the motions as my mind scrambles to try to understand what has happened here.
Bohdan is here. In my house.
My past has collided with my present, and I don’t know what to make of it.
Chapter Five
Bohdan
The house is not an apartment as most homes in Paris are, but an actual house. It’s also not a faux-period piece like K’s. This is the real thing. This house cost money. Lots of it, and from what I’ve seen and heard so far, the money is Dasha’s; not her piece of shit husband’s.
Trouble is, when he married her, he locked down stuff so tight in his name, it will take an army of lawyers to ensure he doesn’t walk away with most of it.