Would she care?
I think she might. She clearly likes being the regal queen of all she surveys. I doubt she will want to walk away and live with a whole lot less. Start all over again.
She also seems addicted to the limelight, to her work.
She comes back into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups on it. They’re dainty, tiny things, and I hardly think my finger will fit through the handle.
I once had to go to Tokyo for K, about a year ago, and I went to an ancient tea ceremony there. Proper Geishas serving it. I would have loved to travel to Kyoto but didn’t have the time. The ceremony was beautiful, sublime almost. I’ve long had a love for Japanese art and Buddhist ideas, and one day would love to make a long visit to Japan and then onto Tibet afterward.
The way Dasha pours the tea is nothing like what the Geisha did, but it is still graceful.
She passes a cup to Jasper who holds it in the saucer, slots one long finger through the handle and takes a delicate sip.
When she hands me mine, I take it and don’t even bother trying to get my finger through the dainty handle. I simply tip the whole cup to my mouth with my hand. Christ, K would crush the cup if he tried to drink from it. It’s like something from a doll’s tea set.
“Do you want to talk us through how this is going to work?” Jasper asks.
I sit with the damn cup on my knee, balancing it awkwardly.
“There has been a threat. So far, my people haven’t been able to find out who that threat is from.”
What a consummate little liar I am. I have no people. This whole organization I work for is a shell quickly cobbled together by Damen. There’s also no mystery to who the threat is. It’s me. I wrote those sick notes so I could be sitting here now, worming my way into Dasha’s life. It’s totally fucked up. It’s a huge betrayal. Another in the long line of them she and I seem to perpetuate against one another.
I tell myself as Dasha looks at me, confusion and pain evident in her jewel blue gaze, that this is for her own good. I am committing yet another betrayal of her, but only to try and save her.
I want to get her away from this man.
“How do you propose to protect my wife? She’s the most precious thing in the world to me.” Jasper smiles at her, and you’d almost believe he meant those words.
Almost. If, unlike me, you hadn’t seen him fuck a curvy and rather young looking blonde in his bedroom while his wife tried to sleep only a few doors down.
The man is strange. Why marry someone he clearly has no desire for? If it was purely for money, there were better targets he could have picked. After all, Jasper had no idea whether or not Dasha would make it when he took her under his wing.
If I had to make a guess right now, with what I know about him and his past, I’d say he likes the prestige that comes with the scene Dasha is in. She’s not the first dancer he’s managed, but she is the first he married. Perhaps he simply saw her potential and wanted to be Mr. Prima Ballerina for all the Paris elites to fawn over as he accompanied his wife to many star-studded events?
“The way we will protect the asset,” I say purposefully, using the term because that’s all he sees her as. I bite back a smirk when his eyes harden. I turn to Dasha. “Sorry, that’s just what we call the person we are protecting.”
She gives a tiny dip of her head.
“I won’t leave your side,” I tell her. “That’s how I will protect you.”
“Are you going to set up a camp bed in my room?” she asks acidly.
I shake my head, but she’s giving me ideas.
“No, of course not, Mrs. Felix. I will be in the room next door. But if you leave the house, I go with you. I wait outside your changing room at the theater. If you want coffee, you take me.”
“You are armed, I take it?” Jasper fuck-features asks.
Rather than answer with words, I slowly open my jacket and show him my gun.
Jesus, the shit Damen had to pull for this to all come together. I barely know the guy, and I owe him big time now. If he ever needs me, I’m there. I sent Maya, his wife, a huge ass bunch of flowers with a note that said; thank your husband for me; these are for you.
“Are you trained?” Jasper demands. “I was told most of the men working for the firm are ex-Special Services.”
I decide to go with something of the truth. “Better than that, Mr. Felix. I’m highly trained and worked undercover for a long time with criminal gangs, so I know how the mindset works.”
He blanches, and Dasha bites back a small smile. Interesting response from her.
“Don’t worry. When I was recruited and trained, it was because I have a very thorough background, and I know how to protect someone from threats.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure. I flash him a smile. My mind supplies an image of me pulverizing his face, and my smile darkens, so I purposefully lighten it up. No need to give him too much to worry about … yet.
“I have rehearsals that I’m missing,” Dasha says. “If it’s safe now, darling, why don’t you let me go with Daniil?”
Her piece of shit husband gives one curt nod and shrugs. “I suppose you can now you have your own personal Rottweiler. Don’t go letting anyone near her now, will you, Mr. Protection, or there will be consequences. I am paying very highly for your services, and I expect nothing but the best.”
“All you need to know, Mr. Felix, is that I would lay my life down to keep your wife safe.” I don’t have to lie this time. It’s the truth. I would die for Dasha if it saved her life.
Would she for me? Doubtful. So what does that make me? A fool. That’s what. I had decided I only wanted to save her. To love her. Every now and again, though, my anger at her resurfaces. I’m a fucking mess and really shouldn’t be doing this.
“I’ll go grab my dance kit,” Dasha says and heads out of the room.
I watch her go and feel rather than hear, Jasper Felix walk right up behind me. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he whispers in my ear.
He’s so close his breath blows over me, hot and disgusting.
What the fuck? I do not do well with men I don’t know in my personal space, and I have to lock myself down, so I don’t turn on him and hit him.
I take two steps forward and turn around. “Your wife’s beauty or lack thereof is of no concern to me,” I tell him. “I’m here purely to keep her safe.”
“Still, a red-blooded male must notice beauty when it is in front of him, no?”
I decide to fuck with him. I give a one-shouldered lazy shrug. “Not all men do. I know a guy, married to a stunning woman, and he screws around with women who can’t hold a candle to his wife. It takes all sorts.”
“Yes, indeed.” He fixes me with a piercing glare, but thankfully moves on from his creepy interrogation. “Do you have any dietary requirements for while you’re staying with us?” he asks, smoothly changing the subject.
“Nothing, except no seafood.”
“Allergic?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I just hate it.”
Dasha appears at the door, holding a big, squishy bag on one shoulder. I think it’s designer, but I don’t know for sure. Her plain black leggings, ankle boots, and loose, light sweater combo are flattering to her petite frame.