Page 2 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

“Nope,” she said.“We have plans.”

I raised a brow, heart kicking a little faster.“What kind of plans?”

“We have tickets,” she said, glancing both ways before lowering her voice.“To the Mariinsky Ballet.”

That stopped me cold.“You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about art,” she replied, smug and glowing.“Mira got us the tickets.”

I whistled low.“Nice having friends in high places.”

She winked at me, leaning just close enough that our shoulders brushed.“Don’t I know it.”

I looked down at our joined hands—still clasped, even now—and smiled.

For the next few hours, we’d be Petyr and Vera, husband and wife, loyal workers of the state.

But after that?

We’d be something else entirely.

* * *

The curtain had fallen to thunderous applause after the second act of Swan Lake, and the audience flooded the ornate lobby.Crystal chandeliers flickered overhead, casting everyone in the soft golden glow of culture and luxury.If you squinted just right, it almost looked like another world.

Vera and I stood from our velvet seats and moved with the crowd.She was already smiling, flushed with the thrill of it all, and I couldn’t help but smile with her.

"You loved it," I said as we stepped into the foyer.

"I did," she breathed, linking her arm through mine.“The corps de ballet was flawless tonight.”

We passed oil paintings of composers and Party leaders, gilded mirrors with ornate frames, and a stone-faced bust of Tchaikovsky that looked like he disapproved of everyone’s posture.Vera led us straight to the concessions counter, a little pop-up bar nestled behind a marble column.A boy no older than eighteen stood behind it in a too-large tuxedo shirt, handing off wine glasses and counting kopecks with trembling fingers.

Vera leaned in.“Two vodkas,” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

I blinked.“A splurge?”

She turned that dazzling grin on me, the one that usually meant I was about to be talked into something wild.“We deserve something nice.”

That was hard to argue with.

The boy handed us two plastic cups filled with clear, merciful warmth, and Vera dropped a few rubles onto the counter like she'd just bought a loaf of bread.We stepped back, sipping slowly, watching the room.

And that’s when I saw him.

Across the lobby, half-shadowed near one of the grand pillars, was a man watching us.Short dark hair, strong jaw, a winter coat with the collar turned up.His eyes were fixed, locked on me.

It took a second for the memory to click into place.

The park.Early morning.About a month ago.Cold air, cold hands, a stumble into the bushes like animals.I’d been restless, walking a loop around the edge of the canal.He’d been behind the public toilets, already lighting a cigarette when I noticed the way he looked at me.Just like now—intent, like he was trying to place a name he never knew.

His cock had been—well, memorable, let’s say.The rest of him was lost in the fog of risk and desperation that always came with those encounters.I hadn’t expected to see him again.That was the point of those things: no names, no follow-up.Just a moment.A fleeting, hungry escape.

I turned away.

Reflex took over before thought caught up.I leaned in and kissed Vera lightly on the cheek.“I love you,” I murmured, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

She smiled without missing a beat.“I love you too.”

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