Page 46 of Captive Vows
“Prude,” he shot back.
Hearing the son of the man I lusted after call me a prude, of all things, seemed like too cruel of an insult to accept. “I’m not a prude.”
“You’re a ballerina,” he corrected. “A wannabe ballerina. With passion.”
“What’s so wrong about being passionate about something?” I folded my hands on the table and peered at him. I couldn’t help but get defensive about this.
“Hey, passion and drive matter,” Alexsei said. “We’re passionate about our jobs.”
“About killing and kidnapping people, you mean.”
“About whatever is required of us as loyal Dubinin men,” he replied gruffly.
“Having a purpose is important,” Emil said. “But how the fuck is ballet supposed to give you a sense of mattering at all? It’s dancing on a stage. Big deal.”
I furrowed my brow, hating how they could mock me like this and challenge me. “Itisa big deal. Or it should be. Ballet is art. Art matters.” I didn’t want to interpret their harsh words as a critique that I wasn’t good at the medium of ballet or dancing. Besides, I wouldn’t taketheirword for it. What did they know?
As I ate, vowing to ignore them until I was done, I knew that they’d never understand my life or my world just as much as I would never adjust to theirs. I couldn’t relate to this world of crime, of killing and seeking power. Even though I had always suspected my dad wasn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen, I never broke rules or the law. I was a good person.
After I left them in the dining room, I struggled with holding my head high. Their words cut deep. I wasn’t feeling so confident now. In light of all that these dangerous men did, my passion and love of dancing had to seem so trivial and frivolous. So petty.
I hated to feel so stupid as to have what they’d consider an insignificant dream. That low mood carried into my steps, into the usually fluid motions I’d practice. Hours passed well into the night, but nothing could jar me out of this funk.
Worrying about being a joke wasn’t something I needed to deal with before an audition. But that wasn’t something I could fix by merely dismissing what they’d said.
When Luka showed up, lingering near the door like he typically did, I was still stuck in this lowness, this bitter sadness and dejected attitude.
“What’s wrong?”
I shrugged, not bothering to face him as I tried to get through a sequence of complicated steps again.
He ambled closer, chill as ever. Cool and calm, hands in his pockets, a blank face so I couldn’t read his expression.
“Gabriella.”
Clumsy steps and poorly executed spins were my reply.
“Gabriella.”
I continued to ignore him, trying to move faster so he’d get the hint that I didn’t want to talk.
It seemed that his sternly calling my name weren’t all he was ready to do to get my attention. Rounding back toward the door, I was stopped short. He reached out, grabbing my waist and forcing me to change my spin and topple against him. Catching me securely, he held me in a hug.
The abrupt stop of my momentum caught me off guard. So did the heated intensity of his dark stare as he lowered his gaze toward me. Breathing hard and fast from the exertion of the exercise, I licked my lips and willed my heart to slow down. It had to be racing from dancing. From rehearsing. Not because of this slow rise of warmth that spread through me at being in his arms again.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
I shook my head.
He tightened his hold on me, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s nothing,” I replied, then cleared my throat. Damn him for being so commanding and sexy. Screw him for toying withme and finding me unworthy. If he didn’t want me, why’d he kiss me at all? If he wouldn’t take me and give me more of himself, then why care if I was in a bad mood or a good one?
He made no sense, twisting me upside down with emotions I couldn’t control anymore. That was how off-kilter I felt around him. It was even worse with his arms wrapped around me like this.
“Tell me and I will decide if it’s nothing.”
Oh, like you decided to just snatch me out of my home and keep me here?
