Page 7 of Guarded Hearts
Maybe someday I’d come close—not right now. Stay away from Pasha and keep treading. Otherwise, I’d drown in lost opportunities, my happiness sailing off without me, too far to signal.
Chapter Three
Pasha
Aweek. A week since I had slept with Alyssa. A week since Mia had gotten engaged. A week since she’d asked me to fill in for her father at the wedding. I was hardly old enough to understand a father-daughter role, but when she’d gone with the big-brother angle, I couldn’t say “no.” She was my American little sister.
I had an actual sister I talked to in Russia sometimes, but the distance between us grew the longer I was on American soil. Whenever I spoke to her, she made me think about home, going home, leaving Mia and the job behind. At some point, my visa would expire, and I’d need to make a decision.
It had been one week since Alyssa turned my life upside down. The timeline wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t convinced Alyssa didn’t want more than one night.
In the moment, I hadn’t been able to turn down a chance to be with her—despite my personal rule about workers on the tour. What man could let an opportunity with his secret crush pass? She was funny, fiery, and gorgeous. That night, I’d liked her bluntness, her confidence.
Wasshe trying to spare my feelings now? I couldn’t figure her out. Every time our eyes connected, that night sparked between us. That couldn’t be one-sided. Every time, the reminder of our night togetherstirred up hot coals from a smoldering fire. I wanted her, ached for her low in my belly, felt a hunger not yet satisfied.
After Zoya died, I became career focused because I hadn’t been ready for someone else, despite the counseling, despite my friends saying I needed to get back on the horse. How could I ever be with anyone else the way I’d been with Zoya?
I applied to work on Mia’s tour on a whim, never thinking I’d have a chance. What would my Russian security degree mean to anyone in America? And my English had been terrible.
But Laura Malone had seen all of those things as positives, and as soon as I agreed to take the job, she pulled string after string to get me on American soil, to secure my visa. A man who could offer only minimal communication probably seemed like gold to her—do the job and keep quiet.
“Are you listening to me?” Mia huffed, pressing Pause on the tablet resting on her lap.
“Yes.” I wasn’t. Didn’t have a clue what she’d been picking apart as she scrolled through countless videos and talked about dance steps and music choices.
I loved her like a sister, but none of these videos meant anything. They hadn’t set a firm wedding date yet. When that happened, I’d worry about whatever ridiculous dance moves she came up with. At this moment, I simply needed to pretend I was interested.
“So, you’re not freaking out about us setting a date for as soon as the tour is done?”
I blinked and stared. “What?”
She smacked my arm. “I knew you weren’t listening. Yes! The date is set for two weeks after the tour finishes. We’re going smallish, but…”
“But?” I raised my eyebrows and tried to process her words. Two weeks after the tour. What videos did she show me? What did I agree to without realizing I was doing it?
“Well…” Mia bit her lip, drew her long, dark hair around her shoulder, and played with the ends.
Whatever she was going to say, she didn’t think I was going to like it. Those habits were nervous ones.
“We’re going to livestream the event for fans.” When I opened my mouth, she held up her hand. “Like, it’ll get rid of paparazzi swarms too. You know? If I’m showing everyone in real time, what does the media get? I don’t want helicopters and drones and all that crazy crap scaring Victoria. She’s going to be a flower girl, and I think it’ll be enough of a challenge to get her to walk down the aisle in a straight line.”
“Livestream?” Just the word sent a frisson of fear snaking down my back. “Livestream?” Could I back out of the dance? Maybe just do the walk down the aisle? She knew a lot of dancers, people who’d kill for an opportunity like this to be seen on such a huge platform. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Tyler and I talked about it until I couldn’t think about it anymore. We’re doing it. I knew you weren’t listening while I was going through those videos. So, was there a dance you thought we could do from the ones I showed you?”
Hot and cold flashes were hitting me like waves, and pools of sweat were accumulating under my armpits. “I’m not a dancer.”
“I know,” she said. “I know. But it’ll be fun. No one is going to expect great things. It’s just—for fun.”
Fun for her, sure. She could dance. I’d witnessed her pick up choreography after one or two run-throughs of a whole routine. Other dancers had to have a routine broken down, certain steps replayed to get the rightrhythm or precise movement. I’d seen the repetition in rehearsals. Not Mia. To her, dancing was like walking—natural. Of course this would be fun for her.
Terrified. I was utterly terrified.
“We can pick an easy one,” she suggested.
“What does easy look like?” I peered at the screen on her lap, trying not to let anxiety grip me so hard I couldn’t think. No matter what, I wasn’t going to let her down. Maybe if I watched the video during every spare hour before the wedding, I’d be able to do it well enough to be passable. Was I okay with well enough?
Why had I agreed to this?
