I turn my head, shocked to see that Kira has arrived. Her hair is in thick long curls, her outfit is absolutely incredible, sheer strips of fabric covering the parts I know too well— and we match in that regard. She tilts her head up to me as she delivers her line.
I see her lips moving, and now she’s talking, but I can’t help it. I’m trying to figure out how I can warn her. I think I mouth ‘warning,’ but she ignores it as she takes a step closer. Her hand grazes my cheekbone, and I have the chills that rise. In response, I follow along with our choreography. I grab her wrist, and she acts shocked. We do a half spin, and I’m behind her, kissing down her neck.
I’m distracted now, but I have to refocus. Her life depends on it, and me forgetting her will go a lot easier without a guilty conscience.
“Mikhailov,” I whisper in her ear as she pushes me away. We continue to act the scene out, and we’re getting to the end. I grow desperate, and with very little thought, I change my lines.
“If you leave after this, you will not live.”
Her brows furrow, and I subtly shift my eyes to their spot. As we do a spin, she glances, and I see it in her eyes. She knows what I know, and she has to get the hell out of here now. She can’t wait until the end of the show because they can’t all get up and leave until then. Poorly thought out plan, if you ask me, but this is Kias we’re talking about.
“I will not leave you,” Kira says her final line.
“Tu es mon paradis.” I have to kiss her now, per the choreography. Iwantto kiss her, goddamn it. She’s in my arms, facing me. I grab the back of her neck like we practiced, tilting her backward in my arms, dipping her as I lower my mouth to hers among the vines, the spray of mist and perfume encircling us.
Paradise.That’s what I feel in her mouth, her body, when I touch her. She gasps against my lips, my hands tightening on her waist, and it’s not a show. They were right to pick us because the passion is real.
No matter what happens, I can’t deny that.
The whole room goes black to the sound of uproarious clapping. I grab her hand in the dark, and we sprint off the stage, down stage left where the models exit, and we go straight to the change rooms.
“Are you sure about this?” She frantically asks as we pick up our pace.
“Yes. Positive. I had a little visit from Kias last night.”
“What?” She asks as we round a corner and nearing run into a comms guy. “Sorry!” We wave in unison and continue.
“What do you mean what?” We stop just outside the change room door.
“Kias wasn’t in Paris last night.”
“So, I hallucinated that he held a gun up at me and told me you were my weakness?” She cocks her head before shaking it as we enter the change rooms.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying that if Kias was here already, he must have had something planned from the start. I don’t get it.” She begins to strip in front of me, and I’m staring at her body moving with the basics slowly falling off her.
“Rome.” She scolds.
“You called me Rome.”
“Do we actually have time for this?”
“Well, we’re still changing, so…” I pull off my bodysuit and leap over to my clothes. The same as last night. The same one I slept in. Thankfully, the raincoat currently houses my gun and knife, just where I left them.
“You’re coming with me?” She slides on an oversized t-shirt, her hair still tucked in the collar, as she jumps into a pair of jeans.
“I am.”
“But, the show….” I wave my hand dismissively.
“They’ll be other shows.” She’s sliding on her shoes, looking up at me with a very disapproving glare.
“I’m not going to let you give up your dreams to make sure I’m safe. I’m a trained Bratva. I’ll be fine.” I shake my head.
“I can’t—” I stop myself because even before saying it, I know it sounds selfish.
“What?” She stands to her feet as I zip up my thick trousers.
“It’s nothing. Come on.” I step towards the door. As I grab the hand, I don’t feel her near me, and I glance back. Her arms are folded over her chest, and she’s not moving until I talk. I sigh, chest and shoulders lifted out of exasperation.