CHAPTER FOUR
Pet
I’m woken by the robustpounding of a fist on the front door. I slink out of bed and glance out the window. There’s a never-ending line of reporters stalking the iron gates of my father’s property, and a beat-up old car with New York number plates sits in the circular drive. I can’t see the visitor, because he’s hidden by the huge front porch with its colossal columns.
“You gotta let me in to see her,” a man with a thick accent pleads. Russian, maybe? There’s something about it that teases my mind, but as always, the memories are out of reach. “Please, I’m going out of my mind here.”
“I can’t. I’m under strict orders that she’s to have no visitors, save for law enforcement, her doctors, and Mr. Ward.”
“Brige, come on. You know me.”
“I’m sorry, Dimitri. I wish I could let you in.”
Dimitri?
“What seems to be the problem here?” Christian’s brusque voice booms from downstairs.
“N-nothing, I was merely telling Mr. Petrikov that Camille is not permitted any visitors.”
I fly across the room and yank open the door. For six days, I’ve been here with no one to talk to but Brigid, my monosyllabic bodyguard, and the always-so-pleasant Agent Stahl. My father came home for dinner last night. We sat in silence before he retired to his study and I returned to my room. I haven’t seen him since then, and I’m going out of my mind. I don’t remember this Dimitri person, but a part of me must. Maybe if I just see his face . . . I bolt down the stairs and come to a halt at their foot.
“No, back to your room,” Christian orders, but my attention is not on him—it’s on the six-foot muscular male ballet star standing on our front stoop.
“Oh my god,zvyozdochka. What have they done to you?”
My chest rises and falls with every one of his words. The accent, the strong, impressive features . . . I don’t remember him, not to look at, but I’m filled with yearning. This magnetic pull I’ve felt every second since Ares sent me away—it isn’t sexual. It’s familiar.Family.
Dimitri shoves the flowers at Brigid and eats the distance between us in a few long strides. Christian turns to stop him, patting him down for weapons, but I duck around my bodyguard and allow myself to be swept up into this stranger’s arms because . . . I know him. My soul knows him, even if my mind has forgotten.
He twirls us around and holds on so tight I fear my ribs might crack, but I don’t let go. I don’t pull away. I don’t flinch, and I don’t tell him not to touch me. Not like with everyone else.
“Ya byl tak poteryan bez tebya, malen’kaya zvezda.” He sets me on my feet and cups my face. “I was so lost without you, little star. Where have you been?”
Tears slide over my cheeks and glance off my jaw. “I don’t know.”
“Jesus, I’ve been going out of my mind trying to find you.” He pulls away and holds me at arm’s length, studying me. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t remember.”God, is there anyone I won’t lie to for my Sir?
“Well, you’re back, but why the fuck are you here? You should be at your apartment. You should be in training.”
He’s right. I should be training, just not for the ballet.
I lead him through the house to the enclosed parlor overlooking the gardens. It’s cold outside, but those moments of reprieve I feel when I’m away from the confines of the building make the possibility of frostbite all worth it. Snow covers everything in sight, and we sit in the wingback chairs in silence.
“I don’t know where to begin,zvyozdochka.”
“Me either.”