“You mean I could audition?”

  “No.” Valentin says, with a hard finality. I look at Armand. He shrugs. “Valentin is the boss. Nobody ever forgets that.” Valentin’s smile is thin.

  After I finish eating, I leave them to their business, take my coffee and dance my way back to the living area. I hear Armand saying, “Valentin, you sure she can’t audition? She’s got moves.”

  I leave them to it. By the time Armand leaves, my mood has sagged.

  “I liked Armand, Valentin. Can’t I go to the audition? It would be so much fun.”

  “You must never dance for anybody else. You belong to me. You are mine.”

  “Armand could help me with my dancing, though, couldn’t he?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I curl up on the couch.

  There’s a cold silence for what feels like a long time. Valentin says, “Look, I have to go out. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Stay here. Help yourself to anything.”

  “I don’t know if I will.”

  “What?” His voice is hard and cold, like stone.

  “I’m not sure if I’ll stay.”

  “Stay. You’re mine, now.” I don’t answer.

  We’ll see about that, Valentin.

  In his suit coat, he comes to me dressed to go out. Looking like a movie star. A gangster. The eyes of a hunter.

  “I’ll be back this afternoon.” He slips his arms around me. I’m not ready for him to go. “Stay. Make yourself completely at home, okay?” He leans in for a kiss. My lips stay closed. I don’t look in his eyes.

  As he steps in the elevator, he tells me, “Help yourself to anything you need. Wait for me.”

  After the elevator door closes, I notice a card on the breakfast bar. It says,

  Armand Gaultier

  Armand@TotalDance.com

  And there’s a cellphone number.

  Chapter 12

  Her

  ALL DAY LONG I thought about dancing. Remembering the dance from last night.

  And I thought of his fingers. And his mouth. The tricksy tip of his tongue. Tasting me. All day, everything I think of turns, sooner or later to the touch and the flick of the tip of his tongue. Walking on the street, having that thought, I suddenly felt indecent. Naked. Like I was exposing myself.

  The sensation that it re-kindled, deep down inside me, almost made me fold over in two.

  “How is the course?” When Daddy calls, he wants to know all about the MBA. Like he always does. I think the amount that I’ve told him, the detailed questions that he asks me, he would be able to sit my finals. He might even do better than I would. I’ve read through the textbooks and worked the examples, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have done that, too. He gets the reading list at the same time as me.

  “Amortization and yield, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Daddy. If there is a more boring thing on the planet, I don’t know how it ever gets up in the morning.”

  Daddy’s laugh is always good to hear. It’s kind of a contrast to how he comes across. It’s big and jolly and bright. Not really like Daddy at all. Well, he’s big.

  He says, “When those numbers turn into money and start filling your checking account, you’ll find they’re a lot more interesting then.”

  “You know what, Daddy? I’m not at all sure that they will.”

  “Eva, sweetie. You make my old heart ache when you talk like that. You know you have a real talent for the food business.”

  “I have a talent for the food, Daddy. Especially for eating it,” I know he doesn’t like hearing me talk that way, and I regret teasing him. “The business though, Daddy, it puts me into a coma.”

  We’ll talk like that for a while. I don’t cut him off as quickly as I usually do. I want to see whether he’ll get around to asking me about anything else. Anything like, I don’t know, maybe me, for instance. What I’m feeling. What I care about. What matters to me.

  But he doesn’t. We chat for another few minutes, and all he asks me about is the course and business and figures. He tells me how great it’s going to be when I come into the business and join him. He laughs and brushes it aside every time I tell him how and why that’s never going to happen. What can I do?

  Dancing for Valentin, obeying his instructions, opened up a door for me, but I know that he wants to close it again. I thought that this dark, mysterious man would free me. Help me escape from Daddy’s control. But it’s silly to think like that about someone you hardly know. And it turns out, he just wants to control me in a different way.

  Right after I hang up with Daddy, my cell phone rings again. This time, it’s an unknown number.

  Normally, I wouldn’t answer. Anyone who’s not in my contacts book, they can leave a message. It’s always a robocall or some marketing scam. This time, I have a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  I’m not superstitious enough to believe that one ‘unknown number’ could ring in a way that was any different to another, I’m sure that what I’m reacting to is the timing.

  I didn’t give him my number, but I’ve a strong hunch that he’s found a way to get it.

  I answer. It’s him. Of course it is.

  “How did you get my number?”

  “I’m a man who can do things. You must have realized that.” he tells me. The hardness of his tone stiffens me. “I told you to stay here. You didn’t wait.”

  “How did you get my number?”

  “You didn’t wait like I told you to.”

  “It must have been somebody at the Academy, right?”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Well,” I say with a sigh, “I guess I’ve got your number, now.”

  “So.” His voice softens. Pulling me closer to the phone. “If you really wanted to, you could block me.”

  “What would be the point? I’m sure you’ve got more than one phone.”

  “Don’t be like that, Eva.” He waits. The silence is somehow comfortable. It’s magical how that happens. How some silences are comfortable, and others are not. “Come back to the apartment. Come and have dinner.”

  “It’s too early. I’m not hungry.” I tell him. Then, “I need some time to think, Valentin.” My voice is halting, unsure.

  “No, you don’t. I can think. It doesn’t need two of us.” His voice stays light. Like he’s playful. Joking. Partly, at least. “Come back here.”

  For a moment I’m not sure what to do. I feel him in the silence. His strength, his command. My reflex reaction is to do what he tells me. But a part of me still resists.

  “Valentin, I don’t think I can see you today.”

  “Come tonight. At nine. I’ll cook for you.”

  Another pause. I’m getting ready to say, ‘no.’ I hear his breath. Then, I say, “Nine-thirty. Okay?”

  When I hang up, I know I should have told him.

  I’ll tell him this evening.

  Chapter 13

  him

  AND NOW I REMEMBER how she insisted yesterday on meeting half an hour later than I told her. That’s her, staying in control. I must be careful not to take it all away from her. She needs to have her independence. I understand that. At least for now.

  I just have to make sure that she won’t misuse it.

  My Eva arrives exactly at nine-thirty.

  She’s in a loose cotton shirt with faded jeans. Sandals with low heels. No jewelry. No makeup.

  She’s more beautiful than ever, and I think she’s making a point. That she hasn’t worn anything special. Nor had her hair done. She’s asserting herself. She lets me kiss her, but only briefly. I want more. I need more. But her strength still makes me adore her more.

  I believe that she could show herself to me in any way at all, so long as it’s authentic. Every new view of her makes my love for her more strong. More deep.

  I’ve prepared macaroni cheese to the recipe of my best chef. Three kinds of Italian cheese, parsley, and some tender chicken. When I offer her wine, she refuses. She takes a beer, though, and she drinks it from the bottle.

  She wolfs the mac and cheese down. Even though I warn her that I made a chocolate cake, she takes a second helping. I love to see her eat with such an appetite. It’s beautiful and sexy, but, even more important to me, it shows that she is relaxed. She is not inhibited with me. There’s no act.

  “You really can cook, Valentin.”

  I shrug. “Mac and cheese. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I told you, I have catering in my blood. I know my food. This is ‘mac and cheese’ just like the steak hache in your restaurant is hamburger. It’s a good cut above, Valentin.”

  I give her a smile. She goes on, “And you know it.”

  There’s no point in me arguing, so I don’t.

  The velvet chocolate cake is the best I’ve ever made. It’s true that when you put love into cooking, it makes you a better baker.

  As she lingers, waving her fork over the slice of chocolate cake, she asks, “Are you going to tell me off for leaving this morning?”

  “Of course not,” I fix her eye with mine, “but you must do as I tell you.” The defiant spark she throws back to me ignites me inside.

  “I have to do what’s best for me, Valentin.”

  “Of course. And that’s what I will tell you to do. Always.” As I’m talking, I have a sense that I started too quickly. That I should have waited. That she was going to tell me something else.

  I ask her, “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

  She shakes her head. I think she’s holding something back.

  I reach across the table, hold my hand out to her, palm upward. “You know that you can trust me. I’ll always protect you. Take care of you. Look after you.” I tell her, “I’ll always give you what you need.” She looks from my hand to my eyes, then back. She doesn’t have to take it now. I can wait.

  “How about what I want, Valentin? Does that matter at all?”

  My hand is still there. “Nothing matters more.”

  “Now,” now she takes my hand, “that’s not completely true, is it, Valentin.”

  “Of course it is.” My fingers close on her. Like taking a bird. I feel her, fragile and strong. Willing, eager, and still resistant. “What you want matters more than anything. That doesn’t mean you can always have it.”

  “I think you’re a more complicated man than you seem, Valentin.”

  I squeeze her hand, and I can’t resist letting out a little smile. “Do I seem so simple? Perhaps only to you. Because I think you understand me, Eva.” And she smiles back. “But,” I tell her, “I think you are the more complicated one.”

  Looking in her eye, a moment passes between us. An exchange. Of her will and mine, meeting. Grappling. Both of us feel there can be only one winner.

  In this moment, it seems to me that we both have to learn something. But then, I lose sight of it. My need for her is clouding everything now.

  My playlist started quiet. Gentle beats, nudged, encouraging, like a glance over her shoulder or a finger that beckoned. Slowly, gradually it rose in intensity. From the first course, her shoulders and hips snaked and rolled. She danced in the chair.

  As she talks and finishes her chocolate cake, her feet and her fingers follow the beats.

  I wait until she’s finished. She takes a pull on her beer. She says, “Thank you, Valentin,” sparkling. Bubbly. Dancing in her seat.

  “Now dance,” I tell her. “Dance for me.”

  Her face glows. She looks up from under her eyebrows before she stands. Already swaying, she moves like a cat up the steps to the floor in the glass box.

  Bouncing up the stairs, she’s already throwing shapes, making moves like a pro. The sway of her spine snakes. Inside my pants, I swell and harden so much I can’t stay in my chair. I have to stand. Picking up her beer and my vodka, I follow her up.

  As the lights of the city glimmer and twinkle below her, she’s a megastar, commanding the world, dazzling with her talents. Her hips rock and sway and shoulders shake. It’s hard to stay back, to keep my hands off her, to hold myself back.

  She holds her hands overhead, bends her knees, and sets her ass shaking. I’m insanely turned on. I see in her face and her body how aroused she is. The pleasure, the excitement that the dance gives her shows through her eyes.

  I want her to have all of that. And I’m thrilled to be able to watch.

  She’s so beautiful, I can’t believe I found her.

  She pirouettes, she spins and turns. She jumps. Her skills are amazing.

  She could dance in one of my clubs. She would be a total sell-out, night after night.

  I could never let her do that, obviously. Eva could only dance in a club that was completely empty. I can’t stand even the thought of another man seeing her like this.

  Any man who saw her would be watching the outrageous prod of her nipples through the shirt, the suggestive twist of her waist, the stretch of her jeans over her rude, sassy ass.

  “Take off your jeans.”

  She looks up. Her mouth opens in a startled ‘O,’ and her eyes widen.

  Her sharp little teeth chew the inside of her lip as she steps out of her shoes, then unbuttons her jeans. She bends at the waist to slip the faded denim down, sliding to reveal her soft, milky thighs, emerging under the tails of the cotton shirt.

  After she slips off the jeans and shakes to let them drop to the floor, she throws back her hair as she steps back into her shoes.

  I want to wait, let her dance. Watch and take in the thrill, but seeing her like this, I can’t hold back any longer.

  It’s as much as I can do to stay still while I tell her, “Come here.”

  Strutting perfectly on the beat, she comes to stand in front of me. Close enough that I can feel her breath. She dances in place, stretching out her arms, turning her head and making stirring pictures in my mind with the shadows in her eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful. You are so perfect. I have to take you. I have to claim you and make you mine. I have to have you. Completely. You are everything that I need.”

  “Will you take me?”

  Her thighs part as she rolls her hips, so close that I can feel the heat.

  I groan, “Are you trying to tease me?”

  She tips her pelvis to rub against my thigh. So softly. Barely touching.

  She peeks up at me with a butter-wouldn’t-melt look right into my eyes.

  “Open the shirt.”

  She doesn’t move. So I reach around and slap her ass. Her grin spreads, mischievous as she starts unbuttoning the shirt.

  Pulling her to me, I slip my hand inside the shirt, over her soft, trembling skin, around her waist. With the other hand I stroke her hair back across the top of her head, down to the back of her neck.