Modern Romance June 2016 Books 5-8. Tara Pammi

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      ‘Never,’ Anya said.

      ‘Then we shall speak about why I left.’

      ‘You left because you could not stand to see me succeed.’ That was how she had justified it in the end, but she could almost see the flick of his wrist as he dismissed the thoughts that she had built like a scaffold to protect her bruised heart.

      ‘Rubbish.’

      ‘Were you so intimidated—?’

      ‘You don’t intimidate me,’ he broke in.

      That alone almost brought her to tears. Everyone else was intimidated by her, everyone thought her cold and unfeeling. Roman, though, saw through it. He knew the heart behind the ice. He had known her passion and her hopes and fears.

      ‘I would have loved to have been beside you when you soared,’ Roman said.

      He wanted to be by her side now; he felt ready to be and would do whatever it took.

      ‘No!’ Anya shook her head. ‘You wanted to make your riches and refused to be poor with me.’

      It had been such a poor life.

      People assumed wealth yet dancers danced for the love of it. She had been cocooned and enclosed in a world where few made any real money. For Anya that had only happened in recent years. She was no prodigy, she had had to fight and to work harder and smarter to get to where she was. Only now had she paid off the debts she had accumulated. Before that she had lived in a tiny flat that she’d shared with her mother—her climb to the top had been rough indeed.

      Now she would spend the next decade, or however long her body gave her, securing her future for when dancing was gone.

      Right now she had a performance that she needed to focus on, but Roman had other ideas.

      ‘Pack your case, then text me the name of your hotel.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I mean it, Anya. I shall tear up Paris tonight to find you.’

      ‘Good luck with the gendarmes, then. Don’t call me again, Roman.’

      She ended the call and turned her phone off.

      Then she thought about turning it on to delete his number but knew she could not bear to do that.

      There was temptation in her bag, all the way through a late supper with the sponsors. Not just the chocolate cups but Roman’s number on her phone.

      All she could think of was him and his call to take her to his home.

      And she thought about the last time they had shared a bed.

      Or rather a mattress.

      She thought about their first time and the eventual love that they had made.

      He had been so cold and oblivious to the pleasure of touch at first.

      So wanting to get things over and done with.

      And then they had stumbled into intense pleasure and had made memories that nothing could ever erase.

      As the jet carried him closer to Anya, Roman stared out of the window...and remembered the same.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      ANYA CAME OUT of the stage door and into the side alley and was ready to run home, not just to get out of the freezing snow but also because she had news for her mother. She had just been told that she would be auditioning in two weeks’ time for a part in the corps de ballet for the next performance.

      It was the step up from apprenticeship and she had worked so hard for it.

      And then she saw him.

      Roman Zverev.

      She had not seen him since he had left the orphanage a couple of years ago but she had heard about him.

      He was wearing torn black jeans and a thin jacket and his black hair was long and damp as it gathered snow. He was walking towards her.

      ‘You lost your fight,’ Anya said by way of greeting, and looked at his bruised eye and cheek and swollen mouth.

      ‘Good news travels fast.’

      He looked at Anya. She had always been perfection to him, so delicate and yet so strong. The only thing he had missed about the orphanage was her and now her pale green eyes met his, but this time without the scold of her mother to haul them from his gaze.

      The years since Daniil had left had been hell and she had been the only balm.

      Sergio had continued to attempt to channel his anger into boxing but it was as if the desire in Roman to be a boxer had left with his twin and he had won only a handful of fights.

      Last night he had lost to a brute who had been a lot bigger than him.

      ‘You were in the wrong weight category,’ Anya said. ‘You need to lose weight before weigh-in—your opponent would have. You could have scraped in as a mid-lightweight. Instead you faced a man who just scraped into middleweight.’

      She was an athlete, a dancer, and knew all about nutrition as well as starving and muscle definition.

      ‘Sergio is out of touch—’ she continued but Roman broke in.

      ‘I don’t need dieting advice from you, Anya.’

      He didn’t. She was tiny and far thinner than he remembered her to be, and that concerned him.

      Yet she was even more beautiful.

      ‘Anyway...’ Roman shrugged ‘...I’m sick of boxing. I’ve applied for a passport.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because there is nothing for me here.’

      ‘Are you going to look for Daniil?’

      ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not turning up on his doorstep...’

      ‘He might want you to.’

      ‘No.’ Roman was adamant. He would not be a burden on his brother.

      ‘So where will you go?’

      Wherever it was, Anya didn’t want him to leave. Even though she hadn’t seen him in two years, she liked knowing that he was around and hearing about him sometimes. She had dreamed of a moment like this, meeting him on the street, and now it had transpired.

      ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked.

      ‘Just my dance,’ Anya said. ‘I just found out that I have an audition in two weeks’ time for a place in the corps de ballet.’

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