His Little Snowflake, Fifth from the Right

My heart started pounding: good grief, this is my chance! Everything inside flared up, and I suddenly met Dorokhov’s eyes. I stretched my head toward the ceiling and smiled; in response, black eyes gleamed—worthy of a wicked genius from the Swan Lake. I wouldn’t have looked away, but now, like a modest young Snow Maiden, I lowered my lashes— I had to play this role, it was time to get into it! If only I’d known what obstacles I’d have to overcome and which exact wicked genius I’d be facing…