— I never dance, little one.
Coldly cutting it off, realizing that if it weren’t for here, not now, not in the presence of her parents, I would have taken her long ago. Taken her for myself.
She narrows her eyes, and in her gaze a challenge flares.
— But I’ll still dance today. With you—or without you.
Something vile scrapes in my chest. I can feel my jaw tense.
— With whom? With Vlasov’s son, who openly lets saliva run over you?
— Yes. Is something wrong?
Everything is wrong. Because anyone who touches her—won’t be getting to live.
***
By the age of twenty-three, she had turned into a beauty. And with every day it’s becoming harder and harder not to notice her femininity, her laughter, her bold look. I know she can’t be mine. I know that by wanting her I’m betraying a friend and a partner. But still I reach for her, like the only light in the dark.