・C H A P T E R 4・

Asya sucked in a steadying breath of air as she extended her leg past her shoulder, clenching the muscle in her hip flexor to hold her balance in the tricky extension. She raised her chin to soften her neckline, scanning the long mirrors on the wall in front of her for the Russian dancer she'd met a few minutes ago. She'd lost sight of him when they moved into the center, but had a strange feeling it wasn't the last she would be seeing of him. 

They finished the first section of center work, and the class split into two groups for jumps and turns to allow for more space on the floor. Still a little out of breath from the développé exercise, Asya retreated to the side of the room to get some water while the first group worked on their turns. She saw Julian approaching her out of the corner of her eye, and shot him a mocking glare as he neared her. 

'Overslept again, did we?' she whispered over the piano music, nudging him playfully. 

'Hey, I have a busy social life.' he retorted, rubbing his eyes. Julian had been two years above her at White Lodge, and his mother, an old friend of Asya's family, had taken care of her over the holidays when they were away from school. Having both been top of their respective grades with dreams of joining the Royal Ballet, it didn't take long for them to strike up a friendship. 

Two years her senior and very much protective over his best friend, Julian had ferociously guarded her back during her apprenticeship with the company. Their natural chemistry and ideal height match made sure they often got casted together, and truthfully, there was nothing Asya enjoyed as much as sharing the stage with Julian. Their hard work paid off, and at the end of last season they'd both been promoted to soloist, and were aiming to climb even further up the company's ranks. 

'Speaking of our social lives, were you just talking to him?' her best friend asked, tilting his head to the Russian dancer in the back of the class.

'Nope.' Asya shrugged. 'He was talking to me.'

The last thing she needed was Julian lecturing her about getting involved. At first he'd been watching out for her on his mother's orders, but quickly came to learn that Asya's taste in men was less than impressive and that there was little he could do about it. He hadn't liked any of her past flings, not even in school. She'd always reassured him that it wasn't anything serious, but Julian nearly drew the line when he found out about her and Ivan. Yes, Ridley was a serial womaniser and a cocky asshole at the best of times, but their relationship turned out to be convenient for both of them. 

Nevertheless, Asya was anticipating another lecture from Julian about focusing on herself and taking a break from her frequent hookups, but the thinly controlled excitement in her best friend's voice surprised her. 

'Alex said he saw him backstage last night but I thought he was kidding.' Julian whispered urgently. 'Tell me you know who that is, Radzevich.'

'I thought he looked familiar. Do you?' Asya asked curiously, adjusting the straps on her lilac leotard. 

'That's Roman Zharnov.'

'WHAT-' Asya squeaked, whipping her head around to try and find the dark-haired dancer again. 

'Zharnov.' Julian yelped. 'The Bolshoi's very own golden boy turned up in London last night.'

'I knew-'

'He's the living breathing king of the Russian ballet. He had four different companies in a bidding war trying to sign him for this season.' Julian rambled on. 'More importantly, what's he doing talking to you?'

'Introduced himself.' Asya said nonchalantly, knowing getting Julian off her case would be tough. 'Gave me a once over, and got a little tense when I mentioned Ivan. So, if you ask me, he wants a one-night stand from a ballerina with a pretty face.'

Julian rolled his eyes at her, taking a drain from her water bottle. 

Roman Zharnov, Asya thought to herself. She knew he looked familiar. She'd heard of him by and by in school. He'd been a rising star at the Bolshoi, and his alleged prowess and brooding good looks quickly turned him into an icon the boys idolised for his talent and girls swooned over on online fan-accounts. Strange, though, she hadn't really heard much of him in the last six months. 

Dancers like him could rope in a six-figure contract on reputation alone, and she figured the company must be paying him a fortune to be in London. It's only a matter of time until they pair him with some principal, and he's dancing all the male leads and selling out their shows for them. 

Or maybe he gets to choose his partners and roles? Contracts have time periods, have they booked him for a season, a year? Why did she even care?

Asya watched as the Russian dancer stepped into the centre and rolled out his powerful shoulders. God, he was tall. The Bolshoi liked their ballerinas on the taller side, meaning the men that partnered them were usually giants even by male dancer standards, towering at six or seven feet on average. Zharnov certainly wasn't the exception, he must have been well over six feet by her estimate. 

She really had no business caring, she lectured herself. Dancers that famous usually had a chip on their shoulder, and she wouldn't be surprised if his handsome face came with an arrogant attitude as well. She had her fair share of male dancer drama already, and really shouldn't be looking for added trouble with her schedule being what it was. 

The ballerina watched as he threw himself into the turns, spinning evenly and with backbreaking control, each rotation neat and precise, paced to absolute, Bolshoi-trained perfection. He switched directions and didn't falter for even a second as he assembled yet another impeccable set of pirouettes. 

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. Holy shit, she thought. She didn't mean to gape, but her defence, it was hard not to look. Chilly glares from the other men told Asya she wasn't the only one who had become aware of the talent in the class. Jealous already, she thought. 

・・・

By the end of company class Asya's feet were throbbing painfully, and she retreated to her spot next to the wall to take off her pointe shoes. She slipped them into her bag and stepped into a pair of wool shorts, waving goodbye to Julian as he made his way to his morning rehearsals. They were both finishing early that afternoon to prepare for the performance later that evening, and planned to walk home together for dinner and a shower. 

She was pulling on an oversized sweatshirt when she heard a familiar voice calling her name. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she turned around and found him sauntering in her direction. 

'Ivan?' she purred, tucking some loose strands of hair into her bun.  

'Going somewhere?' he asked.

'Rehearsals.' Asya replied shortly. 'And then home.'

He nodded and took a step closer to her, running his hands down her arms. She knew what that meant. First of all, he unnecessary politeness didn't fall within his framework, and secondly, he rarely sought out conversation unless it was pillow-talk. No, he wanted something from her, and knowing him, she'd soon find out what it was. 

'Why was Zharnov talking to you?' he questioned eventually. 

'Who?' Asya asked innocently. She played stupid for no other reason than to annoy him, but was a little surprised that he'd noticed the Russian dancer talking to her. It seemed like everyone knew who he was except her. 

'In class.' Ivan continued, crossing his arms over his chest. 'I saw him with you.'

'Oh.' Asya droned. 'He's just being friendly.'

'Well,' he whispered, raking his gaze over her. 'I don't want him getting any ideas.'

'Sure, Ridley.' she sighed, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. 'I have to go.'

She left a quick peck on his jaw and made her exit. Ivan's interest in her social life was a little misplaced. Their relationship was by no means exclusive, she fooled around with a few other men, and suspected that he probably did the same. Their hookups were convenient, nothing but sex and the occasional make-out session on a dressing room couch to keep him amused. She needed him to get her good roles, and he just wanted some fun and the male satisfaction that came with bragging that he was enjoying the company of the pretty soloist. Ivan really didn't have any business looking for her loyalty.

She'd grow bored with him eventually anyway.