The Last Dance (25 page)

“Are you not tired,
kiska
?”
Kitten.
Magda had given her the pet name she called her own daughters. She missed them though she never spoke of them or why she was here though Georgina knew Magda had murdered her husband when she discovered he was abusing their daughters. Georgina had overheard two of the inmates speaking about it.

Georgina’s own baby could be no bigger than her thumbnail, but she understood the need to protect it. Like Magda, she would do anything to keep her child safe.

Georgina turned to her side to whisper to Magda. “My lawyer is coming today.”

Lawyers meant hope.

“Yes, I had forgotten. But you must sleep for the baby.”

Georgina nodded even though Magda could not see her. Every day Magda told Georgina what she must do for the health of her baby, reminding her to eat when even the thought of facing another meal of boiled meat and cabbage made her want to be sick. But she ate it for the baby and then chewed on the ginger to keep it down. “I have a good feeling about today,” she whispered. “Roman will make sure.” She remembered what he had said to her in the Hermitage about Cinderella not really loving the prince if she did not even trust him. Georgina closed her eyes and laid her hand on her belly. She trusted Roman. He was all they had.

“Men are pigs, kiska. You must be there for you and your baby because no man can be trusted. You understand.”

“I know.” Georgina sighed, her heart breaking a little more for Magda. That was Magda’s truth. The man she had trusted had betrayed her in the worst possible way, but that was not Roman. He would not do that. She had not seen or spoken to Roman since the night before she was arrested but she knew he was okay because she felt it. He was safe. And he was working to get her out. He would. She was going to be okay. Their baby was going to be okay.

* * * *

The interview room had been painted seven times, seven different shades of cream and pale yellow. Georgina could tell because of the cracks and chips that covered the walls. She had time to count each one as she waited. There was a small, horizontal window at the top of the room. Sunlight poured through. Spring was here, and the snow was finally melting. Russia was beautiful when the wild flowers bloomed.

The door creaked as a guard opened it, her lawyer two steps behind him.

“Hi.” Georgina greeted her lawyer, James Stewart. The first time they’d met, the week after she arrived, she’d assumed Roman had hired him but, no, the American government had procured his services. Apparently her case was all over the news in the United States. The public were fascinated with the ballerina turned drug smuggler.

James smiled, glancing at her only briefly over his wire-rimmed glasses. James rarely looked at her and even then for fleeting moments. It was off-putting at first, made him seem evasive, but soon she gathered he was just pathologically shy. But he was also brilliant; speaking to him for thirty seconds had confirmed that.

“Any news on Roman?” Georgina asked.

James had promised to locate Roman and give him a message and arrange council for him if he needed it.

“Has he been arrested?” Georgina asked. It was the same question every time James came to see her. She lived in fear that Roman would be arrested too. Roman was the real target in all of this. Pavel wanted Roman; Georgina was collateral damage.

James glanced at her briefly and then down at his folder. It was a shame he could not maintain eye contact because he had lovely eyes—warm brown, the color of cognac. He cleared his throat. “No. Mr. Zakharov has not been arrested.”

“Oh thank God!” Relief washed over her. “And he is okay? Tell me Roman is okay. Is he still in St. Petersburg?” Pavel was not above murder. He had already tried to have Roman assassinated once before. Roman would be safer outside of Russia.

James cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. “Mr. Zakharov appears to be fine. Miss Fairley, there have been some developments in your case I wish to discuss with you. I am cautiously optimistic this can be resolved soon, immediately actually.” James stopped speaking long enough to push up his glasses.

“Oh thank God. I knew today was going to be a good day. I felt it.” She laid a hand on her belly. First thing she was going to do when she got out was go to the doctor and check on her little bean. That was what she had taken to calling her baby. Actually the first place she would go would be to see Roman, and then straight to the doctor. Her heart jumped into her mouth at the prospect of seeing him again. What would he think about the baby? Would he be happy? They had never discussed children, or even a future.

Her heart momentarily forgot to beat. What if he wasn’t happy? No. She shook her head. No, she would trust him. Magda was wrong; not all men were pigs. Roman would do what was right for her and their baby. And even if he didn’t want this baby, she did. She loved him or her already, this small person created with Roman.

“When, when can I get out?”

“This week perhaps. There is a lot of support for you in America. Thousands have signed the Free the Ballerina campaign. A lot of political pressure has been put on this government. Both the Russians and Americans are eager to put this episode behind them as it does not bode favorably for anyone involved.”

Georgina nodded. Her cheeks heated. She was infamous. Everyone back home in Montana would know. She was no longer a success story; she was a cautionary tale. She pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter; she did not have the energy to be embarrassed.

“There is enough evidence now to arrest Pavel Ivanov for running an international drug ring. He abused his position in the Federal Security Service to nurse old grudges and carry out personal vendettas. He used the drug money to fund his hate campaign against Roman Zakharov. He faces decades in prison.”

Georgina’s eyes narrowed.

“A half a million euros worth of meth and heroine were found in your apartment—”

“No!” Georgina objected. “That is impossible. “I have never touched those drugs. Someone planted them. That’s impossible.” Her body shook.

“You need to admit that you were selling for Pavel Ivanov,” James continued.

“No. You’re not hearing me. I was not selling.”

“The case is strong, Georgina. Ivanov is going to prison for a long time, and you will too if you don’t agree to testify against him.”

Georgina sat back in her chair.

“Did Ivanov sell drugs to you in Estonia ten years ago?”

“Yes but—”

“You need to testify to that. And plead guilty to possession and distribution. The Russian government has been very generous in the plea agreement. Of course you will have a criminal record and you will be stripped of your visa—”

“I will be deported?”

“Yes.”

“No. I can’t. This is where I—where Roman lives. No.” If she was deported, what would that mean for her and Roman? They had only just begun to figure out things between them. She rubbed at her temples. Her head ached. She’d had a headache off and on since she got here. Even if she had access to painkillers, she would not take them. She wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize their baby. She could not think straight with the throbbing behind her eyes. She needed to speak to Roman. He would know what she should do. “Did you give Roman my message? Can I speak to him? Can I call him? Or can he come see me? I have to know what he thinks I should do.”

James shook his head and opened the black leatherbound file in front of him. “Mr. Zakharov would not take my calls—”

“He is very busy. Call him again. Tell him you are my lawyer. Use my name. Did you tell him you were representing me?”

For the first time James looked her square in the eye. “Miss Fairley, Roman Zakharov is the reason you are in prison. He is the one that alerted the authorities to the drug-smuggling ring.”

Georgina sucked in a sharp breath. She must have misheard him. He was confused. “No.” She shook her head. “No. Roman would not do that to me.” Roman cared for her. He had looked after her, protected her even. He cared about her. He did. He’d never said the words, but she felt it.

“Miss Fairley, he worked with Interpol and the Federal Security Service to have you arrested. He was there the morning you were arrested. He did not intervene because he orchestrated it. Apparently there is a long history between Ivanov and Zakharov.”

The room went dark; her vision closed to tiny points of light surrounded by inky blackness. She couldn’t breathe. She sucked in breaths like she was drowning, but none of it was reaching her body. “No,” she murmured.

“You appear to have been caught up in a long-standing feud.”

She started to protest again, but the words never made it past her lips. This was a misunderstanding. “I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it until I hear it from Roman. I need to speak to Roman.”

“I am aware that you and Mr. Zakharov had an”—James cleared his throat again—“intimate…or…eh…a personal relationship of some description.” He coughed. Color rose in his cheeks.

Lovers. We were lovers
.

“That…um…relationship, shall we say, has ended, and Mr. Zakharov is involved with someone else. I would suggest you not factor his take on the situation into the equation.”

Georgina shook her head again. Roman wasn’t involved with anyone else. They had never discussed monogamy…but he couldn’t. “I need to speak to Roman. Please, can you make that happen? Please.” Her voice broke. Her whole body shook now. She wouldn’t break; she couldn’t. She had to stay strong. “Please,” she whispered.

James hesitated a second before he shuffled the stack of papers and produced a glossy magazine. “Look at the date. This is this week’s issue. Now look at page six.”

Tentatively Georgina reached for the magazine. Her lips trembled. Her eyes burned. No…no. It was a picture of Roman on his yacht. A woman was holding on to his waist. She was wearing red bikini bottoms and nothing else. Georgina recognized her immediately, the Spanish model from the first night at the Hermitage. He had gone back to her.

Her throat closed as she tried to make sense of the new information. There was no compartment for it, no way to rationalize, no excuses. A wave of nausea hit her. She was going to be sick. She clamped her hand over her mouth and concentrated on slowly breathing in and out.
Just breathe. Just get through this minute and the next. Just breathe.

The room was collapsing in, the walls edging closer. Think about it! her mind screamed at her. Roman was one of the most powerful men in Russia. If he wanted to see her, he would have come. If he wanted her out, she would be out. She was exactly where he wanted her. She was being punished.

Revenge
. That was what this was. Against Pavel or against her? Both of them. Both of them had betrayed Roman…and he would not tolerate that. That was the real Roman, the merciless man who rose from penniless bauxite minor to the richest man in Russia. His credibility would be undermined if he didn’t punish them. The evidence was not there to prosecute Pavel for the car bomb, but Roman had made sure Pavel got what was coming to him.

Had he planned this all along?
Oh God, he did
. Tears stung her eyes.
He did
. The whole time, it was an act. Why? He could have just killed her the first night. Her thoughts raced, jagged pieces crashing to form the whole ugly picture. Roman could not kill her the first night because he’d needed her to provide information on Pavel. And she had. He’d needed something to bring Pavel down. That was why Roman spared her life. When she disclosed to Roman what Pavel had done, the drugs, she had given Roman the ammunition he needed.

All of it had been an act: his compassion, the affection, his concern for her well-being. None of it was real. Why? Why did he have to make her fall in love with him? Because he had to make it hurt.

Magda was right. Men were pigs. Georgina really was going to be sick. “I’ll testify. I’ll sign whatever I need to sign. I’ll sign anything. I have to get home. I can’t be here anymore.” In prison or in Russia. She just needed to leave and never look back.

Two months later

Georgina had not been out of the house in a long time. She only felt entirely safe in the confines of her home, which was ridiculous. She was home and safe now, but no matter how many times she told herself, she never truly believed. The sad part was she was free now, truly free, from prison and from Pavel, but she had yet to enjoy it. In a way she had traded one cell for another. She was going to push herself today and walk down High Street to the farmers’ market. Everyone knew her, knew her story. They would look and whisper for a while, but then they would move on because this was her home. She was one of them.

She looked up at the cloudless sky. Georgina had forgotten how much she loved Montana in August. Auburn Springs was nestled just below the tree line in the foothills of southern Montana. The land was rugged and unspoiled, the small town just a speck on the otherwise unblemished terrain.

She had been home five weeks, long enough to clear out her grandmother’s house. The two-story Victorian held so many memories. No one had lived there since her grandma had died, so the entire house needed to be scrubbed from top to bottom. Georgina had spent every waking hour cleaning and repainting, bringing the house back to life. Working until she was exhausted kept her from shattering.

After she left Russia she was overcome with the desire to run away and hide. If there were a rock big enough, she would have crawled under it. Devastated did not begin to cover the magnitude of the emotion she felt leaving Russia. She felt humiliated and betrayed and hopeless.

She was broken.

But she had a reason to pick up the pieces and cobble them back together the best she could: her baby. She was seven months pregnant, which meant she’d conceived one of the first nights she was with Roman.

Miraculously the baby was fine. She was still barely showing, but her ob-gyn assured her that was because this was her first pregnancy. The next one she would show sooner. There was not going to be a next pregnancy. This was it. Her baby was it for her. Georgina had been to hell and back, but she’d brought back her angel, so it was okay. She was going to be strong because there was someone she loved who needed her.