by Ellie Hall
“The playbook rules: No kissing, eyes up, hands-off, no dating...” Grey started.
“Unless you fall in love,” Declan added.
“And ask her to marry you,” Chase said.
Wolf groaned.
They tossed their hands in the middle of the circle and said, “Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’.”
Grey’s phone pinged with a message.
As they started to walk down the hall, Wolf said, “You have to admit I have a good butt.”
“I’m not saying anything about your butt other than that I’m going to kick it if you so much as breathe in the same room as a woman during this month,” Declan said.
“You can thank yourself for getting us in this situation,” Wolf retorted.
“The mooning prank was all your idea.”
“No, if I remember...” They started bickering.
“Guys, it doesn’t matter now. What does matter is that we’re going to camp and have to—” Chase started.
Grey interrupted. “He said reform school.”
“Classes.”
“Probation.”
“No women. This is the worst.” Wolf said as they turned the corner.
“It’s not prison. I’m sure we’ll have some free time.” Declan’s phone pinged.
“Did Hammer say camp or glamp? Maybe it’ll be at a luxury spa,” Chase said.
“You’d like that,” Wolf ribbed.
Chase’s phone pinged and he swiped to his email. “I just got the travel info from the secretary. I think this is a school of some sort. Finishing school.”
“Like old school etiquette?”
“Like sipping tea with pinkies turned out,” Chase said.
Grey elbowed him.
“What? I had three sisters. You’d better believe they made me sit in on their tea parties. Maybe this isn’t going to be half bad...” Chase said.
“But it’s not the same as the field time and practice that’s going to get us ready for the season,” Grey said.
“It says here that we’ll still be training. They’re sending some specialist or something,” Chase said, reading the email.
“Yeah, I feel special,” Wolf said darkly.
Chase clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. We have just enough time to go home, pack, and meet up to take the flight to the finishing school in a remote country called Concordia. Ever hear of the place?”
Declan nodded, but the others were silent.
Chapter 1
Katerina
Without looking at the calendar, Katerina Kuznetsova knew the date. Every year, on that particular day, she felt a mixture of regret and relief.
Over a decade ago, she’d made a vow to be true to herself and had kept her word ever since. But that didn’t stop her from pulling out the box once every year to make sure she’d made the right choice.
By the light of the full moon, not yet having set to make way for dawn, she padded across the room to the closet. From the back, she withdrew a box and removed the lid. Her hand landed on the pale pink tulle tutu. A ripple ran through her, landing deep in her stomach. She set it to the side and took out the leotard, the tights, and at last, the ballet slippers—the satin pointe shoes. They were as worn and beloved as she remembered. Her fingers smoothed across the ties and the ripple inside turned into a tug. She had a big day ahead of her, but this was something she got up early for but once a year. It was something she had to do.
There was only one way to know that she hadn’t chosen the wrong path.
As the sky lightened, she cleared the furniture from the middle of the vast room. She was the headmistress at Blancbourg and had been given the largest suite in the manor. Ordinarily, she felt like it was a bit excessive, maybe even lonely, but that day the size came in handy.
Katerina drew a deep breath, already feeling warm from rearranging things and rolling up the rug to reveal the hardwood floor. A pinkish-yellow light filtered into the room as the sun rose.
Next, she pulled her hair into a smooth bun—not at the nape of her neck like she did when working and not the messy kind she wore on the top of her head when she wasn’t. Even in the dim light, her fingers knew what to do without her needing to think about how to achieve the perfect ballerina bun. She’d certainly done it enough times when she was growing up. She’d spent hours practicing before school and afterward until her parents eventually found her a tutor and she switched—she studied early in the morning and late into the night while spending the majority of the day dancing. Then she was sent to the academy where she danced almost all the time.
After doing her hair, she pulled on the tights, leotard, and tutu. Lastly, she held a shoe in each hand. She closed her eyes, feeling the curve, the potential, the meaning. They were the final piece to the version of herself she’d left behind. When she put them on, she’d dance and then she’d know if she’d done the right thing.
Like every time she’d performed this annual ritual, her stomach fluttered with reluctance and anxiety because what if she changed her mind? What if she slipped the shoes on and realized she’d made the wrong choice? She’d have to live with that regret, tell her parents that they’d been right, to which they’d respond it was too late. She was too old. She’d messed up. Katerina was nothing if not a perfectionist and couldn’t tolerate the thought of being wrong.
However, there was only one way to find out.
She slid her foot into one shoe and then the other. She had a ceremonial, almost reverential, method to lacing her ballet slippers around her ankles.
She pointed and flexed her feet, did a few ankle rolls, and then went through the steps that she’d performed daily over the span of years. Afterward, she moved through first position, second, third, fourth, and fifth then continued with centre practice. She did a few more warm-ups and then glided effortlessly across the floor performing arabesques, grande jetés, and a pirouette as part of but one of the many choreographed dances that she knew. The movements went into instant muscle memory. It was like her bones were the worn grooves of water over stone. Her body knew what to do.
But her mind?
Her heart?
Her mind knew she had to get ready for work soon. She had a big day ahead with a group of rowdy new students flying in from the United States. She had to be on her toes—pun not intended. Her mind was hungry to learn, to grow, and to pursue opportunities to further her career as an educator.
However, her heart...her heart beat out a rhythm she wasn’t expecting. It caught her off guard. She assumed it would have the same response that it had for the last ten plus years that she’d suited up on the anniversary of her decision to leave ballet. To leave Russia. To pursue more.
She pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart raced from exertion, leaving her more breathless than she’d expected, but there was something else too. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
However, she couldn’t try to figure it out just then. The church bells in the village where she attended worship service every week rang, signaling the hour. She’d lost track of time.
She unlaced her pointe shoes, tore off the tutu, leotard, and tights. She started to shove everything back in the box. But at the bottom, the many newspaper articles, clippings, programs from shows, and photographs caught her attention.
Katerina’s heart lurched—probably strained from the effort of dancing. She’d been holding her breath and gasped. Something foreign and liquid sprang to her eyes as she gazed at the image of herself with one arm lifted, one leg extended in a clean line as she gazed at the sky, at the distance, at her future. An innocent eighteen-year-old girl looked back at her. The photo had been captured during her last performance.
But there was no time for reminiscing.
Katerina stowed everything back in the closet and hurried as she rearranged the furniture. It was Thursday and housekeeping would be there to tidy up later.
After showering, Katerina dressed in a fashionable work ensemble—typically consisting of tro
users or skirts, a blouse, blazer, and pumps. That day she wore a pencil skirt, a cream-colored blouse with tiny pink roses, and a strand of artificial pearls. A dark blue blazer completed the look. She took a second to freshen up.
The sun shone over Concordia and the bustle of activity could be heard elsewhere in the manor. Just as Katerina was about to step out the door for her first meeting of the day, she caught her reflection in the mirror. In her haste, she’d forgotten to remove her ballerina bun, planted high and tight on her head.
She pulled the pins, unfurled her hair, and hastily smoothed it into her usual low bun. A few of the hairs had come loose and she smoothed them with wet fingers, but they refused to go back into place. In the reflection of the mirror, she also noticed the rug was askew and so was a chair. She felt a prick of anxiety at things not being where they belonged.
However, being late would be worse. Without time to properly fix things, she flew out the door. As she did, it wasn’t only her hair and the furnishings in the headmistress’s suite that felt askew, but something was also off inside, in her heart. She tried to let it go because pondering her feelings wasn’t something she did. Ever.
After the pressure from her parents and the tumultuous and emotional years in the ballet academy and company, she decided to take charge and ruled her life with logic and reason. She left no room for desires or dreams. She was a practical woman and didn’t have the time or inclination for such trivial matters.
A tickling sensation rose to her eyes as she paced down the hall. She hastily wiped it away. “It’s better this way,” she scolded herself in Russian.
Standing outside the meeting room, she tugged at the hem of her blazer, took a deep breath, and reminded herself why she was the youngest headmistress in the history of Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia. Once she set her eyes on a goal, she worked harder than anyone until it was achieved.
Over the years, her parents, ballet masters, mistresses, and coaches had all said that her rare ability to go into fifth gear, when everyone else topped out at fourth gear, had served her well.
In the instance of getting the job at the school, it was purely practical. She needed a place to live in a country she’d never been to. She traveled with a single piece of luggage and her aunt and uncle’s suggestion that she’d be able to make it in Concordia—and had done so. She’d felt alone and scared—not that she’d ever admit it. However, it fueled her to outperform her fellow job candidates.
Katerina pushed the thoughts of her humble beginnings from her mind and entered the meeting room.
After making a few announcements and briefing two of the three etiquette teachers on what to expect and the goals they were slated to achieve with the latest batch of pupils, she glanced at the clock. That day, it was like she was perpetually off by a second, a minute, or an hour.
Her latest hire, on recommendation from her cousin Nadia in America, was just that. An hour late. Perhaps her flight was delayed. Katerina hoped that was the case and the girl didn’t bail out at the last minute—not that she could imagine why anyone would turn away an opportunity to live and work in the most beautiful and wealthy nation in the world.
It had taken her a car, a bus, an airplane, three taxis, another plane, and then a train plus seven days, but she’d found her way from Russia to London where she’d gone to university and then to the small island nation of Concordia just north of England. It had become home and she loved it there. She never wanted to leave.
Katerina had a sense that the American football players were going to be a handful. After wishing Pippa and Everly, the two other teachers, good luck, she went to another meeting room to wait for Connor Wolfe. She reviewed his file and slammed it shut. Based on what she’d read and the latest stunt he and the others had pulled, she imagined he was going to be more than a handful.
And he was late too. Typical.
On the way to her office to inquire about his whereabouts, she met Maggie—her newest hire. She was also American and as bright and bubbly as a can of soda pop. She was a breath of fresh air, eager, and friendly even if she was a bit soggy. Apparently, Declan, her pupil, was a jokester.
After showing Maggie to her suite, Katerina hurried to her office to find out why Connor was delayed.
The driver, who’d met him at the airport, didn’t answer. She checked emails and hoped he hadn’t somehow been lost in transit or had taken off, gallivanting around the village and mooning passersby.
Katerina stood at the broad window overlooking the town. Technically, Intherness, the capital of Concordia, was a city, but she’d been to plenty of cities and this one had an old-world feel with quaint buildings that abutted a few modern structures. The castle in the distance gave it a fairy-tale feel and the village by the school was straight out of a storybook.
Concordia was relatively small compared to most nations, especially her native Russia, but had everything—the sea, mountains, lakes, rivers, and a vast wilderness to the north. She rarely thought about life beyond the borders because she was perfectly content where she was, but the peculiar thought about life outside the school flickered and then faded when the phone rang, startling her.
Arthur Fitzwilliam, the doorman, butler, and jack-of-all-trades at the manor who did just about anything and everything informed her that the fourth football player had finally arrived. He lowered his voice, “And Miss Kuznetsova, you asked me to remind you about my request for the day off.”
She’d forgotten that Arthur needed to bring his wife to the hospital for a procedure and had requested some time for that and to look after her as she recovered.
“My apologies.” She glanced at the calendar. “Yes, you certainly can. I should’ve told you yes right away. Family first.” At the time, she’d been trying to balance the schedule and regretted not telling him that of course, he could have the time off. “I’ll be right out.” She hung up the phone.
Even though Katerina was estranged from her own parents, she was close to her cousin, Nadia, and understood the importance of family. Still, who’d cover for Arthur while he was gone?
The school was short-staffed and Regina Harrow, the bursar responsible for the school’s budget, had recently informed them that they were at a deficit, advising Katerina to let more people go. However, they were already on a shoestring and there was no way three teachers could accommodate the four football players and she’d had to hire Maggie.
Since they were high profile sports stars, if they had a positive outcome from the Blancbourg program, perhaps more athletes, celebrities, and other businesses would use the school’s services.
Katerina had to lay off her assistant, Jayma Forbes, because of funding, but before that, they’d been devising a plan to create an auxiliary online school of etiquette, affiliated with Blancbourg, to generate more revenue. When the two women had presented it to the Board of Regents, Regina had been the only one to turn it down, leaving the proposal dead in the water.
As Katerina tried to think of a solution to the school’s financial woes, she hurried down the hall to the meeting room where her latest pupil supposedly waited.
Her pulse raced and she took a deep inhale. She slowed as she neared the door and then came to a stop. Like earlier, standing outside the threshold, she tried to catch her breath and collect herself. She pushed away the stress, told her heart to calm down, and entered the room.
A man with a shock of wild brown hair, tan skin, and who may as well have been three times her size sat in the chair with his feet kicked up on the table. He scrolled on his phone.
She stepped fully into the room, but he didn’t acknowledge her.
Katerina glimpsed over his shoulder to see that he was looking at images of himself on social media. His handle was @ChicksDigWolves. He let out a low, lupine laugh—probably at a comment someone had left. It was the kind of laugh that would’ve sent shivers across her skin if she was in the woods. There were wolves in her native Russia and there were plenty in the forests of Concordia t
oo.
She cleared her throat to get his attention.
He didn’t flinch or look in her direction.
She reached over his massive, broad, muscled shoulders and plucked the phone from his hand.
He knocked his feet from the table and spun around to face her. Brown eyes that were almost copper, a perfectly proportioned nose, and the fullest, smuggest set of lips she’d ever seen flashed in a wolfish expression that wasn’t quite a smile.
If Katerina didn’t know better, she’d have believed that her heart skipped a beat.
Chapter 2
Connor
Without a word, the woman standing in front of Connor had plucked the cell phone out of his hand. She was not what he was expecting.
When the coach said they were going to reform school, he had visions of a grouchy woman with baggy pantyhose, a hairy mole on her cheek, and a ruler in hand, scolding him. He had quite the imagination. Wolfe leaned back in the chair, taking her in.
The woman who’d taken his phone was the opposite of that vision—except for the bun at the nape of her neck. That was a nice touch to add to the strict teacher look.
Her hair was dark and shiny—he’d place bets that it hung in thick waves when released from the claws of her bun. Her eyes were dark, sharp. And the lips. The lips on that woman could kiss the sass right out of him—when growing up one of Wolfe’s friends predicted that he’d marry the first girl to put him in his place. He’d yet to meet that woman.
The top of her lip was a perfect bow and the bottom was the just right amount of plump. She had them painted red, but lipstick never bothered him before. He wasn’t the type to care if it got on his collar.
She was average height but her willowy build gave her the illusion of being taller. Despite her stature, she was every bit in command.
A long moment passed, but he preferred not to think of what he was doing as staring. Rather, admiring. There was nothing wrong with appreciating the fine looks of a woman, even if she was his coach for the next month.
