The Price of His Redemption

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Then,’ Daniil said, ‘when you had my emphatic refusal, then you should have tried to persuade me and talk me round by pointing out my mother’s declining health and such things.’

  ‘Would it have worked?’

  ‘Not on me,’ he said. ‘I’m just letting you know, for future reference, that you were working backwards with your technique because, had I dubiously agreed, there was still more you had to ask of me. You hit me too soon with the sob story.’

  ‘Well, then, it’s just as well this isn’t my usual kind of work,’ Libby said, and peered at him. He completely intrigued her. He was a stunning mix—arrogant and hostile yet somehow approachable.

  ‘Tell your father the answer is no—I shall not be attending my parents’ wedding anniversary celebrations.’

  ‘Because?’ she asked.

  ‘I have no reason to, neither do I wish to share my decision-making process with you.’

  ‘Was it always going to be a no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then, why did you agree to see my father?’

  ‘Well, he insisted that he had something to say that might change my mind. I notice that you didn’t mention my inheritance going to Cousin George.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I have no reason to, neither do I wish to share my decision-making process with you.’ Libby parroted his words but he just smiled.

  ‘You know you want to really.’

  She did!

  ‘Well—’ Libby shuffled in her seat ‘—I happen to think that’s blackmail.’

  ‘That’s my parents’ favourite sport,’ Daniil said. ‘Anyway, I don’t need a draughty old mansion on my hands. I loathe the place. I certainly have no wish to ever own it.’

  Libby hated that she’d been talked into doing this, she really did. ‘Look, I’m very sorry for interrupting you, Mr Zverev.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby beamed. ‘I’ll pass on your response to my father.’

  ‘If he is annoyed at not getting his way, know that he would have lasted one minute with me. You can console yourself you did better than he ever could have.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I liked watching your mouth.’

  ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘Why not? You demanded to see me, you came into my office without a proper appointment, you don’t get to dictate how I behave in here.’

  He stood and she just about folded over in her seat as six feet two of heaven gracefully walked across the floor and retrieved his jacket from a stand. Well, he sort of flicked it off the hook and then slipped it on, all in one lithe motion.

  ‘There’s water,’ Daniil said, ‘and over there is a fridge with some nice contents. The bathroom is through there...’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re still sitting and I’m clearly on my way out so I assumed you were staying.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Even standing was a challenge with him in the room. Her legs had forgotten their role, and so had her head because she even bent down to retrieve her bag, which, of course, wasn’t there.

  ‘That’s right, I left it at Reception.’

  He made her seem slightly mad.

  She felt slightly mad.

  As she stepped out of his office it was like walking out of a ten-hour back-to-back session at the movies and blinking at the light.

  Libby picked up her bag and gave Snooty Pants a smile then headed for the elevator but she jumped in quiet surprise when she realised that he was standing behind her.

  ‘I thought that you’d have a special elevator,’ Libby observed. ‘One that only goes up.’

  Yes, she thought, he would take her to heaven.

  They stepped in and the doors closed and Libby waited for the most excruciating elevator ride of her life to commence, but instead it turned out to be the best ever.

  He was checking his phone and then he looked up to where she stood. She was leaning against the wall, gazing at his stunning face, intrigued by his scar.

  ‘Do you want an early dinner?’ he said, and, just like that, he offered her a delectable slice of his time.

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘Well, I’m hungry and I guess you didn’t have time to eat in your haste to get to your critically injured father.’

  Libby’s lips twitched into a smile.

  ‘And then,’ Daniil continued, ‘there would have been all the shock and relief of finding out that he only had mild concussion.’

  She laughed. ‘No, I didn’t have lunch.’

  ‘So do you want dinner?’ Daniil checked. ‘But on one condition.’

  They stepped out and walked across the foyer. She glanced at the receptionist who hadn’t been going to let her in and Libby was tempted to poke out her tongue.

  ‘What’s the condition?’ she asked.

  ‘Know that I shan’t be changing my mind.’

  ‘About?’ Libby frowned and then answered her own question—oh, yes, the reason she was there. ‘I get that.’

  They walked out and a car with a driver standing outside was waiting for him.

  ‘How did he know you were on your way out?’

  ‘Cindy would have rung down to alert him that I was leaving.’

  Cindy!

  Well, yes, she would be called that.

  As she climbed into the car, one of the many things that Libby was thinking about was how much money she had on her and what the balance on her credit card was.

  Her mother had always warned her to have enough money for a taxi ride home and she also wanted to know she had money enough on her card to pay for dinner.

  He was, she had read, prone to walking off in the middle of a meal, or a holiday, or a photo shoot in Brazil. When bored, he did not push through politely.

  He could leave at any moment, and she accepted that—this was transient and temporary.

  She wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  Now they were out of his vast office and in the smaller surroundings of a car, his size was more noticeable. Tall, his shoulders were wide, but as he had put on his jacket she had noted just how flat his stomach was.

  She was small but he made her feel tiny as she sat beside him. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Somewhere nice,’ he said.

  Nice was a roped-off club that drew a crowd even on a Monday evening.

  And it was very nice not to have to queue.

  ‘Did you have a reservation?’ Libby asked, as they were shown straight in and through.

  ‘No, I never book anywhere,’ he said as they took a seat. She put her bag on the floor and they put their phones down on the table. ‘How can you know in the morning what you will want that night?’

  Second warning bell.

  She glanced around and people were staring at them.

  She felt a little like she had when she’d done work experience at the library and the real worker had gone to lunch. Someone had asked her a question and had expected her to know the answer.

  ‘I don’t really work here,’ Libby had wanted to say as she’d tapped away on the computer.

  ‘I’m not really with him,’ she wanted to correct the curious onlookers.

  Except, to her absolute delight, tonight she was!

  Oh, she knew it was a one-off, that she was here by default only, but it was such a lovely turn of events that she decided to simply enjoy it.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ Daniil asked, as she read through the cocktail menu.

  It was overwhelming.

  Like him.

  Just breathing normally was an impossible feat with him so near.

  She gave a slightly helpless shake of her
head, which was probably terribly unsophisticated but it was all she could manage.

  ‘Champagne?’ he checked, and she nodded, but when he gave the order and she heard just what champagne they would be drinking she knew she had better hold on to that attention span of his because her credit card would not be able to cover it.

  The champagne was poured and the ice was truly broken when Libby’s phone rang and Daniil glanced down and saw from Libby’s caller ID that it was her father calling.

  ‘Answer,’ he said.

  She did so.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I did speak to him but the answer’s still no.’

  Daniil watched her as she talked.

  His invitation to take Libby to dinner had surprised him. She was nothing like his usual type, which was generally close to a foot taller and quite happy to sit bored and silent, just pleased to be seen out with him.

  Libby Tennent didn’t sit. She squirmed in the chair as she chatted, one hand was playing with her hair, her eyes were rolling and she was frantically blushing as she spoke with her father. ‘No, I’d say that there’s no chance of him changing his mind.’

  Daniil watched.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t try calling him if I were you, Dad,’ Libby responded when her father suggested he do just that. She gave Daniil a little wink. ‘He’s a very cold person.’

  Daniil smiled and took a drink of his champagne.

  ‘No, I think you’re just going to have to accept that his answer is no. How are you feeling—?’ she attempted, but he had already rung off.

  She put down her phone and raised her palms in the air then looked up when Daniil started counting.

  ‘One,’ Daniil said, and Libby frowned. ‘Two...’ Just as she was about to ask what he meant, his phone rang. ‘I still don’t know how he got my private number.’

  He took the call from Lindsey and was about to give his usual cold, brusque response, but, maybe because he knew that he’d be sleeping with his daughter in, say, an hour or so from now, Daniil was a touch more polite than he would usually be.

  ‘Lindsey, I am sorry to hear about your accident. I’m blocking your number now. Don’t try to get hold of me again.’

  He rang off.

  ‘I feel so bad for him,’ Libby admitted. ‘As well as cross with him for sending me to try to persuade you. I told him I didn’t want to.’

  ‘So why did you?’

  Libby gave a tight shrug. ‘He pointed out that, unlike June, my sister, I do nothing at all for the family business.’

  ‘What does June do?’

  ‘She’s a chef.’ Libby sighed. ‘Who married a chef.’

  ‘A very handy daughter to have for an events planner.’

  Libby gave a glum nod. ‘Unlike me.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She works with my father.’

  ‘Do you get on?’

  ‘We do but...’ Libby gave another tight shrug. ‘I’m far too demonstrative for the lot of them. You know, sometimes I’m sure that I’m adop...’ She swallowed down the most appalling faux pas but Daniil just gave a wry smile.

  ‘At least I knew that I was.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Libby winced. ‘That was thoughtless.’

  ‘What is it with the English and guilt?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t bother me a bit, and there’s no reason for guilt about your father—it’s not your fault his business is about to go under.’

  Libby shot him a look.

  ‘How?’ she asked. How did he know?

  ‘Does he usually chase up every non-attendee with such vigour?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Clearly this party is very important to him.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Guilt and manipulation are terrible bedfellows,’ Daniil said. ‘My parents must know that your father is desperate, so they used him to get to me. In turn, he knows that he’s getting nowhere, so he guilts you into coming to see me, hoping I would not be able to say no to your lovely blue eyes.’ He wagged his finger at her. ‘Tut-tut, Libby.’ Then he gave her a thin smile. ‘So are you close to your parents?’

  ‘For the most part,’ Libby said. ‘I think all families have their issues that drive each other crazy but if you love...’ She hesitated as she remembered that Daniil was estranged from his parents. ‘Do you care about them at all?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head but offered no elaboration.

  ‘Were you ever close to them?’

  ‘I never let myself get close to anyone.’

  She frowned, but said nothing at first. It wasn’t for her to correct him, it wasn’t for her to say he was wrong. She had stepped into his world uninvited and she didn’t make his rules or get to tell him how he should be.

  ‘Why?’ Libby asked, and from the blush spreading on her neck both knew she wasn’t just discussing his lack of relationship with his parents.

  ‘Because it leads to expectations that it might last and, in my opinion, nothing lasts. Libby...’ Daniil was incredibly direct. ‘You do understand that whatever happens tonight won’t change my mind about attending my parents’ party?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t believe her for a moment. ‘You’re sure?’ he checked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Because,’ he warned, ‘that would be very foolish of you.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I hope that you understand that your expensive champagne won’t buy a night in bed with me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Daniil nodded. ‘But my charm might.’

  Libby laughed.

  He was bad but it felt so good.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘You know about my two-week record, what’s your record in a relationship?’

  Libby thought for a moment. ‘Eighteen months,’ she said. ‘Though the last six don’t really count.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We were seriously limping along by then.’ She thought back to that time—the constant knot in her stomach at the juggling of too many balls. It had been a relief when the relationship ball had finally fallen and she could fully immerse herself in dance. ‘Apparently I was too focused on my career.’

  ‘Instead of him?’ Daniil checked, and Libby nodded. ‘That’s his issue.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she sighed. ‘I keep telling myself that.’

  ‘Then, it’s time to start believing it.’

  The waiter came and Libby ordered the French onion soup as her main and Daniil asked for two steaks and a green salad.

  When they were alone she looked back at him. ‘Two?’

  ‘I have a big appetite,’ he said, and then admitted that he was curious about her order. ‘I’m surprised that you didn’t ask for them to leave off the cheese and bread. Isn’t that what most ballet dancers do?’

  ‘Ha.’ Libby gave a wry smile. ‘Unfortunately the only time I’m not hungry is when I’m anxious or stressed. The moment I’m happy I’m constantly starving. How did you know I was a dancer?’

  ‘You were trying very hard to keep your legs parallel and not walk like a duck when you came into my office.’

  Oh. Her thighs were definitely parallel now—in fact, they were squeezed tightly together just from the delicious brush of his knees.

  ‘Professional?’ Daniil asked.

  ‘Ex.’ For the first time he saw that happy smile waver. ‘Well, I guess I shall be again soon but in a different way—I’m looking at two rentals tomorrow so that I can start my own dance school. You know the saying, those that can’t, teach.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like something you would say to somebody else,’ Daniil observed.

  ‘No,’ Libby admitted.

  ‘So why do you say it
about yourself?’

  ‘I’m guess I’m not where I’d hoped to be.’

  ‘Which is?’

  For the first time conversation faltered.

  Libby took a large slug of champagne before speaking. ‘My biggest part never happened...’ She saw his small frown. ‘I was understudy once. You know when they say, “Break a leg”? Well, I meant it. But, of course, she didn’t.’

  ‘You never meant it.’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’d have loved her to get at least one migraine, though.’

  Daniil smiled and now so did she.

  ‘Look, I’ve accepted that the small roles I get aren’t going to lead to anything bigger. I love ballet, seriously I do, but it’s not everything. It’s almost everything but if you want to go far then that’s what it has to be. I’ve also had a couple of injuries that I haven’t come back from...’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You never want to see my feet,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, but I do.’

  Said feet’s toes were curling at another press of his knee, so much so she was almost tempted to flick off her shoe and place it in his lap.

  Help!

  ‘Anyway, the last fracture I had demanded rest and you just can’t. You have to push through but I realised that I can’t keep doing it any more. I know I’m not going to go far, at least not anywhere that’s going to pay more than my rent, so I’ve been studying to teach. I’m actually excited about it now. I’ve had my depression.’

  ‘You thought that your life was over?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she readily agreed, because for months she had not been able to imagine leaving her dream behind, but now, well, she was happy with what she’d achieved and excited for all that was to come.

  Almost.

  There was an ache there—that she would never be a part of a big production again, never audition—but she avoided touching it for now.

  ‘And so tomorrow you look at places to open your own dance school?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Good luck, then.’ He raised his glass and they chinked them.

  The soup was sublime, the crust perfect, and she poked a hole to get to the lovely brown broth beneath.

  ‘Tell me about the places you are looking at tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Well, there’s one not very far from where you work and it has the rent to prove it. Then there’s one in the East End, which I can afford and it already has mirrors...’