Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

But I have to put up with him for Giselle and consider it a sacrifice for the sake of art.

“Where do you think you’re going, chérie?” Philippe, who was too busy with the staff to pay attention to what happened, loops his arm in mine.

“Home.”

“Non, non. Not tonight. We promised we’d go out for drinks for team spirit.”

“I’m tired and I need some aftercare.” Because as much as I hate to admit it, my ankle still throbs. Dr. Kim said it’s fatigue and gave me muscle relaxers, but I’m paranoid as hell about using my legs when it’s not for the purpose of ballet.

“Do the aftercare here and then join us.”

“Philippe…”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. We miss having you among us outside of rehearsal.”

He’s the only one who thinks that. And maybe Stephanie, because she rocks.

I peek at all the glares shooting my way because of Philippe’s obvious favoritism. He calls me his star, his muse, and the lead of his every masterpiece. Something that has dug the hole deeper between me and the other dancers.

If he wasn’t openly gay and happily married, they’d say I’m sleeping with him like they do about the producers.

“Come on, change the mood.” Stephanie takes my other arm. “You’re stressed. I can feel it.”

She can say that again. I haven’t been able to sleep, probably since…well, since Adrian walked into my life.

Not that my sleeping patterns were better before him.

“Oui, oui. Stress is not good for my muse.” Philippe clutches my chin between his fingers and gently shakes it as if I’m a baby.

You know what? A night out is better than overthinking until I collapse in my empty apartment. All I have to do is stay with Philippe and Stephanie.

“Fine.” I smile a little. “I’m in.”

“You won’t regret it.” Philippe rolls the R exaggeratingly with his accent.

I go to my dressing room, making sure to lock both doors, then I take a quick shower and place bandages on my ankles as I sit down to blow-dry my hair and put on makeup. I opt for a soft glittery eyeshadow. It’s been a stupid obsession of mine since I was a little girl. Glitter and beautiful things. They signify hope, I guess. That’s what I’ve wanted all along and the only thing that’s kept me going.

I paint my lips in a nude color and apply some mascara. The makeup is a lot tamer than what I’m used to for official performances, but it still gives me that confidence. The hope.

To say my life has gotten back on course would be a lie. I’ve been watching my apartment door since that day Adrian walked out, waiting for him to come back. I’ve watched the audience, too, but he hasn’t shown up in my rehearsals again. Not even once.

A part of my brain, the logical part, is somehow glad he’s left me alone, but the other part knows, it just knows that’s not the end of it.

Far from it.

If anything, that encounter might as well have been the beginning. I know he’ll come back, and this time, my life will be blown to pieces.

The cruelty of leaving me on the edge is too much. I want to scream and yell, but that won’t bring a different result. It will just happen as he planned all along.

I need to find a way to get rid of him, to purge him out of my life once and for all, because in the small time he was in it, he disordered everything. Including my damn dreams.

After putting on a simple black dress with a plunging neckline, I throw on my coat and wear my flats, then go to find Stephanie and Philippe. The others have already headed to the club, and those two waited for me.

The director drives the three of us to a club downtown, French music with a soft melody playing on the stereo. Stephanie sits beside him while I’m in the back alone.

“Wait and see, chérie. I booked the entire VIP lounge for us.”

“What are we celebrating?” Stephanie asks.

“Lia being the Giselle of my dreams, bien sûr. The producers went nuts after seeing your demonstration that first day.”

I tuck an imaginary strand of hair behind my ear. “Speaking of the producers, who was the new face?”

“The new face?” Philippe meets my gaze in the mirror.

“That tall man,” I speak casually, trying not to betray my need for information. In one of my sleepless nights, I googled Adrian Volkov and found some Russian dude’s Instagram and Twitter accounts, but they looked nothing like the Adrian I met.

It could be a false name he gave me, but I highly doubt it. Most likely, people like him hide their presence from the internet because it can expose or implicate them.

“Ah.” A light bulb seems to go off in Philippe’s head. “The Russian.”

“Yes,” I blurt, which gets me a look from Stephanie, who’s perceptive to a fault. I hope it’s not written all over my face or I’m not blushing to my ears.

Philippe pauses for a bit, lost in thought. “He’s one of the executive producer’s associates or business partners or whatever. Matt brought him in, if I remember correctly. Those with money have a lot of friends with money who have absolutely no appreciation for art.”

So even Philippe doesn’t know much about him.

“I heard he’s from the mafia,” Stephanie whispers as if not wanting anyone to hear.