Sasha: Book Two Read online

  Table of Contents

  Front Matter

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Rory and I were on a roll, dancing our hearts out as we prepared for Blackpool, the world’s most prestigious ballroom competition. I’d worked hard to overcome my demanding, perfectionist Russian nature, and my beautiful Rory glowed with her brilliant artistry.

  But then, those demons from my Siberian past had to rear their ugly souls, putting not only our love, but our very lives in jeopardy.

  Sasha is the re-telling of the Fever: A Ballroom Romance trilogy, but told from Sasha’s unique perspective. Sasha Book Two is the conclusion of the Sasha subseries.

  Sasha

  Book Two

  Infectious Rhythm Series

  Tonya Plank

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and is not the author’s intent. The Blackpool Dance Festival is a real event, but portions of its layout and organization are fictionalized here for the sake of a good story.

  Copyright © 2016 Tonya Plank

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address Dark Swan Press, 8721 Santa Monica Blvd, #335, West Hollywood, CA 90069-4507.

  ISBN paperback: 978-1-942289-12-8

  ISBN paperback: 1-942289-12-X

  ISBN ebook: 978-1-942289-13-5

  ISBN ebook: 1-942289-13-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016956193

  Edited by Julia Ganis, Juliaedits.com

  Cover design by Marisa-Rose Shor, Cover Me Darling

  Cover photo from istockphoto.com, photographer: konstantin32

  Author photo by Bruce Heinsius

  For all of the wonderful readers who loved Fever and wanted the story told from Sasha’s perspective. This book is for you!

  Chapter One

  Now I didn’t give a shit about stepping on hands. Of course I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I warned everyone I was coming, and to get out of my way. Fast. I needed to get to Rory.

  “Look out, keep your hands off ground,” I yelled in my panic-induced crappy grammar as I rushed toward my love. Pepe was bent over her. Without saying anything, I brushed him aside, placed one arm under her legs, the other around her back, and in one scoop picked her up. Cradling her in my arms, I walked to the nearest sofa in the back lounge area and gently set her against a plump pillow.

  “It’s okay. I think I can walk, Pe—” she began to murmur. But then she looked up and let out a little gasp when she saw it was me. Her eyes were beautiful, serene and beatific, and her lips curved into a slight, sweet smile, despite the pain she obviously felt.

  There was a great deal of commotion, so many bodies rushing toward her, surrounding her, asking if she was okay, what had happened. Everyone on her mambo team, her friends who’d cheered her on, other teachers and students at the studio who knew who she was—and they all cared. Right now, I couldn’t help but be annoyed by them even as I was grateful for their support of my love. She needed physical help first. I needed to figure out how badly she was hurt.

  “Could you get me some ice, please? And a bandage?” I asked Pepe.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “I’m so sorry, my love,” I said as I laid her down onto the cushion. “This is…this is my fault. And I’m so, so, so sorry.” I kissed her forehead. “We’ll get this fixed. We will, my sweet. I’m so sorry.” I was shaking with anger, at myself as much as at Cheryl. I should have known the woman was a psycho. She was my student. All the signs were there. My refusal to see them made me impotent to protect the woman I loved.

  I knew I was making a scene, calling Rory “my love,” “my sweet” in public, at the studio. But right now I couldn’t give a serious shit about who all knew. In fact, I wanted everyone to know about our love. About our partnership.

  “Oh no, it’s not your fault,” she whispered.

  I shook my head adamantly, so angry at myself I couldn’t speak.

  “That was pure craziness. Everyone was all screwed up by that stupid stage layout,” one of her teammates, an older blonde woman with a Southern accent, said to her. “Don’t feel bad at all, honey. Important thing is your knee.” She held Rory’s hand tightly. Rory nodded, squeezing her eyelids shut, holding back tears.

  “No,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended. Rory wasn’t about to take any blame whatsoever. The teammate looked at me, a confused frown taking shape on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle… You were dancing. You didn’t see it. The problem wasn’t the stage layout—”

  “Oh my gosh, Rory! Are you okay?” Samantha yelled, out of breath. She was followed by Kendra and Rajiv.

  We’d all hash it out later, I thought. Now was the time for her friends to show their support, not for me to make it clear to the world that I would take down a certain former student of mine, make sure she never hurt anyone I loved—anyone here at all—ever again.

  “Is it bad?” Samantha said, looking back and forth between Rory and me. And I knew she knew the truth.

  “Honey, honey, I was watching from the wings with Maurizio. You looked absolutely fab and then…you were down. What happened?” This was from Paulina.

  Mitsi and Bronislava followed her. Bronislava shot me a knowing look, followed by a rapid shake of her head. She’d seen the whole thing too.

  “Oh no, it is!” Samantha said as Rory’s eyes teared.

  “No. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve honestly never had so many people just…well, just care about me before.” Rory looked away and blinked, not wanting her friends to see her so emotional. I knew she’d been in a bad relationship with that ass of an ex she had, but this made me feel like she didn’t have a lot of support from family and friends either. We’d have to talk about that.

  “Oh, geesh, of course we all care about you, silly!” Samantha squealed, rubbing Rory’s arm.

  Pepe returned with a big bag of ice, a beach-sized towel, and a large Ace bandage.

  “Thanks, man,” I said to him, taking the ice bag and towel and gently placing the towel on Rory’s knee, which was now purplish. On top of the towel I placed the ice pack, and held it there. I looked her in the eye. “I love you,” I said. Not mouthed, but said. For everyone to hear.

  “I love you too,” she said with a surprised laugh, now unafraid to let the tears flow.

  I felt an excited silence all around us. I could tell people were smiling, whispering, giggling. Yes, everyone knew. And soon, so would Alessandra, who was out of the studio on a two-week vacation in Sydney. And I didn’t care what she had to say to me when she returned. She couldn’t prove I’d violated her no-fraternizing policy, because I hadn’t. But Cheryl was a serious liability to her now. She couldn’t be allowed back into the studio. I knew I had witnesses. It would be Alessandra, not me, who would be on the defensive at our next talk.r />
  We decided to move our after-party to my place. We ended up inviting everyone who stayed around instead of just Rory’s few friends. My place was a lot bigger than hers, and she wouldn’t have to do the work of entertaining this way. She’d be able to soak in my tub knowing everyone was downstairs dancing the night away. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a huge deal to me. I was a private person and didn’t really like people knowing my business. But I had to remind myself these were studio people, our friends, and they weren’t about to go off and rat on me to my family. They knew nothing about my family.

  I loaded my tub with Epsom salts, gave Rory four Ibuprofen—prescription strength, I knew as a dancer—and a glass of sparkling water, which I jokingly told her to pretend was champagne.

  I wanted more than anything to stay with her but she insisted I go downstairs and be a good host. The laughter wafted upstairs. She was right; there’d be plenty of time for more tub action later. Plenty.

  “As much as my knee hurts, I am so happy, Sasha.”

  “Really?” I frowned.

  “Yes! All of my friends are down there dancing their hearts out on your private dance floor to that awesome surround-sound stereo and views of that gorgeous canyon below.” She swooned.

  “So this is why you love me. For my house,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “No!” she said, sitting up to play-slap me, her beautiful breasts bouncing up, nipples peeking out from the bubbles. I raised my eyebrows but before I could say anything she cried out and grabbed her knee.

  “Okay, be careful. Let’s not get too wild,” I said.

  “Seriously. Go down. We have all night.” She wore that sweetly naughty smile I’d so grown to love.

  I raised my eyebrows and flashed my wicked grin right back at her.

  We’d agreed not to talk about the details of what had happened tonight, though I’d indicated it was Cheryl, which she now knew from all the commotion. She wanted to enjoy her party, her bath, being in love, and having our love open to all who cared about us. We’d agreed to put off how to deal with Cheryl’s evilness until later.

  I made a hospital-like bed for her, with all manner of cushy pyramid pillows and long Styrofoam roller pins ideal for massaging aching muscles and keeping your leg elevated while you slept.

  “Of course you have all these things designed for an athlete—you’re the world’s greatest dancer.” She beamed. “And I am determined to help you prove it in Blackpool come May, injury or not.”

  I kissed her on the forehead. “For now, we will think only of your recovery.” I knew then that Cheryl, in her own totally warped way, had actually helped us. Rory was just like me; this experience crystallized that. She was bound and determined more than ever to let absolutely nothing get in her way.

  Despite the free-flowing champagne and the raucous hip hop beat, Rory’s friends couldn’t help ranting about Cheryl. Kendra had seen everything. She was standing on the other side of the floor, and had the exact opposite view of the stage area as I did.

  “Crazy bitch reached right out and grabbed Rory with her nasty claw,” she spat. “She even had to lean over some bodies to get a good grip. People were like, ‘What the fuck?’”

  My bottom lip trembled. I could feel my face contorted with anger. This was the most angry I could ever remember being.

  “I’ll totally be a witness, if, you know, you want to go to Alessia, or she wants to sue or whatever,” Kendra assured me.

  “Me too,” Samantha echoed.

  “Me three,” Rajiv added.

  I nodded. “That would be very helpful. Thank you very much,” I managed to relax my facial muscles long enough to say.

  ***

  The next morning, I took Rory to the urgent care center. They took some x-rays and thankfully, so thankfully, pronounced nothing broken or torn. It did, however, look like the ligament was stretched and could tear if she didn’t heal properly. The doctor told her to stay off it for at least two weeks. She could walk short distances, but no dancing. And do the RICE thing—rest, ice, compress, elevate—every day and night with prescription doses of Ibuprofen for the first five days. He advised her to see her regular doctor as soon as possible, who might want to send her for physical therapy in the event it didn’t heal properly.

  “It could have been so much worse,” I said on the way home, one hand on the steering wheel, the other cupping her shoulder. “Two weeks is nothing. You can prepare mentally. You’ll be healed just in time for your mambo team competition.”

  I honestly wasn’t worried. The old me would have been. Most definitely. The old me would have been beyond pissed. Mostly at Cheryl, of course, but at the whole situation. The old me would have let Rory feel my frustration and might have even taken it out partly on her, making her healing process all the harder. But I wasn’t the least bit panicked. Because I now knew Rory was driven to win Blackpool just as much as I was. She would heal easily.

  ***

  Over the next two weeks, Rory did as the doctor ordered and took the time off from dance, which also allowed her to show Gunther and his partners how committed she was to her job. She worked late most of those nights, but each night when I picked her up, her main complaints were that she’d been assigned only to draft boring wills or search random documents for a key word or phrase in a large, unrelated case, and that Gunther wouldn’t assign her any part of her innocent client case no matter how often she asked. I suspected he was doing it out of punishment for her having a life, but didn’t say anything to her. I just hoped the bastard got his head on straight and realized he’d only be helping himself win by putting her on the case that so impassioned her.

  After I’d pick her up, she’d spend the nights at my place where she could take a bath, use my arsenal of healing devices, and watch Greta and me practice, taking careful note of everything Greta did and said.

  “I feel like an invalid,” she complained.

  “Don’t,” I said. “You’re still training, just in this slightly altered way.”

  ***

  Alessia’s two-week trip to Sydney gave me a good amount of time to calm down and organize my thoughts, my demands. We’d agreed to talk in person as soon as she returned. It was perfect that the studio was on a two-week hiatus as well, so I didn’t have to deal with the Cheryl question immediately.

  Alessia’s office door was open. I tapped anyway, before walking in.

  She looked up and flashed me a worried smile that contrasted sharply with her tanned, just-back-from-a-vacation physique.

  “Who all have you talked to?” I started before she could say a word to me.

  “I’ve talked to Cheryl,” she said, raising an eyebrow that indicated I was in trouble.

  And there went my calm demeanor. “Half the studio saw her reaching out, trying to trip Rory, to make her fall, to hurt her. Immediately beforehand several students witnessed her smack me across the face more than once and try to do the same to another student. They also heard her scream obscenities at me, accusing me of cheating on her and declaring that she owned the studio and could assault whomever she wanted. The woman is deluded, has a tenuous grip on reality at best. But more seriously, she is violent, and if you keep her in the studio, you will risk liability. You have a duty to the students who take lessons here, and to your teachers, to provide for their safety as best as you can.”

  Alessia sighed, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. After several long seconds she began. “Sasha, she said you kissed her during one of your private lessons. She said you asked her out repeatedly but she told you she was married…” Alessia’s tone sounded more weary than accusatory, as if she knew without even hearing from me that Cheryl was a liar.

  I tried to look her straight in the eye but she still had her eyes closed. “And you believe her? Over me?” I asked.

  Now she placed her elbows on the desk and cradled her head in her hands. She finally opened her eyes and looked me straight on. “Did you violate the no-fraternizing policy, Sasha?”
Her voice was nearly a whisper.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “As I said, Cheryl has a very unhealthy relationship with reality.”

  “Not with Cheryl. With Rory?”

  My heart pumped. But I had nothing to deny. “Absolutely not,” I repeated. “I am now involved with Rory, it is true. But that did not happen while she was my student.”

  Alessia nodded. “Okay,” she said, voice still weary, then returned to rubbing her temples with her fingertips.

  I could now see lines of creased makeup around her eyes and lips, under her eyelids. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I’d been so pissed about what Cheryl did to Rory, I hadn’t even considered what she might try to do to Alessia.

  “What did you tell her?” I asked.

  Alessia exhaled deeply. “She demanded I fire you. I told her I needed to talk to you first, hear your story. She said if I let you stay on, she would make things very difficult for me. For both of us.”

  I felt a sharp stab to my gut. If Alessia fired me, I could easily get a job at another studio, but I’d legally have to go back to Russia and apply. And that would ruin things with Rory. It would destroy our chances of Blackpool. But more than that even, I needed to be here to take care of her. It was my fault she was injured. She could hardly come to Russia with me with her job and all. I felt my heart race. No, Alessia would not fire me.

  “Did she say exactly how she was going to make things difficult? Is she going to sue us because Rory stepped on her hand after she tried to grab her leg and twist it? I have many, many witnesses, Alessia.” My voice was rising.

  “She said if you stay, she’ll not only leave the studio but convince others to do the same.”

  “Good!” I yelled. “I won’t ever have to see that crazy b—” I wasn’t one for cursing. I caught myself, and Alessia’s grim face. She was really worried. “As I said, she’s a liability to you, Alessia. And no one else will leave. We’re the best studio in town. You know that. These are the rantings of a madwoman.”