I WALK INTO my kitchen with my iPhone up to my ear. Marina hands me a protein shake as an electronic voice informs me, “You have one new message.”

“Hi, Viktoria Brooks. We would like to see if you’re interested in posing for Playbunny for a Dancing under the Stars spread. Izabella Jasinski has already agreed to pose. We would love to have you represent the professional dancers. Please call me back at your earliest convenience at (312) 555-5309. Thank you.”

No fucking way!

“Venya!” I shriek and run to his office. “Venya!”

Benny looks up from his newspaper. “What is it, luv?”

“Oh my God. Playbunny just called. They want me to be in a magazine. It’s dream come true. Oh Venya, please let me do it, please?” I beg.

“Playbunny?” He takes that in, his newspaper still wide open in his hands. C’mon, c’mon . . . Slowly he lowers it. “Well, Vika, I’m not sure. . .”

I slither to his side. “Venya, I just have to pose in Playbunny. I’ve always wanted to be playmate, even before I ever started dancing. It is huge honor. Iza has already agreed to pose. It would create a great buzz for show. I will mention our studio, and of course, my loving, wonderful, handsome husband.” I playfully rub up against his body. “Don’t you want to say that you’re married to Playbunny?”

He takes a sip of his scotch then places it on a coaster on his antique desk. “Now, love, I’m already married to the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t know if I want all these mates to have a Captain Cook at my girl. I’m just not sure Playbunny is the right image for the Brooks family.”

“Venya . . .” Go slow, Vika, sloooow. No startling moves. “I think it would be great. We could reach the whole new male audience. Everybody reads Playbunny. Please. No ballroom dancer has ever posed in Playbunny. We would be first.” He looks back down at the newspaper. Are you kidding me? I’m talking Playbunny and he’s reading the fucking Wall Street Journal? Go for the balls, Vika—as if he’s got any, the shriveled old . . . “Listen up, Benjamin Russell Brooks. This is least you can do after forcing me go to that . . . that stupid dance council meeting. Especially since it took me two coats of Sun Shimmer to get rid of marks you left on my arm. Do you know how big red marks look on camera?”

His eyes cut to me over the top of the paper. Yeah, he caught the threat. It’s a gamble, but I want this. I take his scotch and finish it off for him, tossing it back like a man.

Benny breaks into a laugh. “Okay, Lassie.” He gets up from his chair and takes the glass from my hand. “But only if you get the cover.”

“Oh, thank you, Venya!” I jump on him and wrap my legs around him. “I love you so much. I really do. I’ll make you proud.” Benny lifts me up and carries me to the bedroom. Of course—I did the crime, now I must do my time.

Four minutes later, Benny lies passed out on the bed. I curl up in our plush comforter. What it would be like to be married to Tony? Would he control everything I said or did? My baba warned me before I married Benny, “One may make up a soft bed for somebody, but still it will be hard to sleep in.” I wish I were lying in Tony’s bed. I put on a silk kimono I got in Japan after one of my showcases, sneak out onto our deck, and then light a cigarette. I rarely smoke—it’s bad for my swing—but right now I need to relax. Time to tell Tony. Where’d I put that fucking iPhone?

I finish my cigarette and tip toe past Benny to the staircase. “Marishka!”

Marina rushes up the stairs with my phone in hand.

“Sbacibo.” I grab it from her hand then shoot a text to Tony.

Vika (Mobile): You want to see me naked?

Five seconds later, my iPhone flashes.

Tony (Mobile): I’m on my way.

Damn, can’t I just flirt without him taking me seriously?

Vika (Mobile): Sorry, Antoshka, you’ll have to wait until next month. When I’m in the Playbunny.

That should do it. Another flash.

Tony (Mobile): Awesome babe. But I already know—I suggested it to the founder at his Midsummer’s Night Dream party. He said he was gonna offer it to you. I knew you couldn’t say no. Thank me later by giving me a preview.

Bastard. I can’t believe he set this up to manipulate me. Hope he likes the pictures, because that’s the only time he’ll see me naked.

Playbunny magazine . . . Playbunny! This time next month, millions of men all over the world are going to be lusting over me. Me. I whip off my kimono and watch it flutter toward the garden. Everyone back in Odessa will finally know that I made it in America.

* * *

A WEEK LATER, I’m ready for my close-up.

“That’s lovely, Viktoria. You are gorgeous. Izabella, lean into Viktoria. Beautiful, beautiful,” says Paul Vello, Playbunny’s photographer.

I’m having so much fun. Paul is the best photographer I’ve ever worked with and I just love spending time together with Iza. I was hoping to do the shoot at the mansion, but they thought it would be better to do it on location in our studio. We are butt to butt with our backs arched in a hip twist position. A large fan is blowing in the background so our hair is whipping around us. In this shot, we are partially clothed, each wearing shear dance skirts and our hair is covering our nipples. Maybe this photo will even be on the cover.

Backdrops and cameras litter the room. Paul calls for a break and the assistants cover us with robes. We walk over to the laptop so he can show us the prints but then he gets called away to poke at some lights. Iza scrolls through the proofs and stops on one where we’re bent over a ballet bar clad only in our dance heels. “Oh Vika, we look great. I wonder what Genya will think of the pictures.”

“He’ll love them.” I point to my favorite. “What did he say when you told him you were posing? Venya just went on and on about this wasn’t the right image for us but I finally convinced him to let me do it.”

Iza bites her lip.

“Oh, no.” I straighten up. “Don’t tell me you didn’t tell him?”

She looks down at the screen and starts scrolling again.

“Iza! He’s going to go crazy that you didn’t tell him.” Genya doesn’t like secrets—and that’s well known to anyone on the dance circuit.” I grab a damp towel and toss hers over her shoulder.

She puts down the computer and tugs the sash on her robe tighter. “I know. I made a big mistake but we’ve been fighting ever since we placed third at nationals and he’s been spending so much time with Salomé. I didn’t want to upset him further.”

I squeeze her hand to comfort her. Poor Genya. First Salomé lied to him about Ricardo. She kept telling Genya that they were only practicing for a showcase in Japan and then they went behind Genya’s back and competed. He was devastated. Now Iza is lying to him, too. So stupid, these girls. I wish I could compete with a sexy man my age that I loved. But we can’t all have the ballroom fantasy; Benny has been good to me.

The camera assistant motions me to get ready for my next shots. Iza wipes off her makeup with the towel and heads to the dressing room. Since I’ve already posed for some risqué girl-on-girl action with Iza, it’s time for my solo shots.

“Vika, spread your legs around the chair and give me a sultry look over your right shoulder.” I love this pose. It is very Fosse—I feel like I’m in the musical Chicago. In the wall mirror behind the photographer, I see that my long strawberry blonde hair cascades seductively in between my breasts. I’m wearing nothing but a Victoria’s Secret diamond thong and my rhinestone dance shoes.

There’s a bunch of noise in the foyer, and then a production assistant’s voice rises. “I said this is a closed set.”

“A closed set?” The other person’s voice is even louder. “For what? I own this studio. Who are you? What are you doing here?” Uh oh. Nicole. She’s going to freak out. “Vika, what in the bloody hell is going on here?”

Yep, freak out.

I throw on my silk robe. “Hey, guys, can you take quick break?” Nicole blasts into the studio and squints her eyes at the bright lights. Nicole plows into the wardrobe rack. The crew disperses.

Nicole sees my thong before I get my robe closed. She turns the color of her ruddy hair. “Vika, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Now, Nikita, don’t please freak out. I—”

“Freak out? Freak out? You’re naked! This is a family ballroom dancing studio, not a porno set. Children dance here.”

I fluff out my hair. “Relax, Nikita. I’m not naked.” Not yet, anyway. “I’m shooting the layout for Playbunny. It’ll be great for business.”

“With who? Strippers?” She trips on an extension cord. “Does daddy know about this?”

“Of course he knows. I tell Venya everything.”

“When he’s awake?”

Ha. Ha. The crew is standing there watching, like we’re some kind of human train wreck. Not cool. I take Nicole by the elbow and walk her over behind a giant light. “Venya knows, and he’s thrilled for me. For us. This is good thing. Can’t you see that?”

“What planet do you live on, Vika? What do you think people are going to say when they see this? What are they going to say about us? Uh-uh, no more.” She storms around the light and points her finger at the huddled crew. “Out. Get out. Take all this . . . this . . . stuff and get out.”

“Nikita!”

She turns on me. “And you . . . Vika, I’ve had enough. I can’t stand by quietly anymore. It’s bad enough that you make a fool out of my father by flirting with all your celebrity partners—”

“Hey!”

“—but you will not drag our family name publicly through mud.” I try to pull her around the light again but she yanks away. “We’ve worked way too hard to lose our reputation and studio to you and your oversized ego.”

Jealousy is so ugly. I’m done with it. “First off, I’ve never cheated on Venya. You know that. There is nothing wrong with some innocent flirting. And Nikita, dear beloved stepdaughter, you seem to be forgetting one thing—I’m reigning United States Latin Dancesport Champion, not you. You were the second dancer eliminated this season. Face it, you’re has-been.” That shuts her up—or maybe gives her a heart attack, because her face goes purple. Bull’s-eye! “Our family’s success lies in my hands, and I’m just trying to keep a buzz on us.” Okay, time to tone it down, Vika. You gotta live with this woman, after all. “Look, Nikita, Salomé is starring in Dolla’s new video and they’re favored to win this season. I just thought I would do something to, you know, spice up ballroom world.”

She gets in my space. “Honey, the only reason you’re a champion is because I retired so you and my brother could win the title. And I did that for Jared, not you. You’re lucky that you conned my father into marrying you. Without him, you’re nothing. Who were you before you married daddy? Another nameless Ukrainian dancer only placing in the semi-final in amateur Latin with Stas.”

“Nameless?!”

“Until he dumped you. Stas used to tell me what a pathetic dancer you were and that you would never be successful. He was just using you until he could make a fortune by dancing with Diana.”

“He was not! He loved me, you fucking liar.” I know Stas loved me. He just didn’t have the will power to turn down that kind of money. “I hate you, Nikita! I’ve tried to be your friend and you’ve always been so fake to me.”

Her eyes bug out. “I’m fake? Why do you think, Vika? You’re ten years younger than me, married to my father, and dancing with my brother. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Nicole gets blurry as tears fill my eyes. “Venya married me. He loves me. No one has ever loved me like he does. He’s done more for me than anyone has. And why not? Men help their wives. Plus, we both know how mean he can be. It’s not fair for you to be mad at me.”

She fumes, but she doesn’t respond. How can she?

“Nikita, you have everything: world title, loving husband who was your partner, and beautiful daughter. I work hard to be where I am. I didn’t grow up with both of my parents giving me free lessons and importing me partners. My father died when I was a baby and my mama sent me here with my baba so I could have a better life. She wanted to come with me but her husband couldn’t get visa. I was only twelve!” Nikita has no idea how easy she’s had it. “It was so hard to learn English and I missed my mama so much. My baba cleaned houses seven days out of a week so I could dance. And now I have to take care of her. I sacrificed everything to be where I am.”

She looks long and hard at me. A crash on the other side of the light makes us both jump. It also cuts the tension, I guess, because Nicole sighs and rubs her face with her hand. “Alright, Vika, I know my daddy loves you. And he can be cruel, I’ll give you that. But you just can’t denigrate our name. Please cancel this shoot.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve always wanted to be in Playbunny. To me, it’s like dream come true. And it’s classy. Venya said I could do it.” I pause. Maybe she’s just mad that they didn’t ask her to be in it. “Nikita, do you want to join me? It could be like Brooks’ family spread—mother and daughter? Don’t worry about your body. They airbrush photos.”

She stares at me. There, I’ve got her. I should’ve known. What girl can resist Playbunny?

“Vika Brooks,” she says, “you’re even more delusional and self-absorbed than I thought you were. You’re as useless as an ashtray on a motorcycle.” She spins on her heel and storms out of the studio.

Suddenly, I remember the production crew. They’ve huddled in a corner, dead silent, having watched the whole thing. My eyes settle on the photographer. He smiles and raises his camera. “So, break over?”

Thank God! “Absolutely,” I say. Ripping off my robe, I walk over and relax on the chair under the lights, the bright glaring lights—the lights that I have been waiting my whole life to illuminate me.