BACK AT TONY’S house, we’re working in his studio on our paso and our freestyle. We’ve decided to do a sexy montage to a bunch of Tony’s songs.

“Marishka!” I hit the intercom. “Can you get me another Caramel Mach?”

“Sure,” she hollers back. Cha-Cha lets out a whelp when the psychotic whir of an espresso machine rips through the intercom before the connection cuts out.

Cha-Cha is having as much of a blast here as Marina is. Tony’s boys love my dog and she spends most of her day barking at the koi. She’s curled up on the couch right now being licked by Tony’s Rottweiler, Harley. My girl is such a pillow queen.

Marina brings my macchiato. I take a small sip, being extra careful not to spill any on my new Trina Turk jumpsuit that Tony bought me. He spent twenty thousand dollars on a new wardrobe for me. After all, I had to upgrade my look from ballroom trophy wife to rock star mistress.

I place my drink on the coffee table and kiss Tony’s neck. “Let’s run through the paso one more time.” I turn on the stereo.

The classic Spanish Paso Doble song “España Cañi” plays, like a frenzied military march. Tony struts to the middle of the floor. He starts in the center, his feet planted wide, his chest erect. I circle around him and he twirls me to the floor. Then he drops to his knees, just where I like him. Chasing after me, still on his knees, he slides across the floor. He rises to me and clutches my wrists. I challenge him and he chases me. Turning into him, I wrap my body around him, and he pushes me to the floor. Damn, these moves are hot. I can’t believe I ever thought I needed Benny. I came up with this routine on my own.

The song ends. Baba strolls into the room with Draven and Dallas during our final steps. They all start clapping.

“Yeah, daddy!” Draven shouts. Both boys run onto the dance floor and start dancing with us. I twirl Dallas around and we wiggle together. He’s as adorable as his father. And this time, I don’t even run for my hand sanitizer.

Tony switches the song to the boys’ favorite—YMCA—and we all dance for a little bit. Baba even joins us.

When the song ends, she kneels down and takes their hands and tempts them to the kitchen. “Malchiky moyey, vwe hotetchye vatrushki?”

They jump up and down and run to the kitchen. In the two weeks Baba has been here, they’ve already learned enough Russian to know that vatrushki are fresh baked, small, sweet pies filled with fruit and cheese.

Tony watches them bolt off. “They love her.”

We walk out of the studio into the family room. Marina strolls in carrying a tray full of Tony’s favorite snacks: freshly made quesadillas; bacon and cheddar filled potato skins; spinach artichoke dip; Buffalo wings; and his new preferred delicacy, fried pirozhki filled with meat, mushrooms, and onions.

She sets the tray on the coffee table and then scoots the dogs outside. “Here Antoshka, for football game. Xavier called and said he is on way.”

“Xavier Viramontes?” I ask. “Since when are you two friends? He almost killed you.”

Tony digs into the platter and grabs a plump pirozhok. “That was nothing. Xavi’s super cool.” He takes a big bite. “C-bac-ee-ba, Marina. These are amazing.”

I will never understand men. Even in Ukraine, one minute they are beating each other up and then next minute they are best friends. I wish it were that easy with women. I grab a Buffalo wing and drench it in blue cheese. This time I don’t feel a tinge of guilt. I’ve gained three whole pounds since I moved in with Tony, and he couldn’t care less.

After I’m done devouring my wing, Tony kisses me. “I have a surprise for you.” He takes the bandana off his head and blindfolds me.

“Aw, Antoshka, you’re ruining my hair . . .”

“Not possible.” He leads me out to the driveway. Or at least he tries to—I’m peeking out the bottom of the blindfold and as soon as I see what’s beyond it, I stop dead.

Tony has bought me an orange Lamborghini.

He unties the blindfold. “Ta da! It’s a Lamborghini Murciélago. Do you like it?” He trots to the passenger side door, which shoots up like a pop tart, and jumps into the seat. “Giddy up, girl! Put that tushy in the command chair.”

Like a shiny bottle of Fanta, the Lambo stands out amongst all of Tony’s toys. His black Harley, Hummer, Porsche, and Range Rover don’t seem to know what to make of their new florescent friend. I slowly make my way to the driver’s side, open the door—being careful that it doesn’t hit me in the head—and get in.

Then I ball like a baby.

“What wrong? You don’t like the color? We can trade it.” Tony digs in his pants pocket for his phone.

I put my hands on his pocket, stopping his hand. “No, Antoshka. It’s not that. I love color.” I sit back and put my hands on the steering wheel. It’s leather and fits the grooves of my fingers perfectly. “It’s ... it’s just like with Benny, that’s all. I don’t want to owe you anything. I am totally in love together with you. I just don’t want to be anyone’s possession. I need to take care of myself.”

Tony reaches over and puts the keys in the ignition. “I didn’t buy the car because I think you owe me anything. It’s just a gift. I’m fucking crazy about you. You’re so talented and sexy. You deserve this because of all the hard work you’ve put into the show. We’re going to win.”

I eye him. Yes, I married Benny to succeed. So what? Singers marry the heads of record labels and actresses sleep with their directors, and that’s the way it is sometimes. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get her foot in the door. And I needed to take care of my baba. She’s all I have left of my family. But there comes a point when the singers and the dancers and the actresses get to show they deserve the spotlight once they get it. Getting your foot in the door is one thing, kicking ass when you get there is another. And this girl’s ready to kick ass.

And finally here’s a boy who will let her.

I relax and stroke the steering wheel. All I need now is George Michael blasting from the speakers.

Tony opens the glove compartment and takes out an envelope. “I’ve got one more present for you. Then I promise never to buy you anything again.” He hands me the envelope.

I open it up and there are two round trip tickets to the Dominican Republic’s Sun Village Resort and Spa. Tucked behind the brochure is a signed power of attorney from Benny consenting to a mutual divorce. Dated for the weekend after the finale.

“I just can’t wait for six months,” Tony says.

I squeeze Tony and give him a kiss. “Now that is a best present I have ever received.” I close the envelope, amazed at how light it feels. “Good God, what’d you do, tie him up and torture him with hours of your heavy metal? I thought for sure he’d make this as miserable as possible.”

He winks. “I have my ways . . .”

“That you do, milay.” I kiss him one more time then turn the keys in the ignition to start up my new car. The engine sends vibrations through my spine. “Strap on that seat belt, boy. Mama’s taking this baby for a spin.”