Steve/Yelena
"Not really." Yelena managed a small smile.
She didn't dwell on the sadness of the past too much. She didn't see herself as a sad little girl. Not a victim, but a survivor. And as awful as the Red Room was, she walked out of there, very independent and capable in ways other young women her age were not.
"I guess we will," she agreed with a nod, as she reached for the bottle of vodka to pour out more shots. "Maybe the ballet. It's been a while since I put on a pair of pointe shoes. Is there a dance studio here at the hotel?"