Hey Guys,

I know its been a really long time since I updated this story, but I got a review from someone the other day, and was horrified that I had neglected my duty as an author. I wanted to make that up to you, so this chapter is longer than many others I have written for this story. I am also going to put a chapter on both of my other stories. I've had a very rough year, in both my school and personal lives, and felt I needed to take a step back from certain responsibilities in order to keep my grades up. I'm back now and I'm planning to update a few more times before the school year begins again.

Thanks for being patient!

P.S. The more reviews I get the more incentive I'll have to write longer chapters. I love any criticism you have for me, and I want to know your thoughts on what I should/shouldn't be doing. Readers are the most important thing for authors, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review!

Macey McHenry was, by no means, a dancer. From years of being on the campaign trail, she knew how to waltz, and perform other ballroom dances, just well enough to make a good impression on whomever she was dancing with. She had never been one of those girls who had attempted ballet, tap, or jazz when she was younger, simply because she had never had the opportunity. Now, her cover required her to become a ballerina for the Russian National Ballet Company. Thanks to P&E she was very flexible, and all of the girls were versed in gymnastics enough to use them in a fight, and she figured she would be up to the challenge of learning how to dance well enough to become a prima dancer in less than two months. Boy, was she wrong.

Learning ballet in two months was almost impossible, and that was coming from a person who had learned a foreign language every six months when she was younger. As a spy, she had been taught how to learn quickly, and efficiently, but that wasn't enough. Not only was ballet a dance, but it was also an art form. She had spent the first half week alone- twelve hours in the studio a day- learning each position, and the lines that her arms and legs were supposed to portray. Her teacher was strict and quick to criticize, and would move her arms, legs, torso, and head for her if she was having any trouble.

For the first three weeks, Macey spent an average of twelve hours a day in the studio, with her teacher, learning the basics of ballet. The positions, leaps, turns, and a semblance of grace. Her teacher refused to allow her on pointe until she had mastered that basics, which annoyed Macey to no end. As she finally put on pointe shoes, she gained more respect for those who had worked at this art for their entire lives. Not only did the dancing become harder- she had to relearn her lines once again- but also it was harder to be graceful. She learned what it was like to be sore. She lost a lot of weight, and put on insane back, arm, and leg muscles. It was during these next five weeks that Macey became an approved dancer and was integrated into the actual Russian National classes as well as began learning her role in the show they were putting on, Giselle. Her part was hard, and she ramped up her hours a day to around sixteen.

It was during this time that Nick began integrating them into Russian society, especially forming ties with the Russian Gang members. He became a trustee of the gang and did small odd jobs during the day, and would, in return, gain invitations to important ballroom dances and celebrations staged in beautiful mansions and palaces throughout Russia.

For Macey, after a long day of dancing, a warm shower was the only way to relax. Soon after her warm shower she would get ready for one of these balls, which she would attend with Nikolai. Tonight, they were to attend an introduction ball for themselves, hosted in a mansion outside of Moscow.

—

Macey had just finished in the shower, and was in the process of drying and braiding her hair into an elaborate up-do when Nick stumbled into their bedroom, his eyes bloodshot, and his face tired.

"Nick?" She asked, perplexed as to why his eyes seemed to be turning red.

"Yes, Sweetheart," he replied without looking away from the ceiling he was now facing, lying in the middle of the floor in their shared bedroom.

"What's happened now?" She inquired, unsure of whether she should prepare for something, or if something had gone wrong.

"Nothing," he replied quietly, getting of the couch and joining her in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, and drying it with one of the fluffy white towels with the initials of his cover on them.

Macey continued applying makeup to her face, sure that if she kept silent, he would breakdown and tell her. He lasted five minutes.

"Mace, the gang we're involved in trying to take down, these people do some horrible thing I've had to take part of. God, just today, they were frightening these teenagers into becoming their prostitutes overseas, in the United States, and gaining them foreign power, by threatening their families. Girls, who I'm sure, had done nothing other than be there at the wrong time, and in the wrong place. Sometimes, I hat being a cover spy."

"Nick, we're here to put a stop to that. If we don't succeed in this mission, when's the next time that the CIA is going to have the resources to stop this gang from its acts against humanity. We do what we do to save lives. Now, get your butt back out of that chair and get ready, I don't want to be late to this party."

They spent the next twenty minutes preparing. Macey wore a sheer red gown, with a long flowing skirt, and a crisscrossed bodice that hid everything, while still giving her impressive cleavage. She wore a minx coat over this a thick, black leather gloves. Her heels were four inch red pumps, which put her just under Nick, in terms of height. She had a red lip, with a smokey eye. Nick chose a red tie that matched with Macey's outfit, and his black shoes.

They were loaded into a limo, and their driver drove them from their house to a large countryside manor on the other side of the city.

The house was a soft yellow, with large pillars and soaring grounds. The drive was lit up so that drivers could find their way up the nearly two mile long driveway. Its double staircase to the entrance was lined with fairy lights which gave of a fairytale feeling in the air. Nick and Macey felt that they had just stepped out of reality, and into a dream.

They walked up the stairs with unmatched elegance, Nick guiding Macey by lightly clasping her right fingers in a tight hold. They knocked twice on the large wooden door, and it swung open to reveal two stern faces, covered with large beards and mustaches.