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Turning on my heel, I flash him a smile. “We’ll make enough new memories that this room will be just as packed as before.”
His eyes soften. “Yes. I believe we will.”
I must wander the new studio three times over. Each time I traverse the three different rooms, I’m inspired to do it over again. I’m trying to imprint this place into my body. To convince myself there must be some small flaw somewhere. But there isn’t.
“It’s perfect,” I finally say. “It’s everything the two of them dreamed it could be.”
And just like that, sorrow that I’m not prepared for crashes through my veins.
Arsen stands in front of me. “Once I’ve finished with Yevgeniy and things are safe again, you’ll be able to return here with your mother and teach your students. Old and new.”
I begin to smile, but it’s overtaken by a blanket of unease. The mere mention of Yevgeniy’s name creates a foreboding sensation heavy enough to throttle my joy. I try and breathe in deeper, seeking more oxygen. But the pressing feeling on my chest doesn’t go away.
No matter what happens … No matter what changes ... It can’t change who I am.
“Galina?” he asks gently.
I turn toward the wall of plaster with its pink insulation hanging out. Somehow, it looks organic—like the place is a living thing. Something that’s regrowing and will continue to, even if Arsen hadn’t paid people to shape it into what it currently is.
I bite back a wave of sadness.
“It’s just …” I start. “This studio was the dream of Stepan Rubinov. Keeping this place in his memory was supposed to keep his dream alive.”
A tightness has built in my rib cage. I shift from side to side, but nothing dislodges the pressure. I say, “I wanted to keep his dream alive because I thought I was his daughter.” I pause to swallow the lump in my throat. “Only, I’m not. I never was.”
I close my eyes so that Arsen can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. Because if he sees them, he’ll want to sweep me into his arms and promise me that Yevgeniy can’t hurt me. But nothing he does can erase the fact that I’m that monster’s daughter. That his blood flows in my veins.
“What right do I have to this place?” I finally ask, and my voice breaks.
Arsen edges closer to me, not shying away. Not even when I look at him with what must be enough regret to fill a funeral home. He keeps moving closer until he’s touching my shoulders firmly, anchoring me like a ship tossed about on a stormy sea.
“You will always be Stepan’s daughter.”
“But—”
“I mean it.” He cradles my face, the color of his eyes growing lighter in the brightness of the day. “Yevgeniy may have fathered you, but it was Stepan who raised you. He could have tossed you aside. He could have hated you. But instead, he loved you with everything he had. And you loved him. Stepan is your father. No one can take that away from you, Galina Stepanovna.”
A shift of muscle and bone and grief moves through me. Biting back tears of thanks, I hug Arsen tight, seeking his presence for comfort. His words mean the world. But his actions—they’ve shown me time and time again that he truly loves and cares for me.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything. For helping me keep his memory alive.”
“If all it took was spending money, nothing would die,” he says softly. He kisses my forehead, stroking my hair.
I marvel at that before stepping away. My eyes track upward, just to take in one last look at the dance studio. My hope is the next time I see it, the mirrors will be in place, and students will be twirling across the floor.
“Huh,” I say when I notice something.
Arsen pulls up short. “What is it?”
“The security cameras aren’t here anymore.” I point. “Are you going to reinstall them?”
He blinks a few times. Cocking his head, Arsen furrows his forehead like I gave him an impossible math problem without a solution. Suddenly, his expression changes and the lines all vanish at once.
“We have to go back home,” he says. “I just thought of something.”
21
ARSEN
