Page 5 of The Beast of Moscow

If the kids had only started their stretches, then she had a few minutes to work with before someone started to complain about her tardiness. Not that she thought anyone would. Vera might not have danced professionally for The Swan House since that last showing of In the Stars, but the city still knew her name and loved her all the same.

That was the last thing Vera wanted to think about, so she forced those thoughts to the back of her mind as she entered the lower gallery of the newest studio built inside what had once been one of many storage sections for the company in the massive building. It never served her well to walk into a room full of kids who seemingly adored her with a heavy heart—she swore those kids could see it every single time.

They deserved better than that.

The parents—and guardians—of the class of students that she could see already lined up along the barres against the wall of mirrors through the gallery windows stopped their conversation as she breezed straight through with a wave. Their greetings chased her into the changing room connected to the gallery, but no one followed her inside.

Pink and black and gold duffel bags lined the benches inside the changing room, and Vera dropped hers with the kids’. It took her no time at all to change out her outdoor shoes and into her sneakers after she’d wrapped her ankle. The warmer months were easier because the cold always brought an ache to the old break.

Vera had just stood up and fixed the waistband of her tights when one of the girls from her class made herself known in the changing room by clearing her throat. Eleven-year-old Nelli shrugged and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the floor when she realized Vera had noticed her standing there.

“No tights?” she asked in Russian although most of the kids and people who came in and out of The Swan House were fluent in English, too. Otherwise, they tended to pick up on it considering many of the ballerinas that studied here came from all over the world, and English was often the common denominator for many.

“Or shoes,” Nelli muttered.

“That’s okay. I’ll leave an extra set in here and you can change fast. No problem.”

At that statement, the blue-eyed, dark-haired girl who had reminded her of herself the first time she laid eyes on her beamed up at Vera. “I tried to remind Mik but—”

“Mikhail has a lot going on, right? Is he taking summer classes again?”

Nelli shrugged but nodded. “I miss him.”

“I bet.”

The girl’s older brother had taken custody of the girl after an unfortunate accident killed their parents two years earlier. The boy was only twenty. He barely made enough money to scrape by but didn’t give up—between his college classes and his sister, Vera bet time was thin. She didn’t hold it against him when Nelli showed up missing something.

Anything could be fixed.

What was most important was that he got her there in the first damn place. Three days a week for three hours, Nelli and the other kids waiting for Vera in that studio were safe and warm and every single one of them were loved.

By her, anyway.

“All right,” she told the girl, “I’ll be out in a second. Your clothes will be waiting right here.”

“You’re the best, Vera.”

Those words, tossed over the girl’s shoulder as she raced down the changing room’s corridor, managed to make Vera smile. Even though it didn’t last long.

Vera hadn’t needed to remain tied to The Swan House after her final act on their stage left her with a shattered ankle, and a future without professional or competitive dance. In fact, her recovery—if only mentally—might have been easier had she put a decent bit of distance between herself and the company.

But even back then, she’d cared too much about the family she felt like she had made and the rest of the people within these walls. They must have cared a lot about her, too, considering the number of kids and dancers that made it a point to visit Vera every day of her recovery from the devastating injury. Each time, they asked when she was coming back.

Not if she would.

It wasn’t like she had needed the money; Vera came to Russia with a trust fund that already made her life far beyond comfortable. The Swan House had been beneficial to her bank account, too, once she debuted on their stage—and Feliks, that prick, well he certainly hadn’t offered to pay her a dime after everything had happened.

It wasn’t about the money because there wasn’t any.

Vera just couldn’t leave this place.

Even though it ruined her.

She couldn’t say goodbye.

A part of her wished she could understand the heavy sadness that left her with—a constant weight inside her chest that she couldn’t explain—but what good would understanding any of it do for her?

All these years later, Vera was still here.