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“Sloane, thank you for coming,” Dimitri says with a huge smile as he steps back, putting his arm around the woman. “This is my wife, Anya.”
Anya.
She looks different from how she was described to me in the past. Not only is she beautiful, but she smiles with her eyes—a rare, undeniable look of happiness. She shines brightly from the outside just as much as she would from the inside.
Her hair is dark black, almost taking on the appearance of silk. The green in her eyes is subtle but stands out against her fair complexion. Her cheekbones are high—dominant even. She looks nothing like Mikhail, though I didn’t expect her to since they’re not related by blood.
She watches me and I see her lips purse. She wants to speak to me alone, I can tell by the way she scans her surroundings. “Hi,” she says, throwing herself into my arms. “They’re starting soon—we should get inside!”
Grabbing onto my arm, she places a small piece of paper in my hand and closes my fingers around it.
Feeling the paper in my hand makes me want to break out with sweat. I can’t open it right now, and that drives me crazy.
With Anya still holding onto me, we walk through the double doors and enter a large room filled with red seats and dimmed lighting. As we walk down the path, I think about the things I’ve found that were hers. The books, the roses, the piano.
“Is there a story? Behind the flowers, I mean.”
“Flowers?”
“Yeah. There were a bunch of them in a drawer on the boat. And Mikhail has a rose tattoo—I was just wondering if there’s meaning behind them.”
Anya is silent for a moment. “He got you flowers? What color are they?”
“Red?” I say like a question.
“Shit. Yeah. When I was little, I would walk home from school and there was this older woman who hadgorgeousflowers in her garden. Every day without fail, she would give me one to take home. Her garden started to get bare because I took all of them. For years I wondered how I was still getting flowers every day when there were none in her yard. Then, one day, I got off school early and saw Mikhail giving her a bunch of flowers. I hid behind a wall because I didn’t want him to find out that I knew. He didn’t want me to know. But he saw me and acted as if he didn’t. That went on for so long, but now he just gives them to me himself.”
I can’t help but smile the entire time she’s talking. “That is a really nice story,” I admit to Anya.
“It is. But he only ever got me white roses. He’s never given anyone a red rose. Our dad told us red roses should be saved for someone you love deeply.”
Her words eat at my bones. She’s able to tell me how Mikhail feels for me without our whole story. What he feels for me won’t last long.
“Here,” Anya says as we walk to the front row and take a seat. Max takes a seat next to me, leaving the seat on the other side of me open for Mikhail.
Far in the back is the stage. Thick black curtains hang low, covering the entire stage.
The voices that surround me all sound muffled as everyone tries to keep their voices down. Mikhail comes around the corner and Anya springs into his arms. He holds her for a long hug before taking a seat next to me. He grabs my hand and holds onto it.
I look at him, wondering why he’s all of a sudden being so affectionate. Just as I’m about to ask him what’s going on, all the lights turn off except one: the stage light.
“Once Upon a Dream” by Invadable Harmony begins to play through the surround sound, and the curtains slowly open.
Leaning out of my chair slightly, I watch all four of the men almost shapeshift. The strong, muscular—and terrifying—men all sit back and watch the show with the grandest of smiles across their faces that normally lack all emotion.
My hand lifts to my mouth so I can hold back my laugh. It’s extraordinary.
“That’s her, the one on the right with the pink leotard,” Mikhail whispers in my ear, pointing his finger. He doesn’t notice they’re all in pink leotards because he only sees her, but he’s right. Anyone could pick her out in a crowd.
Alyna’s arms are held above her body while she jumps on her toes. Her body sways with each musical chime as if it were as easy as breathing.
Her hair is blonde with hints of brown. Her expression changes from a focused look to a smile every few seconds. I can tell being on the stage is easy for her, not scary. The stage is full of many dancers, though everyone sitting near me is only watching her.
The little girl has all of them wrapped around her tiny finger, and I can’t think of anything more ironic.
Alyna looks young, but I have a hunch she’ll be growing up with ballet. The stage and her shoes will be the only things she’ll want in life—I can tell by how elegant she is. The blisters, sores, and calloused feet will soon prove beauty is pain. But she doesn’t show it—not even for a second—because she loves it.
Her arms link with others around her while they spin in a circle. When the music dies down, they all form a line and bow at the same time.
