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“Absolutely,” he says quickly. “Thank you, Leo. Honestly, thank you so—”
“I don't believe a damn word out of his mouth!” his wife hisses from around the corner. She enters in a hurry, an old wartime pistol in hand. It looks like a family keepsake. Judging by her poor stance and jumpy nature, I don't think she knows how to use it.
Which makes her dangerous.
“Now hold on a minute,” Arman tries to warn. “He said—”
“I know what he said. I heard him, but I don't trust him.”
“Wait—”
Bang!
A sudden sharp pain spreads through my chest. There's a ringing in my ears, so loud and high pitched I feel disoriented. Instinctively, I bring a hand up to my chest. When I pull away, my palm is painted red with my blood.
The rest of the world suddenly fades away, darkness encroaching on the edges of my vision. I knew Arman didn't have what it took to shoot a man in cold blood, but I never accounted for the wife. That's a mistake I'm definitely going to regret.
I fall to my knees, a sudden coldness gripping me tightly. All I can think about is Nikita dancing across the stage with a bright beautiful smile on her lovely face, floating on air. And I’m going to miss it.
Chapter 30
Nikita
Leo isn't back yet, but I'm not worried. He promised he'd be safe, and I've never known him to break his promises. Besides, tonight is opening night. I need my wits about me and for my heart to remain calm. I have to make sure this performance is nothing short of perfect. I want it to go down in history as one of the most beautiful, enchanting, and breathtaking moments in ballet…
And then I will retire with grace, happy to go wherever Leo wants to go. I will tell him that I’m pregnant, and I will get to see that smile bloom across his face as he realizes that our baby has been growing in my womb since the first night we met. The night he saved me.
It's been my dream to be a prima ballerina since I was a little girl, true, but dreams can change. People can grow. Leo has shown me there's so much more to life than just dance. Ballet will always hold a special place in my heart, but I'm eager to move on. An exciting new adventure awaits me, and I may not know exactly where I'm going, but I think that's part of the fun.
The director and Kseniya are nowhere to be found by the time I arrive at the Bolshoi. Good. The police have hopefully arrested them already, although I haven’t heard anything. I walked straight in, ignoring all the strange looks of my colleagues, going straight to the changing rooms where I find my costume ready and waiting. I have my own room, and I'm quite frankly thankful for the privacy as I get dressed and put on my makeup.
My costume fits like a glove, the glittering fabric hugging my curves. Thank the stars, it’ll be a little while longer before my pregnancy starts to show. The tutu is structured with layers of fluffy tulle, sparkling sequins sewn into snowflake patterns on its surface. I've got a pair of white point shoes with satin ribbons just for this occasion, already broken in to fit my feet just the way I like.
I can hear everyone outside warming up. The orchestra is tuning up, too. From what I overheard from Pavel as I entered the building, it's a full house tonight. Over a thousand people have come to watch the opening night ofThe Nutcrackerat the Bolshoi. There's an excited, electric buzz in the air; the promise of a magical escape through a landscape of snow just a few minutes away.
I'm struggling to get my hair just right. You'd think after years of practice putting my hair up in the bun would be a cinch. Naturally, because it's such an important day, my hair has decided to have a mind of its own. No matter what I do or how much hairspray I use, little hairs keep poking out in the weirdest of ways. I try to slick it back with a brush, but for some reason it ends up bumpy. When I try to tie it back, my elastic breaks, so I have to reach for another with a sigh.
“Do you need help?” Inessa asks.
I don't know when she slipped inside, but I frankly don't have the energy to deal with her right now. I reach for a bobby pin. Maybe that'll help.
“What do you want?” I ask curtly.
She's silent for a moment, which is most unlike her. It's very jarring to see her so tongue-tied. She looks a little worse for wear, now that I've had a second to take her in. Her hair is dull, there are dark circles under her eyes, and her shirt is covered in wrinkles like she hasn't done the laundry in a while. Inessa is a far cry from her usual put-together self.
“Kseniya called in sick at the last minute,” she says. I think to myself, I bet she did. “I was trying to call you to come. You never answered.”
“Blocked your number.”
I'll admit I feel a bit cruel being this cold. It goes against my very being. I have only ever wanted to treat others the way I would want them to treat me, but after those terrible things my mother said to me I don't know if I want to spare her the effort.
“Where have you been?” she asks, sounding almost like a concerned parent. Better late than never, I guess.
“Around,” I answer vaguely.
“Your father has been worried sick about you.”
I feel my anger flare, irritation licking through my veins. I'm nowhere near as upset with Dad as I am with her. “I'll call him later.”
