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I chew on the inside of my cheek. Inessa and I haven't spoken since opening night ofThe Nutcracker. It isn't like me to hold on to my resentment, but I would be lying if I said I had fully forgiven her. We sent a few texts back and forth so I could organize a time to come collect my things, but that's about it. From what I hear, she has taken on the role of the director at the Bolshoi, her predecessor incapable of returning due to his crimes.
From what I’ve heard, a lot of things have changed at the Bolshoi. They’ve hired additional security guards who are rotated out more frequently, as well as a more secure network of security cameras. People can’t just come and go as they please. The chances someone will be able to get away with sabotage like Kseniya in the future will be slim to none.
“She just wants to grab a bite with you,” Dad says. “I can be there, too, if you want. When she heard you're expecting… I don't know. She's been different.”
“Different? How?”
Dad shrugs. “I've noticed she's trying to be more patient. Gentler. Just in the way she’s interacted with me throughout the divorce proceedings. I think she regrets what she said a great deal, and knowing the baby's on the way… I have a feeling she wants to make amends. Keep you in her life. Although you're more than within your right to say no. I certainly wouldn't blame you.”
I take a deep breath in through the nose, savoring the smell of freshly ground coffee and buttery pastries. It’s a lot to think about. First and foremost, I need to think about what’s best for the baby. If Dad thinks Inessa is making an effort to change, then I’m inclined to give her a chance. I make a promise to myself that the moment she pulls any toxic, abusive shit—it’s over for real.
“Maybe. I just need a bit more time.”
Dad smiles. “I understand.”
“I'm not saying never. I want to put things behind us, too. I'm just not ready yet.”
“I'll let her know. I'm sure she can respect that.”
The little bell over the cafe door jingles, signaling someone's arrival. When I turn to see who it is, I spot a familiar figure out of the corner of my eye. He's hard to miss, clad in all black from head to toe. Most of the guests give him a wary glance, but I am filled with nothing but love and adoration when I see Leo with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. White lilies—my absolute favorite.
“I have to go,” I tell my father. “Same time next week?”
Dad nods respectfully in Leo's direction. Leo nods back. It’s the most interaction the two are willing to participate in, and I’m frankly fine with it. As long as they can be civil, I’m happy.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
I get up from the table and join Leo, smiling at the flowers as he wraps a protective arm over my shoulder and presses a kiss to my hair. “These are beautiful. What's the occasion?”
“I wasn't aware I needed an occasion to spoil you.”
“How were things at work?” I ask as he guides me out to the car waiting by the curb. “Some big business meeting, right?”
“It went well,” he answers. “Though I was very eager to get back to you.”
I giggle. “Did you miss me that much? Such a big baby.”
Leo snorts. “I always miss you,” he says, unflinching. “But also because I have a surprise for you.”
“Another surprise? You really are spoiling me. What is it?”
“Get in the car and you'll see.”
* * *
I'm not too sure where he's driving us, but I don't particularly care. I'm just happy we get to spend some time together. I haven't been asking for details, but I can tell work has been busy for him. Lots of meetings with his brothers, lots of talk about negotiating new deals. It must be exhausting, being so high up the chain of command. Leo never complains, though. He's always so strong and resilient, no matter what comes his way.
We drive around for about fifteen minutes, arriving in a neighborhood I don't recognize. It's an up-and-coming area, complete with many modern buildings and flashy boutiques. We pull up to the outside of a storefront. There looks to be plenty of space inside, though it's completely empty.
“This is the surprise?” I asked as he helps me out of the vehicle. He's always there to offer me his hand like the gentleman he is.
“You'll see, you'll see.”
To my mild confusion, we walk right up to the door. He pulls it open. When we get inside, the air is knocked from my lungs. Floor to ceiling mirrors wrap around two of the walls, wooden ballet barres drilled into the sides. The floors are made of special tiles, ones I recognize from all my time spent training at the Bolshoi. They have a matte finish, designed for added grip perfect for dancers.
Leo flicks the light switch, revealing the space to me in all its glory. Eggshell white walls, a small seating area arranged like a theater on raised platforms. It's a dance studio.
“You mentioned you were interested in teaching ballet,” he says casually. “This is yours, if you want it. There's still a bit of work to be done, but I can have the contractors prioritize this job so it's ready for you by the time the baby gets here. You can choose to work straight away or take all the time you need to adjust—it's really up to you.”
