Poisoned Roses (The Romanovs #5)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

TITUS

T here is a heady sense of expectation in the air as the crowd takes their place inside the impressive home of the Bolshoi Ballet.

Red opulence mixed with gold reminds me of centuries of decadence in a place that is a harsh protector. It traps its stars in a universe of damnation and as the theater swells with hungry vultures, all eyes are trained on the stage curtain.

I shift in my seat in the royal box, courtesy of the invitation from the head of state security, Boris Fedorov, who is beside me with his latest companion sitting unwillingly beside him.

He likes them young, barely reaching their twenties, and the agonized expression of his latest victim is no different to the ones who sat there before her.

He presses a possessive hand on her knee and if she moves, he tightens his grip, causing her to still and stare frozen at the stage.

Surrounding us are various government officials and their plus ones, not to mention our esteemed president, Denislav Orlov and his wife.

I stare straight ahead, curious but with no nerves because this is the night I offer the state my service. I am here for a reason and the woman I’m meeting is the one starring in the production of Romeo and Juliet. Its irony is not lost on me and as the lights dim, I watch with personal fascination as the show begins.

The music starts as a soft whisper on a fresh breeze and the curtain rustles as it’s given life, rising majestically against a beautifully lit stage, revealing a marketplace, the actors already in their positions. My sight is set on only one figure as I wait in anticipation for her entrance. I am rewarded when the scene cuts to her parent’s house and she is introduced to the man her parents wish her to marry. I lean closer and train my eyes on the woman herself and watch eagerly as she dances like an angel. I have seen pictures of her before and it’s surprising that our paths haven’t crossed until now because she is an important celebrity in Russia. She is alwaysinvited to many glorious occasions, but I have never sought her company.

Until now.

Tatiana Pavlov. The darling of Russia. A woman many idolize and want to be. Men desire her and women worship her and she is reported to be a beautiful woman inside and out. A Russian princess if you like and closely guarded by the institution who made her star rise. A great beauty and incredible talent and my interest in her is only increasing as I stare at the elegant figure on the stage.

Even from this distance, I am star-struck. She has an aura of being the only one on the stage in a crowd. Her devoted fans all over the world create hysteria wherever she goes and as an example of everything that is great about Russia, she has no equal.

The haunting music is accompanied by the most beautiful dancing. It is a visual treat unsurpassed by any other. The emotion of the story is acted with skill and precision and I simply cannot tear my eyes away from her.

For the first time since I learned what my duty would mean, a seed of interest has been planted and is slowly growing.

Tonight we will meet for the first time.

Tonight she will learn of the most important role of her life.

As my wife.

TATIANA

I wish this was over. Sickness is consuming me as my world pirouettes along with my feet. It’s as if everything is spinning around me and I have no idea where it will land. I could fall—I am falling and I have nobody to confide in. Nowhere to run.

As I head into the wings, they are waiting with my costume change, tearing my outfit from my shivering body and replacing it with another. An assistant holds a bottle of water to my lips and I sip thirstily, conscious to only take in the required amount.

My feet throb but not as much as my heart because, as always, just before the curtain lifted, they arrived.

I try not to think about them when I’m dancing. I attempt to lose myself in the music and the brilliance of Shakespeare’s words. It is the only time I am free. Nobody can touch me on the stage, unless you count the wandering hands of my leading man, Leo.

He makes my skin crawl, he always has, but his interest in me is very different. He has made no secret of how much he desires me and a misplaced hand under my skirt when he lifts me, a grope to my breast as he prepares my body to fly, reminds me how creepy he is and how sickened I am by his attention.

Then there’s the stalker. The person—a man most definitely, who always commands my attention when I least require it.

Tonight followed the same pattern as the other ones. A bouquet waiting in my dressing room. Ten white roses with a single black one in the center. The card always saying the same thing.

I’m waiting, Tatiana.

The assistant pushes me back toward the stage as the opening bars of the next dance signals my entry. I have no time to consider what is waiting for me in the wings, possibly in the theater itself. I must focus on dance because it’s the only thing that gets me through the madness.

As Leo ‘dies’ on stage, I perform my tragic dance and, seizing the dagger, I pirouette around the stage, dramatically raising it in the air and apparently stabbing myself in grief. As my body falls onto his, the music takes over and as the curtain falls, we hold the position until we get the all clear.

I swear Leo grasps my breast and I pull away sharply, pretending nothing ever happened. I’ve learned that the hard way.

In the beginning, I reported him and was punished because of it. The director, Rodion, believes Leo can do no wrong and accused me of trying to undermine him. He said I was always playing the diva and it wouldn’t work with him and if I didn’t like it, he would relegate me to the chorus and let another dancer take my place who would be infinitely better than me.

That’s the trouble with being the principal ballerina in the Bolshoi. There are many others waiting for you to fall. Jealous of your success, complaining that you’re not good enough and all the hard work and sacrifice only increases when you reach the top of the pile.

The applause is deafening and as we take our bows, a small child wanders on from the wings in a pretty white dress with an excited smile on her face. As she stops in front of me, she hands me another bouquet and my eyes blur when the same flower arrangement stares up from my arms, the single black rose mocking me.

I hold the bouquet reverently and smile – my heart racing, and not just because of the physicality of the show. He could be here now—watching me. Plotting his next move and I have nowhere to go or to hide, completely at his mercy and agenda.

As soon as the curtain falls for the last time, we head into the wings and to our respective dressing rooms to change. As always, my dressing room receives a stream of visitors, and tonight will be no exception. They crowd inside for photographs and to present me with flowers and broad smiles, hoping for a moment with the famous ballerina. This is their moment of fame by way of a little of my sparkle rubbing off onto them.

I accept it gratefully. It’s what makes this all worthwhile. The business men though, I could do without them. Leery, cruel, and conniving. Men of importance in their own world, hoping for a dinner date or more. There is always a line of men desperate to win my attention. Not because of me, Tia, because of Tatiana Pavlov, Russia’s darling princess.

Nadia is waiting, the one person I can trust, and she hands me my water bottle and grins.

“You were brilliant, Tia; you always are. There is nobody who can hold a candle to your brilliance.”

I’m used to hearing gushing compliments, because that’s what they think I want to hear. Nadia isn’t like that. She will tell me if I had a bad night, which is why I flash her a grateful smile and say gratefully, “Thank you, Nadia. I appreciate it.”

A gentle tap on the door causes her to roll her eyes. “It begins.”

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to receive the adoring congratulations of well-wishers. As the first person heads through the door, I set my mood to business and smile and pose for the camera and accept their gifts graciously.

One hour later and the final person leaves and I take a deep breath and stare at myself in the lit mirror. The person staring back at me is nothing like the woman inside. Confident, immaculate and self-assured. Russia’s sweetheart – their uncrowned queen. Not the frightened woman who hides behind the smile because somebody is plotting my downfall.

The door opens and Rodion heads through it, looking flustered.

“Tatiana.”

His gruff use of my name stirs a feeling of dread inside me.

What have I done now?

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

I stand and make to follow him and he says over his shoulder, “President Orlov has requested an audience.”

My stomach lurches as I scurry after him because a request to meet with the president is an order and I’m under no illusions about that.

I follow Rodion to the private VIP room that is set behind the royal box, wondering if Leo will be joining us there. The two leading dancers typically greet visiting dignitaries together, but I don’t see him and wonder if he’s already arrived.

As I climb the stairs, Rodion says nothing and in no time we are waiting outside the VIP entrance.

“Do not embarrass me or the Bolshoi.” Rodion growls, his words designed for my ears only.

I nod as I attempt to still my frantic heart and as we step inside the room, a sea of faces turns to watch our approach.

“Your excellency, may I present Tatiana Pavlov.”

I curtsey in front of the president and his wife and he nods, appearing disinterested and merely says gruffly, “A fine performance.”

He turns away and I move to the man beside him, Rodion guiding me with a hand on my arm.

“Boris Fedorov.” He announces and I shiver inside, knowing only too well the reputation of the most feared man in Russia.

“A pleasure, Miss Pavlov.” He grips my hand and holds it tightly, his thumb caressing my skin and desire lighting his eyes.

He makes my skin crawl and I long to snatch my hand away, but duty wins out and I smile. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Fedorov.”

He doesn’t release my hand as he turns to his left, and the curious gleam in his eye puzzles me.

“Allow me to introduce Titus Romanov.”

I swing my gaze to my right and almost stumble as I meet two dark eyes that are free from any emotion at all and my breath catches because he is magnificent.

A strong jaw and full lips are framed by a countenance of masculine beauty. His dark hair is well styled and his broad shoulders and muscular arms are straining against the fabric of a well-tailored suit. The pristine crisp white shirt is in contrast to his black tie and he pointedly takes my hand from Boris’s sweaty one and shakes it formally, his grip hard and cool, official even.

“Miss Pavlov. I am star-struck.”

For some reason I blush, probably due to the intensity in his eyes, and before I can say another thing, Boris interrupts.

“Tatiana, Rodion has agreed that you will accompany Mr. Romanov to dinner at the Kremlin. You have thirty minutes to change and then you will leave together. A car has been arranged.”

I blink in surprise and only a sharp nudge from Rodion makes the words spill from my mouth. “Thank you. I would be honored.”

I swing my gaze toward Titus Romanov and shiver inside. There is something I’m missing here, an agenda of sorts, but I have no time to ponder what it could be as Rodion says loudly, “Excuse us gentlemen. I will deliver Tatiana to the car personally.”

It’s only when we leave the room that I can breathe again and as we walk, Rodion says cruelly, “Don’t let the Bolshoi down, Tatiana. Do as you’re told and speak only when spoken to and if I hear to the contrary, you will be dancing the matinee.”

As I make my way back to my dressing room, I’m shocked to see a beautiful beaded red dress glimmering on the back of the door and Nadia’s eyes gleam as she holds a box tied with red ribbon.

As soon as Rodion leaves, she whispers with excitement, “You will never guess what’s inside.”

“What?”

I’m mystified and as she opens the lid, I stare in shock at the beautiful red silk lingerie nestling among the folds of white tissue paper. However, it’s the velvet box that captures my attention because, if I’m not mistaken, sparkling inside is the biggest diamond engagement ring I have ever seen.

“What’s this?”

“Whatever it is, it’s accompanying the outfit, and I have been told you must be ready in twenty minutes.”

With a mixture of dismay and fascination, I watch Nadia fuss over me, changing my costume, styling my hair, and reapplying my make-up, all the while my eyes are glued to the ring she has placed on my left ring finger.

It sparkles so brightly I am dazzled and I whisper, “There must be some mistake. It can’t be an engagement ring.”

I slip the ring onto the other hand and instantly feel better.

I have no time to dwell on it though because, true to his word, Rodion appears with a frown and says shortly, “Come. It’s time.”

Nadia gives me the thumbs up as I cast a helpless glance in her direction and before I know what’s happening, I’m walking toward the VIP entrance where a man that makes my breath desert me is waiting.

Titus Romanov is like a black hole in space. Mysterious, incredibly dark and will probably swallow me whole, unlikely to return to sender. I feel it. I sense it and I strangely welcome it because if he has some agenda concerning me, surely it’s better than the one my stalker is plotting.

He says nothing as I approach and, if anything, appears angry. I note the tightening of his jaw, his reluctant nod, and the anger swirling in his eyes. He is as unwilling as I am, and I wonder why. It’s as if we are being guided into a dark room with no flashlight.

It’s only when we are sitting in a black car surrounded by outriders that I sense this is something I have no control of and as the door slams behind him and he takes his seat beside me, he glances at the ring on my finger and says gruffly, “The other hand, Miss Pavlov.”

“Excuse me.”

I pretend not to know what he is talking about and he turns, his eyes flashing in the dusky light and says gruffly, “It appears we are on the way to our engagement party and before you question that, neither of us have a choice.”

My eyes widen as he laughs bitterly. “Welcome to your worst nightmare, Miss Pavlov. Now sit back and enjoy the ride.”