Chapter 15 Sonya
SONYA
It wasn’t a good idea to call him, even if it wasn’t on purpose.
Because when Adrian Hughes storms past the curtains to stop in front of my hospital bed, I’m not myself.
The stress of falling again, and there being no medical reason for why this is happening, has grown panic inside me.
So when he shows up, I’m not prepared.
Tousled hair. Piercing blue eyes. Wearing his hockey jersey and pads as if ready to fight a war on the ice. His gaze never falters, roaming all over me, pupils dilating until they seem to swallow his irises.
It’s like he’s about to come gather me in his arms. To kiss the corner of my temple and tell me that whatever it takes, he’s going to make this better. That the thought of me hurt rips him apart.
I have to reach over and pinch my arm. Because I don’t know why I pictured that, or why I’d even want it to happen.
“Who is this?” asks Madame Kozlova.
Before I can answer, the curtain behind us opens.
“Good, you found your wife,” says the nurse.
Wife?!
The numbers on the heart rate monitor jump. The nurse pays it no major attention since she’s smiling at Hughes and he’s…not correcting her?
“Did she just say—” I ask sharply.
“Sonya is married to him?” Nina interrupts, her eyes going round. She pulls out her phone. “Is he who I think he is?”
I wait for Hughes to clear the air. To tell everyone he’s either lying or kidding. He doesn’t say anything.
Now it’s up to me to speak up, but I don’t know what to say. I’m frozen. Not just from the shock of this gigantic lie, but because it feels like this moment has folded all the stress inside me into a tighter, heavier knot.
I’m quiet. Too quiet.
What’s wrong with me?
I pull at my hair, which finally snags Hughes’ attention. What’s with that look on his face? He’s gone all stiff, and his jaw muscles are flexing. What’s he staring at?
It’s the hospital bracelet around my wrist.
Hughes turns to the nurse. “Tell me everything. I need to know what happened.”
In the background, Madame Kozlova and Nina huddle around her phone, reading something. Her screen tilts long enough for me to catch a glimpse. It’s Adrian Hughes’ online biography.
Okay, what the actual hell is happening? I’m clearly in a coma. Hospital drugs have brought my nightmares alive, and now they feel real.
“Sonya had a fall,” explains the nurse. “Her partner’s elbow hit her head.”
Hughes’ nostrils flare. “What partner?”
That’s not a tone I’ve heard him use before. It’s blunt and gravelly.
“Who did this to her?” Blue eyes flash over and land on me, darkening further. “Who did this to you, darling?”
The nurse laughs. “You don’t have to worry, Mr. Hughes. Sonya’s vitals are okay. Her scans came back good.”
“We need to run them again,” he says, as if that’s a completely reasonable request.
“What? No.” Finally, I have some energy to argue.
Hughes doesn’t like that answer. I see his reaction: the rise and fall of his chest under his gear as he frowns. His measured steps as he comes closer, blotting out some of the light above. The pads on his shoulders make him seem even bigger than usual.
The rest of the room feels like a dollhouse replica when both his hands palm the scratchy hospital sheets on either side of my legs. Sandalwood, soap, mint.
He lowers his voice, eyes fastening on mine. “Tell me you aren’t pretending to be fine.”
Why would he ask me that?
He simply looks at me, as if he’s trying to figure out exactly what I’m thinking.
I lift my legs up until they tuck against my body, away from him. My heart beats like a hummingbird, because he needs to stop. I don’t want him searching my expression as if he knows me. He doesn’t.
My face burns. “Don’t,” I tell him.
“Don’t what, darling?” His voice goes low and sincere. Nothing like his usual cocky tone. “What do you need?”
Nothing, I want to shout at him. But shame and embarrassment turn my stomach, because again, he’s seeing me at one of my lowest points. I absolutely hate it. My teeth clench. I’m working my way up to getting annoyed.
“You’re such a good husband.” The nurse claps her hands together as if this ridiculous conversation is the sweetest exchange she’s seen.
She gets busy unhooking me from the monitors and rattles off more information, like how we can leave as soon as I’m ready.
Her parting request is an autograph. She hands him a marker. Hughes absentmindedly signs her scrubs.
He also signs a cast for the patient I’m sharing the room with, right in time because he’s getting discharged.
Afterwards, Nina comes around to stand in front of Hughes. “You’re the captain of the Vancouver Wings.”
“I am,” he answers smoothly.
“You’ve been dancing with our company for years.
I can’t believe you never mentioned when you got married,” lectures Madame Kozlova.
She’s talking to me. “I know I discourage wasting time talking about our personal lives, but it’s something I should’ve known.
” She points to the discharge papers on the bedside table.
“These are for you to read, Mr. Hughes. Make sure you do.”
“I will.”
Madame Kozlova nods, then…
Laughs?
Madame Kozlova never laughs like that. Warmly, showing all her teeth. It’s unnatural. Terrifying.
My mouth falls open.
“Now that I know you have a husband, make sure Mr. Hughes comes to our gala. It’s right before your big audition with Mr. Pepita,” Madame Kozlova tells me.
“And make sure he brings his teammates. We’ve got high fundraising goals this year.
Plus, I’m sure the director would love to meet him, Sonya.
” She wags her finger at me. “You know there are a lot of moving parts when deciding who becomes principal—”
Nina snaps her head in Madame Kozlova’s direction.
“—and while so much of it is skill, there are other politics at play. Such as what else a ballerina brings to the table when it comes to mass appeal.” Madame Kozlova smiles.
“And I can’t think of anything more appealing than the audience wanting to see a principal who is married to an already very famous man. ”
I can’t answer, but it’s okay. Fresh rage is chipping away at whatever strange, stressful quiet has caught me by the throat. Because no. The reason I become a principal won’t be because Adrian Hughes made it happen. That invalidates everything I’ve sacrificed up to this point.
I will not have my future success depend on anyone other than myself. Why should it? It’s not fair.
Come clean. Now, Sonya. It’s only going to get worse if you don’t.
Before I can speak, Hughes matches Madame Kozlova’s energy.
No, he outdoes it. Eyes half-lidded, his mouth tugs into a devastating grin. “As long as we’re not scheduled for a game, Miss…”
My dance mistress giggles. “Madame Kozlova.”
“Madame Kozlova,” Hughes corrects. “Then expect the whole team to come to your gala. We stand behind and support Sonya completely, so your fundraising goals don’t stand a chance if the Vancouver Wings have anything to say about it.”
My ears ring. A guttural roar starts up inside of me.
Caught up in all that, I barely hear Madame Kozlova and Nina say goodbye and finally leave. But then I snap out of it and look around. They’re gone and we’re alone. The curtain’s closed.
Hughes’ hands rub on his pants as he looks me over, his eyes going back to that hospital bracelet so fast I barely catch it. “You fell again? What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He needs to stop doing that, using that low, worried voice again. Hearing it snaps something inside me.
Before Hughes comes any closer, I leap out of bed and grab the front of his jersey. “Who cares about that? Why did you tell everyone I’m your wife?”