Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
VIKTORIYA
M y ankle creaks as I walk down the street. I must have tweaked it when I fell the day before, further ruining my chances to dance.
I have no idea where I’m going. I just know I need to get out of Aleksander’s house. I need space from him. He’s in my head, and I don’t know what to do with that.
I packed a bag of clothes, money, and some food, but nothing else. For the first time in my life, I’m a wanderer.
Leaving was surprisingly easy. I waited until Aleksander left for work, and then I left. The housekeeper was busy cleaning the house, so she didn’t see me go. I know not to use my credit card again. Aleksander tracked me once before with it. He’ll easily do it again.
I keep walking until I find a park and sit on a bench. What am I doing? Why am I fighting so hard to stay at a distance with Aleksander? I wish I could just give myself fully to him, but he wants me to give up dance for him. I proved yesterday that I’m not as good as I once was.
But I still can’t give it up. I need to dance. I need to get better.
I need to be happy.
And then, I know what I have to do.
After doing an internet search, I find the lead director of the Russian Ballet company. His name is Misha Novikov. His company dance studio isn’t too far from where I am now.
With a deep breath, I get up and walk to the studio. I’ll prove myself to him. I’ll show that I belong on a stage again. I won’t mess up like I did yesterday. I can’t.
The studio is packed with a class full of incredibly skinny women. A man stands at the front of the class, eyeing the women over critically as they dance.
I walk up to the receptionist. “I’m looking for Misha Novikov.”
She frowns and responds in Russian as she points to the classroom.
“I’ll just wait,” I say, taking a seat.
The moment the class ends, I rush into the room and walk up to Misha. “Mr. Novikov, I am Viktoriya Morozova.”
He glances me up and down. “Your name sounds familiar,” he says in a heavy Russian accent.
“I’m a principal dancer of the New York City Ballet. I’ve been dancing for years.”
He stands back and crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here now. I’m looking to get back on the stage.”
“You have a resume?”
I hesitate. “Not on me. But I can give you the number of the director of the New York City Ballet. She’ll tell you I’m legitimate.”
“I think I’ve seen one of your shows. With your sisters, yes?”
“Yes! I’m more than qualified to perform again.”
“Then perform for me right now. Let me see you dance.”
My stomach plummets to my feet. “Right now?’
“Yes. Now. I know you’re a good dancer, but are you good enough for my company? Prove it.”
“Yes, sir.” I have to prove myself to him, and I will. I’m going to make it happen.
I take my ballet shoes out of my backpack and slip them on. I’m wearing a loose top and leggings, which are slim enough to dance in, fortunately.
Misha crosses his arms, frowning as I get into position. Then he grabs a remote and turns on music. It’s a song I know, at least.
With a deep breath, I begin.
I start simple, not taking it too hard, but it quickly becomes apparent Misha is not impressed. He keeps checking his watch and sighing.
So, I begin to spin and jump. He looks back at me, more interest in his eyes. This is it. I can do it. I’ll be able to dance again. I’ll be perfect again.
I’ll make my father proud.
I spin on pointe faster and faster until I land in the correct position. I bow for him, my heart beating fast.
I wait in my bowed position as silence fills the room. Then he begins to clap. Slowly, I stand back up. “How was that?” I ask.
“You are good.” My heart swells under his compliment. “But not great.” My heart immediately deflates.
“What … I’m not good enough?”
“Not for my company. You’re too unsteady on your feet. I heard about your accident. You’re just not good enough.”
“Am I too fat? Do I need to lose weight?”
“No. Your body is fine. You’re just not good enough anymore. Now, I’m a busy man. You may leave.” He turns away and grabs his phone, directing all his attention to it.
I stumble back. Why am I not good enough? I’m not good enough for anybody. Not my father or my mother. Gleb sold me because he couldn’t stand me. Boris wanted to kill me and marry my sisters instead because of my attitude.
I have no one.
I quickly take off my ballet shoes and practically run from the dance studio, keeping my tears at bay. They overflow from my eyes the moment I’m out of the studio. Slumping against the side of the building, I don’t stop crying until I have no more tears to give.
“Upset?”
I jerk up when I hear a man’s voice. I quickly wipe my face and stare at the man before me.
Damien.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was driving by and saw you. I wondered why the famed Viktoriya Morozova was crying on the sidewalk.”
“Why are you talking to me? You don’t have the right. Not after how you rudely rejected me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I find it curious you think I rejected you when I’d never met you before, yet you expected me to marry you anyway.”
I flush. “I?—”
He cuts me off. “I just think I need time to get to know a woman first before I offer up my hand in marriage. Your ego has gotten you into trouble. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”
His words fill me with a rage I haven’t felt since I was auctioned off. I storm right up to him and slap him across the face. “Maybe you shouldn’t offer advice when I didn’t ask for it.”
Damien rubs his cheek, looking down at me with curiosity. “You’re going to regret doing that one day, Viktoriya. Just you wait.” With one final look at me, he returns to his car and drives away.
I stand there, fuming. I will never be free of these Bratva men who think they can tell me what to do. Even Aleksander thinks he can do that.
I just want my freedom, whatever that means. If I’m being honest, I want freedom in my mind. I don’t want to be tormented by my desire to dance again. By my feelings for Aleksander.
I’m breaking down, and there’s no one there to save me.
Right on cue, another familiar car pulls up to the sidewalk. It’s Aleksander.
“How did you find me?” I ask as he rolls down his window.
“Tracked your phone.”
Of course, he did. “I wasn’t gone long.”
“Nika told me.”
Damn housekeeper. She’s so silent, I forgot she was in the house. She must have seen me leave.
“Are you mad at me for leaving?”
“Were you going to leave me forever?”
Was I? I answer honestly. “I don’t think I was.”
“Do you want to be with me, Viktoriya?”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
He leans across the car and opens the passenger door for me. “Then get in, and I’ll bring you home. I’ll help you to find out what you feel.”
Already, my heart and mind feel lighter. Without a backward glance at the dance studio, I get into the car and let Aleksander take me home.