Chapter 21 #2
“Are you kidding?” I shake my head, wishing that I could reach out and comfort her.
Maybe hold her hand or cup her face. “I’d deal with a lot worse to see you, Anya.
Besides, we’re both dealing with some difficulty to make this happen, aren’t we?
You’re overcoming much more struggle than I am.
I feel like I should have to go three or four rounds in the ring with your dad just to earn the amount of effort you’re putting in to see me. ”
“It—” she breathes out, eyes softening. “It hasn’t been as difficult as I expected, honestly.
A lot of my anxiety and PTSD symptoms have come with anticipating the worst and suffering in that anticipation rather than actually experiencing the worst. When you’re healing and medicated, and you’re doing the work, a lot of the bad stuff is simply expecting the bad stuff. At least for me, I’ve found.”
“Jade has said something similar before,” I confess, feeling my heart ache at the memory. “That it isn’t always bad things are going to happen, but the fear that they might that can be just as painful.”
“Yeah,” Anya agrees, voice going soft. “I do want to meet her, you know? I think we’d have a lot in common.”
“You would,” I confirm without a hint of doubt.
“But not just painful things from your pasts. You’re both smart, funny, caring, and passionate.
You both like girly stuff, although she’s more of a pink than a purple girl—she and Rayna have that in common, apparently.
I have no doubt you’d get along when you’re ready to make that step. ”
“I like pink too,” Anya offers with a soft smile. “It’s just not as calming and safe, I think. I used to wear it all the time, though. Pink is very ballet. The shoes, the tutus, the tights.”
“I’ll bet they make all of those in purple, though,” I point out, tilting my head. “If you ever wanted to try again.”
“I don’t know.” Anya looks down at her hands, twirling her fingers absently. “It’ll never be the same. I don’t know if I’d be able to do a whole routine without needing an inhaler now.”
“So, don’t do a full routine,” I suggest as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Quickly realizing that she’s probably considered that before, I mentally smack my own head and backtrack.
“Shit, that wasn’t helpful, was it? Ignore me, I don’t know anything about ballet or dancing at all, really.
But I imagine if I had a passion I would be pretty disgruntled to never be able to do it the same way again. ”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, not at all sounding offended.
“Honestly, it’s not that bad of a suggestion.
I…I wish I saw ballet that way—as just my passion.
Nadya sees it that way, it’s fun for her.
It’s where she sees her friends and where she gets to be creative.
But it was always more than that for me.
Like a lifelong career or, I don’t know, my purpose.
I was constantly trying to improve, to be the best. And knowing that I’ll be forever limited if I try again is hard. ”
“Do you want to, though?”
“Want to what?” she asks, brows drawing in. “To try again?”
“To change the way you see it,” I clarify, leaning back against the wall opposite hers. “If you could see ballet like you say Nadya sees it, would you still love it?”
Anya makes a sad little noise. “I don’t know if it’s possible.”
“I bet it is,” I say, trying to sound encouraging instead of argumentative.
“Like when a professional athlete is injured and has to retire early. Sometimes they realize that they like coaching or reporting the sport more than they ever enjoyed playing it. I bet you’d be an incredible ballet teacher. ”
Her lips pop open. “Y-you think so?”
“Are you kidding? You’d be great—especially with kids. You’re great with the twins, and children seem to love you. I could see you teaching a class full of little Isobellas. Tiny future prima ballerinas learning from you? They’d be lucky to have you.”
Her face flushes and she shakes her head, her golden-blonde hair swaying as she does. “You’ve never even seen me dance.”
“Would you be mad at me if I told you that that wasn’t true?”
“What?” she whispers, shocked. “How?”
“There are still some clips of you on your old ballet company’s website,” I admit, feeling my neck grow hot.
I never thought I would admit to my light internet stalking, but I couldn’t help searching for any glimpse of Anya I could get after first meeting her.
I needed to know more. Hell, I still want to know more.
“The site was all in Russian so it was really hard to find you, but I did. You’re incredible, you know? ”
“I was.” She swallows hard.
“You are.” Once again, I find myself wishing I could offer physical comfort, but I know she wouldn’t want it, nor would it be comforting.
“I don’t think you realize how amazing you are.
You may not be ready to return to ballet, or to befriend Jade, or talk to your brothers, but you’ve made so much progress.
It’s honestly inspiring, and I’m sorry if that sounds sappy or cringey or whatever, but I’m amazed by you.
Not just because of what you’ve survived, but also just because of who you are. ”
She blinks and breathes out. “I don’t know if I really know who I am.”
“I do,” I tell her earnestly. “You’re Anya Morozov. Good friend, loving daughter, niece, and cousin. You’re beautiful, and brave, and you make people want to be around you when you’re not even trying. You’re a fucking meraviglia.”
“A what?”
“A marvel, a wonder, a…I can’t think of a better word, but you’re the best, Anya. I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world just to be your friend.”
Her eyes well up, but she seems to quickly smother the emotion. “Even though my uncle wants to hurt you for it?”
“Even if,” I agree, chuckling.
“Even if today is the only day we see each other for months to come?”
“Even if.”
“I want to go see a house with you tomorrow, at least one.”
“You do?” I ask, hope filling my chest. “Really?”
“Yes.” The word is shaky but sure. “And I want to try something else, if you let me.”
Anything.
“Oh?”
“Can you move closer, off the wall?” she asks, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
Like a well-trained dog, I treat her question like a command and act. Standing in the middle of the small room, my hands rest motionlessly by my sides as she takes a step toward me.
“Can you put your hands behind your back and try to stay as still as possible?”
My hands lock behind the small of my back and I swallow hard, wondering what she’s thinking about. Her eyes look so full of thoughts and contemplation, so big and wide as she steps closer once more.
“Is it okay if I touch you?”
Oh, fuck.
Oh, I should not feel those words all over my skin like a fucking caress.
“Of course.”
“Please don’t move,” she repeats, voice small and almost scared.
I don’t move.
Hell, I don’t even breathe.
Slowly, like I might detonate if she moves too quickly, Anya closes the distance between us. Her arms surround the outside of my biceps to wrap around my back, and her head soon after presses against my chest.
She’s hugging me.
Not just a quick little side hug either, no. It’s tight and doesn’t end as soon as it begins. Anya is holding on to me like she might die if she lets me go, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to hug her back. I feel so fucking warm, having her small, soft frame crushing into mine.
When it’s over, and she’s untangling herself, her gentle eyes meet mine. I’d do anything to keep her this close. Anything.
“Thank you, Matteo.”
Thank you?
Goddamn, my heart aches hearing it.
“Anytime, Anya.”