Chapter 6
Fifteen minutes later, my scowl was deeper yet my mind was swimming in hope. Nikolai led me outside to a black car where his driver waited. The car rumbled against the cold, late-December winds.
"And where have I agreed to go for the next hour?" I grumbled.
Nikolai grinned. "To the City Ballet."
"Oh, fuck me.”
It was a short drive to the theater, where a well-dressed crowd lined the sidewalk, waiting eagerly to get tickets.
I was suddenly glad that Nikolai insisted I showered if she were one of the many people standing underneath the bright lights.
I didn’t want to see Eva looking like the Reaper, with blood splattered on my face and my hair in disarray.
"It's the last night of the show," Nikolai said, referring to the many people scrambling to get inside. "They've had a good turnout."
"And you know this because..."
"Because I've gone every night. You know that redhead I mentioned?
" Nikolai mentioned many conquests, including many redheads.
It was impossible to keep track of them all, but I nodded my head anyway in hopes he would get to the point sooner.
"Well, she must have been pretty impressed with my performance. I mean, who wouldn't be? My cock is—"
"Niko.”
"Right. Anyway, she wanted me to come see the show, and I told her I had expensive tastes because I wasn't going to sit with regular people with some child kicking my seat and another person smelling like cheap cologne and mildly stale popcorn.
I can just see it now, liquor spilling all over my cashmere—"
"Nikolai. The point. Find it."
My cousin leaned in and gave me a sly smile. "What's the magic word?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Now."
"Well, she gave me box seats, and I came here one night. During intermission, I got to thinking about your darling Eva girl—"
"Don't fucking call her that," I growled, hands tightening on the seats until my knuckles were white and there were little crescent moons on the leather. If the driver hadn't opened the door right at that moment, I might have punched my cousin.
"—and anyway, I think the rest is better said inside. Just follow me."
The building was a monument to excess, all marble columns, warm golden light, and flickering lights that were in desperate need of an update.
People clustered beneath the overhang, bundled in wool and fur, breath fogging the air while they eagerly grabbed their tickets and programs. They looked untouched.
Soft. The kind of people who believed violence only existed on stages and screens, neatly choreographed and contained.
They were wrong. I knew the truth.
I followed my cousin inside, coat collar turned up against the cold as if it could hide my displeasure. I'd never been to the ballet before, and I'd never anticipated breaking that streak. Yet here I was, enduring an hour for Eva.
The sound was what hit me first. Music swelled from somewhere deep inside the building.
There were strings tuning, clarinets trilling, and a timpani drum playing in a slow, booming rhythm.
The sound grew louder while an usher led us to a small grouping of plush seats in a private balcony overlooking the stage, where two glasses of whiskey sat as if waiting for us.
I grabbed one of them and downed it whole before gesturing to the attendant for another.
If I was going to spend my evening here, it would at least be with liquor.
The air in this stuffy theater was thick with perfume, polished wood, and anticipation.
The dark red carpet looked so soaked with spilled liquor that it was practically a fire hazard.
Crystal glasses chimed softly at the bar, and everywhere I looked, there were people.
I felt more exposed than I had in years, staring at my little sister’s broken body in the mangled car while people in uniforms swarmed like wasps.
"This is a waste of my time," I muttered, settling into the uncomfortable chair. Where the fuck was my drink?
Nikolai laughed deeply, clapping his hands together once as if we were about to attend a party instead of my personal hell. "Relax. It's culture."
"It's torture."
"Yes, yes," he said, waving me off. "Poor Aleksandr, forced to see one of the most moving art forms with some of the best seats in the house, surrounded by velvet and a server bringing you champagne. What a tragic life."
If you murder him, it will be difficult to clean the chairs, I reminded myself while the beast inside me raged in a storm of fury. "Are you going to tell me why I'm here now? Where is Eva?"
"Patience, Aleksandr. You agreed to one hour. At least wait until closer to the end before bombarding me with questions."
I scowled. "Fine."
The orchestra began to rise, their instruments now playing a sweeping song, growing and growing while the chandeliers slowly dimmed.
The curtain was still drawn, but I could now make out faint rustling behind it, the little shadows of shoes coming to the edge as if trying to peek out.
People were filling the seats, eagerly leaning forward, their programs rustling.
Somewhere below, a woman shushed her children.
Finally, the curtains were pulled back, and dancers filled the stage, beginning the opening number. Their actions were controlled like pieces on a board. Nothing was out of place.
They moved throughout the music, their bodies portraying a story with grace and precision.
Party guests, children, soldiers—characters I was unfamiliar with, but who Nikolai was trying to teach me about through his constantly whispered commentary.
And though I could admit that they were impressive, I was utterly bored with it all.
Every second stretched my patience to a razor’s edge.
My jaw ached, and my blood thundered. My mind refused to focus on the stage, drifting instead to her—her pink coat, her snow-dusted curls, the way her body had fit beneath mine, soft and unresisting.
The knowledge that she was out of reach, untouched and unmarked, made me want to tear the world apart.
Eva.
Where was she? Why the fuck was I here?
Beside me, Nikolai was explaining how the main character was about to go on a journey through this wonderful world.
He was clearly enjoying himself far too much, and for a moment, I imagined pushing him over the balcony ledge.
It could look like an accident, the crack in his neck timed with the timpani drum, the applause drowning out the ringing in my ears.
A pleasant thought. I almost smiled, savoring it.
Too bad I actually liked him.
The scene shifted once again, music softening, the stage darkening.
They were no longer at a party, but in a world of white.
Flakes fell around a dancer in a sparkling tutu, glittering lights spreading across to reveal a corps de ballet fluttering around her.
Their costumes caught the lights like frost, and I realized they were meant to be snowflakes—or snow fairies or whatever the hell Nikolai was telling me.
"This is the Land of Snow. The Snow Queen lives there with her fairies," he murmured. "There's the redhead!"
I barely heard him, my gaze sweeping over the quick dance without interest.
Until my heart stopped in my chest, my body chilling.
The back row. The closest side of the stage.
Her brown hair was pulled tightly into a bun, a miniature white crown pinned atop it, transforming her into the princess she was destined to be. She was smaller than the others, her movements softer and more precise. Her arms curved with grace, lips teetering on the edge of a smile.
My breath hitched. The stage lights caught her face as she turned, and for half a second, I saw her eyes.
Chocolate brown and utterly unmistakable.
Eva.
A smile curved the edges of my lips as I leaned forward and whispered, "Finally."