Chapter 8
My chest was still heaving as the curtain fell, the cast members remaining perfectly posed while the audience's applause echoed around us.
It was an intoxicating feeling—their praise, their excitement.
Producing something beautiful, something that moved people, was a big part of why I loved performing.
I'd always loved to dance. The studio was the place I could express myself using my body rather than with words that never got listened to at home.
And my parents encouraged it because it meant getting me away from the house and away from them.
When I expressed interest in a school several hours away—where one of the most robust dance programs in the world was—they were more than eager to sign their names on the checks.
Anything to make me disappear.
Ballet was everything to me. I'd sacrificed so much to be there. My school, my friends, even my true name. All so I could be here, on the stage, feeling the applause rattle my bones.
Mia wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed tightly. "You did it, Evie! Your first show is done!"
"Here's to many more, Vale." Another dancer squeezed my wrist, though with the blinding lights and raucous noise, I couldn't tell who it was. It was such a close-knit community of people supporting each other that it could have been anyone.
Mia and I hugged each other behind the curtain for a few more moments before we made our way into the crowded dressing room, where every dancer swarmed a small area, gasping and pointing.
"What are they looking at?" Mia mused, her hands already tugging at her perfect blonde bun and the many pins keeping it in place.
"I don't know... wait, is that my mirror?" I asked. The crowd must have heard me because they parted as soon as I got close.
The largest bouquet I'd ever seen sat atop my station, swallowing the mirror and all of my belongings whole. It was an explosion of pink, soft blushes, and deeper rouge layered together in perfect harmony. Like something torn straight out of a painting of the Garden of Eden. Part of me wondered if the city had any flowers left after someone created this. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars’ worth of flowers here.
The stems were wrapped in heavy cream paper, crisp and expensive, tied off with a ballet pink silk ribbon.
Hydrangeas the size of my head pressed against pale ranunculus, spray roses spilling outward in careful excess, and woven through it all were thick clouds of peonies, full and lush.
My breath caught at the sight of the cloud-like flowers.
They were my favorite, reminding me of a spring-filled world covered in coquette ecstasy.
“Oh my God,” someone whispered behind me. Probably Mia, judging from the crassness of their next question. “Eva, who the fuck did you sleep with?”
“I didn’t,” I said automatically, though my voice came out thin. My fingers hovered before finally brushing the petals of a peony, soft and cool beneath my touch.
Who would do such a thing? My brother was out of the question. Jules had come to my opening night with a lovely bouquet of pink roses for me and an equally large one of sunflowers for Elsie. He wouldn't have gone from something nice and simple to this.
Mia stepped forward and pulled a ripped piece of something that looked a lot like our program. I took it from her with shaking fingers.
To my solnyshka.
Mine.
No name. No flourish. Just neat, confident lettering, like whoever wrote it never doubted I’d know it was meant for me. A strange warmth unfurled low in my stomach, equal parts thrill and unease.
"Solnyshka?" I murmured, that word tugging at the edges of my memory.
"It means ‘Little sun’ in Russian," another dancer piped up from the back. I glanced around the room again, suddenly aware of everyone watching me. This moment felt intimate, though I couldn't explain why.
"All right, everyone," Mia said, sensing my discomfort and unwillingness to voice it. "Move on. Leave Eva to her secret admirers in peace. I’m sure you nosy bitches will hear about this soon."
As soon as they'd gone back to their own mirrors, Mia grabbed my arm and pulled me close, hissing underneath her breath, "Who did this?"
"I don't know," I said softly, looking back to the flowers. I hadn't been on a date in... ever. The closest thing I'd ever come to one was tagging along with Mia on some of hers.
Her eyes narrowed to sharp slits. “Okay, well. Someone with money did this. Like, real money.” She touched one of the tulips nestled between some peonies. "And taste. Very good taste. This is the most beautiful bouquet I’ve ever seen."
"That doesn't mean I know who it is. Everyone I know has money!"
Which was true. My family was well off, which meant that all the families I was allowed to know were too.
And the friends I made in adulthood, friends like Mia, came from wealthy backgrounds too.
Unfortunately, ballet wasn’t very accessible.
Shoes, costumes, recital fees, dance lessons—all of it was extremely expensive.
Growing up, my academy had scholarships available to those in financial need, but without access to learn dance in the first place, how would they ever gain the passion to try?
It was something I knew the dance world needed to do better.
Maybe one day, when I could finally stop paying my bills slightly late, I could help with that.
Mia tilted her head. "On the contrary, you know he's not a creep. Probably. Or if he is, at least he's a creep with cash, which is my favorite kind… You didn’t notice anyone in the audience?"
I shook my head, though an image flashed unbidden—dark eyes, the weight of being watched. I'd assumed it was pre-show nerves, but what if it wasn't?
I shoved the thought away quickly. "I wasn't looking. It's hard to see with all the lights."
She hummed, unconvinced. “Well, whoever he is, he’s clearly obsessed. Wait. Could it be Alek?”
“I don’t think so. I mean… I remember him having an accent, but how would he find me here? And why would he even want to deal with me, Mia? I totally ghosted him.”
“I told you, Evie: villain. Villains don’t care about ghosting.”
My gaze drifted back to the bouquet. “This seems like something a prince would do, not a villain. So does that mean it’s not Alek? Should I try to figure out who it is? I feel like I should write a thank-you note or something showing my gratitude.”
“Um, you can express it by having the best sex of your life with the hot guy who sent you these!”
A few of the other dancers side-eyed us, chuckling under their breath, used to Mia’s antics.
I gaped at my friend, my cheeks burning. “You have no idea these came from Alek! They could be from my mom!”
She rolled her eyes. “The same mom who’s been ignoring you since you were four? Yeah, these are totally from her. Face it, Evangeline. These are definitely from Alek!”
I wished she were right, I really did. But the voice inside of me kept saying I messed everything up, that I wasn’t perfect enough for him. And unfortunately, that voice was much louder than my friend’s.
“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to discuss it anymore. “I’ll see you at auditions tomorrow?”
Mia sighed, though she thankfully let it go. “Yeah, babes. See you bright and early!”
Other people may not have understood why we were having auditions the day after a major show, but those people hadn’t met Madame Germaine, the fiercest woman I’d ever met and the director of the City Ballet Company.
She didn’t believe in things like rest, not in the middle of our season.
We had a show to put together by mid-March, which meant that every day was a day dedicated to the ballet. We could rest in the off-season.
I changed quickly into a simple pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. My hands lingered over my costume and my hair accessories while I tucked them into the costume closet.
I was going to miss this show. Though we'd be doing it again next Christmas, a secret part of me hoped that I would be in a larger role, which meant that this could have been my last performance as a snowflake and flower.
Madame Germaine said I was showing promise, and my hopeful heart ran with that.
I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and grabbed the bouquet, careful not to crush the flowers against my chest. They were heavier than they looked, substantial in a way that made my arms ache as I carried them down the hall.
I felt eyes on me as I carried the bouquet. Not theirs, not the dancers. Someone else was watching, waiting. I shivered under the weight of the nameless gaze and hurried my steps.
Outside, the cold slapped me back into reality.
To my left, I could hear the sounds of the crowd cheering, of cameras snapping photos with some of the other dancers for the meet and greet.
I could have gone, but no one would be there.
Jules had been to several shows, but after the fourth, I told him he didn't need to anymore, and my parents had never come to a single show, not even when I was a kid.
I guessed I could go see Charlotte, who was in town to visit Mia, but honestly, I just wanted to go home so I could get the night over with.
Was that all my life was? Forcing a smile and getting things over with?
No, I told myself, plastering another big one across my cheeks. Of course not. You're just tired from such an amazing day! Tomorrow will be even better!
Still, a part of me hurt as I left all the lights behind for the darkness of the metro.
The word solnyshka replayed in my head over and over. I kept imagining my secret admirer whispering it in my ear over and over and over, his voice sounding a lot like Alek’s.
To my solnyshka. Mine.
So what if I was stressed? So what if my feet bled almost every day, and my head was pounding with an ever-increasing migraine?
So what if my apartment smelled a little like mold and the cafe kept shrinking the hemline of the skirts I was forced to wear in front of dusty men?
How could I complain about all of those things when I was living my dream—dancing in the City Ballet with a life that could only get better from here?
It was my negativity talking, the post-holiday blues pulling me down. I just needed to remind myself of all the wonderful things in my world, things like flowers and best friends and new auditions.
My life wasn't perfect, but maybe one day, I would finally learn how to write my own rules for it.