43. Isabel
We barely made it out of the estate when I pressed the red button on the console. “If you could drop me off at the nearest bus stop, I’d appreciate it.”
“Fine,” the voice came back.
A good thirty minutes passed before we finally reached the nearest stop. As if to drive home the point about just how far removed Belmont Manor was from my everyday world.
I didn’t wait for The Terminator to open the door, but jumped out and joined a few other damp souls just trying to stay dry under the bus shelter. There were some curious stares as I huddled in a corner, wallowing in self-pity, my total breakdown imminent.
And of course I didn’t have my bus pass with me because I never took it out of the evening bag I had with me at the Belmont Hotel. Because who would have guessed I’d need it again so soon.
The bus arrived and I stepped on last. I felt pretty pathetic rummaging through my bag for change with a busload of people staring me down. The bus driver took pity. “Why don’t you have a seat and pay when you find the money.”
I mumbled a sincere thank-you and fell into the nearest empty seat. My efforts finally yielded the exact change in dimes, pennies and quarters. As the bus lurched ahead, I dropped my money in the box and went back to my seat.
The farther I got from Belmont Manor, the heavier my heart became. All of a sudden everything that happened felt like a lifetime ago, and I was getting lost in a haze of memories and regrets. Steven’s words came back to haunt me.
I’m curious, Miss Le Roche, how exactly you thought this would end?
A few simple words, but there they were, breathing reality into my existence. Falling in love with Roman was the ultimate risk, and I gambled and lost. The feeling sifted through my bones, something between devastation and fury, and my heart felt like a pincushion for every bad decision I’d made since that night in the bookshop.
But it wasn’t so much my naivete, which obviously played a massive role, as it was how utterly deceitful Roman had been. How had I not seen through him? Probably because I didn’t want to.
When I shifted in my seat, the tenderness between my legs reminded me of the library earlier, and of Roman’s fury, the part of him I’d vowed never to see used against me. And yet, for reasons I would never understand, my growing need was fueled by his anger.
What I wouldn’t give to have those few minutes back, to not show him how weak he really made me. Why was I still thinking about it? Roman Belmont needed to be expunged from my mind as if I’d never met him. Never entered the bookshop that rainy night.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a hand tapped my shoulder from behind, and an older lady handed me a couple of tissues. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “Honey, if you loved him, I’m sorry. But if he’s an asshole, fuck him.”
Since I didn’t trust my voice, all I could do was nod.
I texted Meg in a daze. My effort to sound calm and in control was futile and it came out a bonfire of tumultuous emotions with heartbreak in the starring role. She texted back immediately.
MEG:Motherfucker.
ME:I know.
MEG:I’m done in about an hour then I’ll be home.
ME:Promised Sergei we could practice before tonight, so I’ll be at the studio for a while.
MEG:You know there are always more competitions. Why not sit this one out. We can dine, drink and plan our revenge.
ME:Don’t want revenge. Just want to forget any of it ever happened. And the last thing I want to do is to disappoint Sergei.
MEG:Then you dance your heart out and don’t worry about a thing. We’ll revisit the revenge thing another time. Because I sure as hell want that asshole to pay.
Despite the overwhelming torment burrowing through me, I cracked a smile. Meg was that friend who always had your back, the one who’d help you bury a body if it came down to that.
I stumbled off the bus at the stop nearest the studio. It was earlier than Sergei and I had agreed, but if there wasn’t a class in session I’d have the place to myself for a while. There was an extra set of dance clothes in my locker, and getting dressed would give me time to breathe.
I realized that the next few weeks, months or God forbid years would be hell. But at the same time I had so many other things going for me. I could get my job back at Le Petite Chateau. And I had my dancing, the one thing that always kept me going.
As I walked to the dancing room I heard the music for Giselle, Act II, one of the most romantic pas de deux in ballet. I peeked through a crack in the door and saw Sergei and Pauline dancing. It was the same pas de deux Sergei and I had danced many times before.
A sudden sharp ache pierced my chest. It was four years ago, during the final bow after a performance of Giselle in Tokyo, that Sergei professed his love to me for the first time.
Still intoxicated by the performance and how well it was received, it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I loved him too. Before I realized in a moment of clarity that what I felt for Sergei didn’t touch the passion he felt for me.
I remember the flash of hurt in his eyes as I stared at him, unable to utter the response he so desperately wanted to hear. My answer was in the kiss I gave him. Perhaps one day, but not now, not yet.
But that day never came.
When I asked my mom why I was incapable of falling in love with Sergei, she simply said it was because he wasn’t the one. And that I would know when it was.
I decided not to intrude on the pas de deux and left, a quivering mess of misery succumbing once again to tears as I trotted down the sidewalk. I mean really, these tears were just nourishing my own pity party. But all the self-chastising in the world wasn’t going to stop them, that much I knew.
“Malishka!”I heard Sergei call out, and my insides wilted. If he saw me like this he’d want to break down doors and take names.
I didn’t turn around immediately, but he caught up soon enough. Sergei took one look at me and drew me into a hug. “I’m going to fucking kill him. Just tell me who he is.”
As if Sergei would ever get within twenty yards of Roman before hell rained down on him in the name of Steven. I shook my head, dismissing his threat, and he held me tighter.
“Please go back to Pauline and finish the pas de deux,” I begged. “She’s going to end up hating me so much.”
Sergei let go of me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “She’s the one who saw you and told me to come get you. We had a long talk last night. Besides, she’s not ready for Giselle’s pas de deux. I’m spoiled dancing it with you.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the studio. “Let’s go dance, malishka. It always makes you feel good. We need to win that competition tonight.”
I let Sergei drag me into the smaller studio where Paulina sat on a bench, massaging her sore feet. She looked up, genuine concern on on her features. “Hey. You okay?”
That must have been some talk between her and Sergei last night. But her being nice was a welcome change. The least I could do was smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Sergei went to the hi-fi system to program Por una Cabeza. Pauline bit her lip and dug through her bag. Finally she held out a protein bar. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten today. Get something in you because Sergei plans on practicing like a demon before the competition tonight.”
I took the protein bar. “Thanks.” And because I was a hopeless mess, I tore into the bar and chomped away, trying to shield my stormy emotions from her inquisitive eyes. Unsuccessfully.
“At a guess it wasn’t just a Tinder date,” she said.
With my mouth full of food, I mumbled incoherently, not in the mood to discuss my disastrous heartbreak affair with Pauline. And when Por una Cabeza came over the speakers, Sergei rescued me and we danced.
I deliberately lost myself in the music, pouring my soul into every dance move and trying to push every thought of Roman out of my mind. With the emphasis on trying. At some point Pauline left, and when we were alone Sergei didn’t waste a second before pulling me into him and cupping my face in his hands.
“What does this man have that I don’t, malishka?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration. “I feel your pain in every move you make. You feel for him what I want you to feel for me.”
The question had been haunting me since that first kiss in the bookshop. And if I didn’t understand it myself, how could I possibly explain it to someone else.
“Listen, it was a mistake,” I told him. “I didn’t see the man for who he really was. But now I do, and it’s over. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
“Well, he’d better hope we never cross paths because I will break his fucking face.”
I sighed and went for my bag. “You won’t cross paths with him, believe me. Thanks for the practice. I’ll see you later when you pick Meg and me up.”
“Let me walk you home,” Sergei said, and I almost said yes but then shook my head and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks, it’s fine. And don’t worry, we’ll win tonight.”