Chapter Eight Anya
I twirl the glass with my fingers after taking a long sip. Where to begin? Skylar must recognize my dilemma, because rather than waiting me out, she makes another suggestion.
“If you’re not ready to tell me what’s bothering you, then how about you tell me about landing the role?”
When my thoughts shift to earlier today, when I’d achieved a goal I’d worked for my entire life.
This was before my father dashed all my future hopes and dreams with one decision.
Closing my eyes, I let the joy from learning I had won the role of the Lilac Fairy wash over me.
The despair recedes against the overwhelming happiness of that moment.
“I had hoped to get the role of Aurora,” I tell Skylar. “But the Lilac Fairy is just as good. I can’t wait for rehearsals to start. This will be a challenge, because I’ll be on stage more than I ever have in my previous performances.”
“You’ll be brilliant,” Skylar says. “I saw a performance of The Sleeping Beauty a few years ago when I was in the United States. I remember the part of the Lilac Fairy. You were born to play that role.”
I grin at her. “Thanks. I am excited. I was hoping it would lead to something bigger, maybe even a chance at joining a touring group, but that’s not going to happen now.”
Skylar frowns. “Why not? I thought that was what you were hoping for?”
I give her the breakdown of my day, starting with how excited I was about my role and wanting to share my good news with my father, only for him to share news of his own.
When I get to the part about my father picking a new heir and that I’m expected to marry him to keep it in the family, she explodes.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, holding her hands up to stop me. “Your father expects you to marry whoever he selects to take over his position with the company. Why?”
“The business has been in my family for multiple generations. My brother was supposed to take over when my father retired, but my father believes Alexi is dead. My father doesn’t plan to retire for another few years, but he wants time to train whoever he selects to take over.
I just hope he’s wrong about Alexi being dead.
If he’s still alive, maybe he’ll return, and the worst won’t happen. ”
“You believe Alexi is alive?”
Skylar’s tone doesn’t tell me if she thinks I’m a fool for believing the impossible. I turn from watching the dancers to see her face. She’s watching me with soft eyes that give nothing away.
“Yes, I think Alexi is alive.”
“Why?”
I debate whether to tell her about my contact, NOLAKING.
So far, I haven’t shared his existence with anyone.
I think it is because I’m worried whoever I tell will ask me questions that I can’t answer.
The most terrifying question is why I feel I can trust him.
If I keep him a secret, then I won’t have to answer that question, or any others.
I don’t want to lose hope, and right now, NOLAKING is my only source of hope.
I shrug. “I don’t know. But I do. I have to believe. If I give up hope, then I’m lost. I have to believe that Alexi will come back to us.”
Skylar studies me before nodding. “I believe you’re right. Alexi is still out there, and there is still a chance he’ll come home. They haven’t found his body, right? It’s better to have hope. But you also need to plan for the worst case.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Leave. Go to Paris. Or New York. Or literally anywhere else. You’re a grown woman.”
The word leave lands like a slap. I stare into my glass, watching the lights refract through it. “It’s not that simple.”
“It actually is,” Skylar says. “Pack a bag. Get on a plane. Done.”
“You don’t understand,” I reply, frustration creeping into my voice. “It’s my father. My family. This is how things have always been done. Walking away isn’t just… leaving a job. It’s turning my back on everything I was raised to believe in.”
She snorts. “You were raised to dance, not to be sold off like a corporate asset.”
“That’s not what this is,” I insist, though even as I say it, the words feel thin. “It’s about continuity. About respect. About—”
“Control,” Skylar cuts in. “It’s about control.”
I fall silent, because part of me knows she’s right. Another part of me—the part that still wants my father’s approval, still flinches at the thought of disappointing him—can’t accept it.
Skylar exhales and softens, reaching out to rest her fingers over mine. “Okay. Fine. If running isn’t an option you can accept, then we need a different plan.”
I look up. “What kind of plan?”
She leans closer, conspiratorial. “Do you know who he’s considering?”
“Yes,” I admit. “There are three men.”
“Of course there are,” she mutters. “Who?”
“Oleg Petrov. Pavel Nazarov. Artem Sorokin.”
Skylar’s eyes flicker with interest. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what do you know about them?” she presses.
I sigh, dredging up information I’ve absorbed over years of dinners and whispered conversations. “Oleg is Yuri Petrov’s son. His family owns a private security firm. Very successful. They contract with corporations and… governments.”
Skylar grimaces. “Sounds charming.”
“Artem is Denis Sorokin’s son. They deal in antiques and art. Several galleries. An auction house.”
“Smug and rich,” she says. “Great.”
“And Pavel,” I continue, hesitating, “is Valentin Nazarov’s son. Their family owns nightclubs. In St. Petersburg. Moscow. Kyiv.”
Skylar’s gaze sharpens. “Wait. Like… this one?”
The music surges, and for the first time since we arrived, I really look around.
I follow the curve of the balcony above the main floor until I spot it—the VIP suite tucked into the shadows, glass railing gleaming under the lights.
Women crowd inside, draped over plush seating, laughing too loudly, hair tossed back, drinks raised.
My stomach tightens.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I think he owns this one.”
Skylar follows my line of sight. “And?”
“And they’re here,” I murmur.
She squints. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
Skylar lets out a low whistle. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head and lift my chin, pointing subtly. “The one in the white shirt—that’s Oleg. The one with the dark hair and the smug smile is Artem. And the one in the center, holding court like he owns the air?” My throat tightens. “That’s Pavel.”
Skylar stares at the VIP suite, then back at me, eyes blazing with something like determination. “Well,” she says slowly, “this just got interesting.”
I take another sip of my drink, the music crashing around us, my future suddenly sitting in a glass box above the dance floor—laughing, drinking, surrounded by women—while I sit below, trying to decide whether tradition is worth the cost.
“They’re watching you,” Skylar says, as she tears her eyes away from them to study me. “Do you think they know your father’s plans?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
“I thought your father just told you about the arrangement today.”
“He did, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t make the decision earlier and just waited to tell me today.
He probably discussed his plans with them and their fathers before telling me.
It isn’t like he needed my permission first.” I know I sound bitter, but I can’t stop myself.
Watching the three men cavorting with several women is a preview of my future.
Not that I think my husband will bring me to the nightclub.
No, I’ll likely be home alone while my husband is out with his friends and the women they attract.
My husband would never be required to change his lifestyle after marriage.
No, I’ll be the one whose life changes. I’ll no longer have control to pursue my interests or my dreams. I’m about to suggest we leave, but Skylar beats me to it.
“Let’s dance,” Skylar says, sliding out of the booth and pulling me onto the dance floor. “Don’t think about anything, just the music.”
I do as she suggests and lose myself in the beat.
I let my body sway and gyrate to the fast tempo.
While ballet is my first love, I can’t deny that I enjoy the freedom of movement without a script.
The beauty of a performance lies in the precision of choreographed moves.
Sharing the dance floor with dozens of strangers allows the music to take control.
The heat loosens my limbs as my mind floats in a haze of anonymity.
I do exactly as Skylar suggested and think of nothing but the music.
That is, until someone taps on my shoulder and draws me back to reality.
Turning, I find a massive man who looks like he belongs on a Rugby pitch or an American Football field rather than on the dance floor.
At first, I think he’s going to ask me to dance with him, but he bends at the waist to speak into my ear.
“Mr. Nazarov has requested the pleasure of your company and that of your friend.”
I feel Skylar move up next to me. I turn to her to see her sizing up the man. After repeating his request, she studies me. “We can leave if you want.”
I bite my lip and consider her suggestion. It would be rude to leave, even though that is what I want. I glance over to the balcony to see Oleg, Artem, and Pavel watching us.
“We don’t have to stay with them long, but it might be a good idea to see what they know about your father’s plans,” Skylar whispers in my ear.
I nod and offer the behemoth a bright smile. “We’d be honored.”