Prima

“Anything else you’d like to discuss now that the theater is your new home?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the desk.

She didn’t answer immediately but took a few moments to glance around the room, looking at a wall where items telling the history of the Volkov were displayed. Her gaze seemed to linger on one: a painting of my mother standing centerstage of one of the most recognizable theaters in the world, the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow, Russia. Its opulence included six tiers of seats and a golden arch framing the box where members of the imperial families had been watching those lucky enough to grace the stage since the theater’s completion in 1776. Though fires, wars, and rebellion had attempted to take the theater from Russia, it had been rebuilt time and time again.

“So, how did you get into running this theater?” she asked. “I mean, I know your mother started the company when she retired from dancing but did you and your brother take over because you wanted to or because you felt… I don’t know, some type of duty to continue your mother’s legacy?”

I couldn’t tell if she was just making conversation or was truly interested, but when she cocked her head to the side, the ponytail swaying to brush against her shoulder, I decided it didn’t really matter. I’d discuss recipes if it kept her seated before me.

“Ballet is in my blood. I’ve always loved the discipline, the music, the beauty, the art of it all,” I said without a hint of embarrassment. “My brother, my mother, and I have lived and breathed ballet for as long as I can remember. Ballet wasn’t only part of my mother’s life, but our father’s as well before he… before he died.”

“Really?” Her tone indicated surprise. “I mean I have always known who your mother was,” she said, her eyes flicking back to the painting. “Anyone who knows even the slightest thing about ballet knows she was a famous ballerina, but I’ve never heard of her husband being a part of the ballet scene.”

“He was killed in an accident when I was thirteen, leaving my mother to raise two sons on her own. But before he died, they’d been discussing opening their own company. My father was a powerhouse of a man and had a keen sense of the business side of the ballet. I strive to be half the man he was.”

“She and your father did a great job. I think every little girl grows up wishing someday she will be part of a theater like Volkov Ballet. It’s infamous.”

I didn’t know what the hell was going on here, but I could feel an intense connection growing between us. This girl was not only beautiful, we both had a love for a craft I’d never shared with a female before. She reminded me of my mother in a way.

“The fact I’m here, signing on to be part of it, is pretty incredible. It’s a shame your mother died before I could meet her. My babushka was a huge fan as well. She told me once she’d been shocked when Nadia retired and left Russia as she’d been so revered as a former dancer of the Bolshoi Ballet.”

“My mother didn’t exactly have a choice. Well, not in the sense that word generally means. When our father died, she had no choice but to get out of Russia and start a new life.”

“I can understand that, but why immigrate all the way to the United States? She was a famous ballerina. A treasure of Russia. Surely, she had friends and family who would have helped her. Taking her sons halfway across the world…” Pausing, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I know it’s selfish to say, but I’m glad she did. Russia’s loss is America’s and my gain.”

She was either truly naïve or a consummate actress. I took a moment as I considered exactly how much to share. I knew she had dated Nikolai Kosloff, but how much did she truly know about him, about his lifestyle? The man didn’t exactly have a life one could read like an open book, not if he wanted to survive in the violent world of the Russian mafia.

Remembering a photo of Clara looking up at the man with adoration in her eyes, I decided I’d said enough. My life, Yuri’s life, and the choices my mother had been forced to make were private.

“Let’s leave it with Yuri and I were young enough to consider it an adventure and old enough to be grateful she built a life and a place we all could feel safe… one we could all share together.”

Fuck! I’d said far more than I’d meant to. Our eyes met, and I held her gaze for a little too long all over again. I couldn’t seem to resist her, which was a nightmare and one Yuri would flip out over learning about. I had to stop it, and I needed to stop it right now. It was past time for this little tête-à-tête to end.