Suddenly, I felt sad for Valentina. That had been a fucked up thing for Olesya to do. I knew she had mental health issues, but I couldn’t believe Olesya would be so cruel and stupid.
Please, let Natalya be mine.
Before Valentina became pregnant, I hadn’t even considered being a father. Once she had Natalya, excitement took me over and I began imagining myself navigating through fatherhood.
But as I walked through the hallway to the living room, I stopped.
How would Ava feel about my being a new father?
I shoved that question away. Ava was a good woman. All that had happened before her. There could be no problem with the situation. I’d fallen in love with Ava due to her drive and heart. There would be no way that she would disappoint me.
If Natalya is mine, Ava will love the child as much as I do. My biggest problem will be Valentina.
Chapter 18
Ava
The pianist sped up his notes, filling the studio with La Bayadere’s Minkus—Act One’s Dance of Persian Slaves.
Pas de chat. Pas de chat. One and two and Pas de chat.
Over and over I did sideways leaps, mid-air travelling, as high as possible, knees apart, each leg bent one after the other.
“And done!” Today’s master of ballet, Toya clapped.
I landed. My lungs burned. My legs too. Sweat drenched my leotard and face. I went to the horizontal wood bar along the studio and grabbed my bottle of water.
The pianist paused.
“Excellent, Ava!” Toya pointed at the danseurs. “Up next. Act II.”
The pianist flipped his sheet of music.
I gulped down water.
The danseurs rushed to the center of the studio.
Piano music filled the air.
“Begin!” Toya clapped and walked a large circle around them as they leaped and twirled. “Yes! Yes!”
My heart jumped along with them. I focused on catching my breath, put the bottle down, and began to stretch. A young woman walked in and rushed over to me. When she came closer, I recognized her as Akiva’s assistant, Lisa.
Short, she wore black heavy-rimmed glasses. Her dark brownish hair outlined her face in a mushroom. She reminded me of Velma from my old favorite cartoon, Scooby-Doo.
To my shock, Lisa whispered in my ear, “Ms. Jones, you have a delivery in your dressing room.”
“A delivery?”
“It must be shoes. There were two labels on the huge box.” Lisa pushed at her glasses.
“What did the labels say?”
“Freed of London and the other said—”
“Black Ballet?” Excitement hit me.
She nodded.
I shrieked.
Toya turned our way and frowned. “Ava, please have your conversations outside of the studio.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I did a half-bow which was completely unnecessary, but excitement had taken me. Rushing away from my stuff, I left the studio with Akiva’s assistant and headed to my dressing room.
Oh my God. Is this from Misha? How would he know?
Every week I was on Black Ballet’s site, drooling over their new line of shoes.
Black Ballet had partnered with Freed of London—a major UK dance shoe designer and manufacturer. For the past month, the partnership had been the talk of all ballerinas of color. They’d come out with pointe ballet shoes in colors that matched Asian and black skin tones. Bronze, copper, and even more dark shades. It was the first time anyone had ever done it. The shoes had begun selling off the shelves, before they could be put on them.
It was a historic moment in ballet history for all women who came from underrepresented groups.
No more pancaking for me!
I clapped as I rushed away. Even Akiva’s assistant hurried with me, probably just as excited to see what was in the box.
I arrived at my dressing room in no time.
A large box sat at the center. It reached up to my hips.
A pink rose had been taped to the box with a card.
Oh, Misha.
I ran over, pulled off the rose, and opened the card.
Damn, you know how to spoil me.
Smelling the beautiful flower, I tore open the envelope, and read.
Ava,
Check another thing off your long list today, my love. Someone will be over to make sure each pair fits to your liking.
Love,
Your BOYFRIEND.
(P.S. Can Bob do this?)
I covered my mouth and giggled.
Lisa stood by me. “Do you know who it’s from?”
“Yes.” Grinning, I set the envelope on my dressing table. “My boyfriend.”
Lisa grabbed some scissors from a shelf on the other side of the room.
I can’t wait to open this.
Lisa handed me the scissors.
I cut the top part of the box and lifted it up. “Holy. Shit.”
There were shoes upon shoes wrapped in tissue paper. I not only had enough for the season. I may not need to buy anymore in the next few years. Different shades of brown—colors that I hadn’t even seen on their website.
“They are so pretty.” Lisa adjusted her glasses. “Do you need help prepping them?”
“Uh.” I picked up a few and marveled at them. “Yes. Maybe two or so. . .um. . .yeah. I want to wear them tonight.”