“You’re not only rude, you’re a liar. Volkov Ballet is owned by Nadia Volkova.” I remembered the beautiful Russian woman known for her incredible precision during her reign as the featured prima ballerina of her generation. She’d taken that dedication to perfection with her when she opened her own company. She had an unshakeable level of expectation in any dancer she accepted into her ballet. Nadia wasn’t only a legend, she had been my role model. I would have cut off the big toe on my right foot to have her notice me. Of course, doing so would have made dancing on pointe virtually impossible, but it was the thought that counted.
“She’s dead,” he said evenly. “I’m her oldest son. My brother Yuri and I are now co-owners of the company.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. She was an incredible woman,” I said sincerely, momentarily forgetting I was pissed off. How could I not have known she’d passed away at far too young an age? Then again, considering my life had not only gone to hell, but I’d purposely kept my involvement with anything having to do with that past life restricted to giving classes to children who didn’t know how to plié without looking like awkward frogs, it really wasn’t all that surprising.
“She was,” he said, not revealing any further information, but the tone in which he said those two words let me know he was sincere.
Suddenly remembering that I wasn’t interested but was anxious to get this guy out of my driveway, I quickly shot back, “Do you not know my history? Do you not know what I did?”
He didn’t flinch at the anger in my voice. “I’m aware you walked right off the stage in the middle of a production, leaving a company already reeling from the loss of one prima ballerina without their second. That your actions practically destroyed the entire company all because you were a jealous bitch,” he said without so much as a blink of an eye. While I fought not to reach out and scratch that asinine look right off his face, he shrugged. “Or at least that’s what people have accused you of.”
Okay, so this smug bastard had no fucking clue. Volkov or not, it was obvious he hadn’t been in the ballet scene for long, and he didn’t know shit about the world of dance. Maybe his mother had shielded him from everything. Because to me, anybody who knew anything about ballet, especially people who were privy to the exclusive bubble prima ballerinas were kept in, knew every sordid detail.
“That’s the tip of the iceberg,” I said. I wasn’t proud of what I’d done, but I didn’t have the energy to explain why I’d made those choices. He didn’t press for details, as if it didn’t bother him in the least, which had me wondering what in the hell was going on with the company he’d inherited. If he was coming to me, he was either desperate or far too inept to run a successful ballet company. But I didn’t care either way as I was far too jaded and way too exhausted to waste another moment on his problems. “Look, if you don’t know the rest, then you really shouldn’t be coming to me with talks of contracts.” I moved to step around him but was stopped when he shifted to block my exit.
“Then tell me,” he said. “Make me understand why a career as promising as my mother’s came to a screeching halt.”
At the mention of my idol, I hung my head in shame for a second, allowing my hair to fall over my eyes. Did this man really want to know everything? Should I tell him about the ambition of a girl barely out of her teens? The shallowness of one wanting desperately to fit in? How I’d not only dated a man old enough to be my father but all the terrible things I’d done from the moment I’d met the bastard? How he’d cost me my pride and almost my life? Should I mention the sex, the drugs I’d swallowed like candy, or the alcohol chasers I’d downed? I figured it would simply take one look online to reveal it all anyway, so if he really needed to know that badly, he could find out for himself. But at the same time, I did need him to go away, so I decided it more expedient to tell him anything to get his Audi sedan out of my driveway.
“Look,” I said in the firmest tone I was capable of using, “I am not the sort of woman you want representing your theater, I can assure you. I left that world behind a long time ago. And even if I hadn’t, I’m not in a position to dance anyway.”