Me:It was fine. Papa was here.
The response is immediate.
Luka:Call me.
I hesitate, then press the call button. I knew he’d be concerned the moment I told him.
He answers on the first ring.
"What did he say?"
No hello. No preamble. Just straight to the point. That's Luka.
"He’s ensuring that I can’t get a sponsorship visa renewal from the Company when it expires in six weeks," I say quietly. "I have to go back to Moscow by the end of the month and marry Maxim Volkov."
Silence.
Then: "Like hell you do."
"Luka—"
"He can't force you to go back."
"He already has. He blocked my work visa extension through his influence around town. He's arranged a marriage—"
"To whom?"
"Maxim Volkov."
Luka swears, low and vicious, in Russian.
I close my eyes. "He said it's my duty. That I've had my 'adventure,' and now it's time to come home."
"And what did you say?"
"What could I say? You know I have no choice. He’s going to sour all my connections in New York. He practically owns everyone involved with the theaters in New York. And when my visa expires, I’ll be deported, anyway. Sent back to Moscow, or prison… one of the two.”
Another silence, longer this time. Like he's trying to come up with a solution that gets me out of this, and I wish with all my heart he could. If anyone can stop this, it’s Luka… but at what cost?
When Luka speaks again, his voice is calm. Too calm.
"How willing are you not to go back to Russia?"
I sit up slowly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… how far are you willing to go to stay here? To keep dancing? To pursue your dreams."
"Luka, what are you—"
"Just answer the question."
I think about my father's cold eyes. About Maxim Volkov and walking down the aisle to marry him. About the life waiting for me in Moscow—gilded and suffocating and nothing like the one I've built here.
I’d rather live three girls deep in a studio apartment than go back to the opulent life in Moscow that doesn’t belong to me.
"I'd do anything," I whisper.
"Good." I can hear him moving, the sound of a door closing. "Then pack your bags."
