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.”
