I knew my father. He was making this up as he went along.
“Yes, Papa. I’ll do anything. Anything you want.” I rushed around his desk, jumping into his lap just like I’d done when I was little.
“Then this is my gift to you. It’s between us. Okay? Our little secret.”
“Papa?” I was very confused.
“Just say it for me.” He took my hand into his and when he did, he crumpled the paper. His hand was shaking. “Say it, Anastasia.”
“Yes, Papa. Our little secret.”
He seemed relieved, nodding several times.
“Good girl. Just remember, there could be a time I need to bring you back home. I hope that will not be necessary, but if I do, you will come.”
“Of course, Papa.” A lump had already formed in my throat. Something was terribly wrong.
“Until then, this is my gift to you. I will always love you. Never forget that you are very special. A beautiful lost angel.”
Lost. I wasn’t lost. “Papa?”
Why did it feel as if he’d made a deal with the devil and at some point, the demon would come to claim his prize?
CHAPTER 1
Eight years later…
New York City
Anna Scavo
As the crescendo neared, the music powerful and ripped with passion, I floated across the stage on my toes, counting the measures before spinning in a perfect pirouette. There was no room for error. This was the grand finale of my first solo performance, the moment I’d waited for my entire life. Every brutal hour spent on the dance floor, every sprain, bloodied toe, and cramp. Every weekend spent on the dance floor. Dates missed, tears shed. Weight loss. Hair loss. Criticism.
Praise.
Everything came down to this singular event. One dance. One push toward greatness.
After a subtle plea to the gods above, I took a leap of faith, rising high about the stage, certain my partner would catch me. I had faith in him. He was so strong, so powerful, the most incredible partner I’d ever practiced with. When he captured me with ease, the audience roared their appreciation, the grand jeté exactly as planned.
Using one hand, Mikhail kept me aloft, peering up at me as if the two of us were madly in love. We’d told a story of romance and heartache, two lovers destined for tragedy because of an evil monster. As the overhead lights shimmered across the stage, everyone in thecorps de balletmoved into position for the finale.
The moment freeing, I held my position, the smile no longer practiced but coming from the heart. The night meant everything to me. With a single push, I rolled into Mikhail’s arms and we both fell to the stage, the music now dark and foreboding.
Only when the lights faded to black did I allow myself a deep breath.
In my mind, this was exactly how a love story should be. Unbridled passion. Taking a leap of faith.
The perfect fairytale likeSleeping Beautywith a happily ever after.
My prince saving me against the dark evils of the world. If only Mikhail could be that prince, but alas, he was nothing but a heartbreaker and not my type. As always, I could envision my perfect prince: tall, dark, and muscular with long, thick ebony hair and intense blue eyes that would create a magic spell. Whowas I kidding? There was no prince waiting for me in the wings. In fact, there was no one at all to celebrate with.
My heart was in my throat. Would the audience like the performance? Would I be panned by critics? Would I ever do this again? I couldn’t breathe, anxiety clawing at my neck.
“Calm down, darling,” Mikhail whispered before pressing a single kiss against my forehead. “You were fabulous.”
The ugly silence faded into noise coming from the audience. Cheers.
I gripped his arm, breathless and thrilled beyond my wildest dreams.
