An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (2 page)

“Sorry,
Ines,” I mutter, and make my way to the stage raised about six steps above
them.

He’s
there in the sidelines, watching the way he always does. I don’t even need to
glance to my right or wonder why almost every girl in the building has suddenly
gathered near the exit to know he waits for me. The magnetism of his presence
can be felt from a distance that way. Nikolai. I steal a quick glance in his
direction just before the music starts. His shirt hangs open at the collar,
exposing his generous chest and playing against his noble, but strong features.

Glancing
out across the massive auditorium, I scan the isles for Mother. She’s nowhere,
as usual. My heart dips and my confidence wavers. I sometimes feel like nothing
more than a dancing doll attached to a rope; my pixyish little face always
smiling and my rubber heart breaking because she always expects me to survive
without her ever truly giving me any support. “Stop being a baby, Adriana,”
she’d always said when I used to cry because of my intense fear of performing.

Tears
burn behind my eyes. I was hoping this would be the day I could show her that
I’m made of flesh and blood and not plastic.

As
though I can sense his silent call, I turn toward the opening to the stage and
smile in Nikolai’s direction. He blows a kiss at me as I adjust my fresh white
tutu, clear my throat and wait for the opening notes. Lowering my eyes, I focus
on placing my feet in first position … that infamous pose where ballerinas
stand with our toes out and our heels touching. The tune that begins playing is
Berlioz, a sad song complete with tubas and violins that speed up and get
deeper as the piece progresses, one of Nikolai’s favorites. I can’t say the
same.
Great. This tune must be the most depressing song ever written.

Somehow,
I make it through the audition. No more hives or tacks or best friends
inspecting me like a prize instead of a woman who’s crying out for attention
inside this body. I do just fine until I get to the pirouette. Instead of
twirling and then bending my body to where I can do a leg stand on pointe, I
hesitate, lose my balance, and somehow wind up bouncing on the floor. I can
almost feel Ines’s disapproval before I glance her way. This is the final
audition, the crowning dance, Mother’s moment to shine while I agonizingly try
to please the ghost of her spirit sitting in the chair behind the judges. This
is the reason I had tacks inside my tutu. Someone wanted to make sure I didn’t
make it through this song, but I did. Ten girls out of the two hundred and ten
initial candidates are the only ones left to audition for this lead role.
Adrenaline has me all pumped up, feeling wild and crazy in my head, when I
should be worried about the move I just messed up. However, I’m not. There’s
only numbness.

“What
in the hell was that?” Ines asks, her voice booming through the auditorium.
She’s known for voicing her thoughts aloud during important auditions such as
this one, events that will gain attention for our company. Especially when one
of her dancers is the one chosen to represent the group. That happens to be me,
and I’m making her look bad in front of the board of directors.

“This
is an audition, not a playground,” she barks, her body trembling because she’s
that angry. I can’t help but to think how much her course gray hair sticking up
on her head, paired with her light gray blouse and charcoal colored pants, make
her look like the ex-ballerina bride of Frankenstein. Inhaling deeply, I
shuffle to my feet and try to calm my heaving chest. “Either get the damn moves
straight or remove yourself from the stage so someone else can have a chance.”

“All
is fine, Signora Barilla,” an older judge—who reminds me of my father with his
thick, wavy black hair and bright blue eyes—says as he smiles and places a hand
on my fuming boss’s forearm. A calm Ines is not happening, though. She’s wound
up like a bull, and I’m the target. Mother made a deal with her, I’m sure. So I
am really making her look bad because she probably wouldn’t have chosen me as
one of the top ten. That’s what Mother does with me, runs my life by
micromanaging the people around me, while she’s off somewhere being the super
businesswoman of the century.

“Nothing
is good here. She does not know the moves. She does not deserve to be on the
stage. She is a joke, I do believe. A whale of a girl hidden inside a
ballerina’s body.” Ines crosses her arms and glares at me, her last words
echoing through the auditorium. The tension of the moment is so thick I think
if I were to open my mouth then I’d taste the bitterness.

With
clenched fists, I stare her down, not even trying to rein in that infamous
Dostovsky handicap of mine, this little thing called feistiness. “Oh, go fuck
yourself!” I say through clenched teeth. It’s the first time I’ve ever cursed
at anyone. No kidding, my vocabulary makes Snow White look devious. A collective
gasp, along with a few snickers, from the small audience sitting behind the
judges and the girls standing along the edge of the stage behind me fill the
room. Suddenly, silence falls, the confirmation that I’ve lost my mind no
doubt, but strangely, there’s a bit of relief in there, too.

Turning,
I walk toward the exit door, gliding right past Nikolai, my angel with the
golden hair, the man who’s staring at me with his mouth wide open. I head back
to my dressing room, not stopping, even though he’s now calling out my name. My
chest hurts. I feel bat crap insane, and I just want to go home.

Adriana

I
burst through the door to my dressing room, my breath coming out in heavy
gasps.

“Adriana,
would you wait?” Nikolai says as he rushes through the door and stops beside
me, breathing heavily because he’s been chasing me. I throw my arms around his
neck and inhale his scent, a mixture of cologne with a hint of spice, a bit of
soap, and that raw scent of male that drives me wild. He hesitates a few
moments before lifting one arm, circling it around my waist, and using the
other one to cradle my head. I, in turn, allow my body to go limp in his
muscular embrace, the anger I felt minutes ago quickly turning to shame. The
tension of the moment I just experienced eases out of my body, making me feel
somewhat normal in the head again.

“I
screwed up,” I say into his neck, finding it hard to believe Nikolai isn’t
blasting me out about my pitiful excuse for a dance and my moment of insanity
in the end. He has put as much effort into sculpting me as any formal trainer
I’ve had in the past. Tonight was our moment to shine, and I’ve screwed up.

“Hush
now. Everything will be all right,” he assures me. I lift my head and stare
into his face, chiseled and noble, something I could gaze into and get lost
inside every day, a mask hiding a boy who has suffered through more than any
human should be allowed to experience.

“Wait.
Was that you standing off to the side of the stage, or your ghost?” I ask.

“You
did just fine. I am certain you have this role. It does not matter that you
cursed at your boss. I think she will recover. Any fool can see how talented
you are,” he assures me, smiling as he tugs me up against his chest, treating
me like that ten-year-old girl he used to patch up every time she fell off her
bike. I pull back and stare into his eyes, a misted bluish-gray wave of shadows
hiding the soul of a man wading its waters, lost in the past that still rules
his life. I know he feels something for me.

“Do
you see me? The real me?” I ask, my chest heaving. It’s a loaded question
intended for an answer I don’t think I’m about to get.

He
stares at me a short moment before he answers, “Of course I do. Alek and
Katerina are waiting at Maggiano’s. Where are your clothes?” When he takes a
tissue from the Kleenex box on my makeup counter and tries to wipe my eyes,
something inside of me snaps.

“I’m
not a baby anymore, Nikolai,” I say, shoving his hands away from my face.

Sighing,
he closes his eyes, but quickly opens them and looks back into my face, locking
gazes with me. For the tiniest bit, I get a glimpse of a different kind of
emotion, a gleam in his eyes that says he does see me as something other than a
child. Unfortunately, it turns in on itself and gets replaced by that stony
wall, reminding me that inside this gorgeous man’s body lives a killer, someone
who won’t think twice about doing things the rest of us could never imagine.
I’ve watched that side of him take over before. I know it could easily happen
again. “Adriana ...”

I
don’t give him time to finish the sentence. I’m done with being the cutesy
little sister of Aleksandr Dostovsky, the world famous Maestro, the girl with
the rich mother who still sets up her twenty-something-year-old kids’ dates,
and the billionaire father who disappeared because of a business deal gone bad
among his circle of Russian Mafiya
friends. I want Nikolai to see me, to
feel me, to understand how I ache inside each time he touches me as though I’m
still a little girl and not the woman who has grown to admire him for the man
he has become.

“We
certainly don’t want to keep
them
waiting, do we?” I unsnap my tutu,
ripping it in the back, not caring one bit. Ines can send the bill to Mother.
The delicate fabric floats to the floor. At once I start yanking at the straps
to my leotard, pulling them down and removing the whole unit. The outfit is
just a reminder of the job I’m not about to get anyway. I let the entire thing
fall to the floor, exposing my chest and bare ass ... again.

Nikolai’s
eyes bulge, his gaze raking over my naked body, his eyes darkening as he does
so. He’s trying really hard to keep that blasé look on his face only he knows
how to do. Too late! I saw what he just did. My drama moment has hit the spot.

Moving
his gaze back to my eyes, he orders, “Put some clothing on.” His voice is
deceptively calm and deep. “A lady should not behave in such a manner. Katerina
would disapprove of this.”

My
anger makes me forget all about my nudity. “That’s all I am to you, aren’t I? A
kid. Alek’s little sister, a chess piece, a pawn to make Mother happy. Tell me.
Does this look like a little girl’s body?”

“Don’t
be dramatic,” he scolds, grabbing hold of my forearms, but not hurting me. I
get a look that’s a cross between a frown and something else that’s hard to
explain ... admiration, shock, lust maybe?
Stop dreaming, you girl of
desperation and madness.
His shoulders tense and his face reddens. I’ve
ticked him off. Good. A reaction. I’m finally getting results, something other
than the bodyguard syndrome. However, I can also tell I’ve affected him in
other ways, too. The evidence lies in the details such as his flushed face and
the way his breathing has increased, the hungry look in his eyes. Releasing my
arms, he bends down, picks up the robe draped across my chair, and starts
trying to cover my body. I’m ten shades of embarrassed, and I just know my
naturally dark olive skin looks about as red as a strawberry right now.

Feeling
stupid, I snatch the robe and put it on. We stare each other down a little
longer before he sighs and says, “I’ll get the car.” Behind Nikolai, the door
flies open. Lis stumbles into the room, her eyes raking over the two of us, her
brown skin turning rosy in the cheeks as soon as her gaze meets Nikolai’s. My
friend has a crush on him, too … as does every ballerina in Aterballetto and
every other opera house, especially since the great Nikolai Belikov started his
own dance troupe under Mother’s new company. He’s totally ambitious for a
twenty-four-year old man, and I both love and hate that about him.

“Hot
damn, Adriana! You rocked the socks up outta the house, girlfriend. Buuuut did
I hear you tell Ines to go fuck herself?” She moves toward us, stopping in her
tracks once she takes in another eyeful of me standing there in my robe and
Nikolai looking flush-faced and guilty. “Okay, you’re interrupting something,
Lis,” she says kind of to herself as well as to Nikolai and me.

“No,
you are not,” Nikolai corrects, smoothing back a strand of hair that has fallen
into his eyes. He turns to me with that damn controlled but still sexy look
back on his face. How does he do that, turn his emotions off that way? I could
use some tips and pointers. “I will drive you to Maggianos. Be ready in ten
minutes.”

“Don’t
bother. I’m not a baby. Lis can take me.” We lock gazes and hold them; the
muscles in his jawline working so fast somebody might think he has a heart in
his mouth. Wait! That would be my heart he’s eating, the girl who can’t seem to
keep from offering it to him every chance she gets. Finally, Nikolai steals a
quick glance at Lis, purses his too perfect freaking lips in that way that
makes him look both sexy and dangerous, and says, “Suit yourself. One of us needs
to be the one to warn Katerina about her daughter temporarily losing her mind.
Might as well be me. See you at the restaurant.”

Grr!
Such a turncoat
. He
turns and stalks out the door, leaving me alone with a friend who gives the
Inquisition a run for the money when questioning someone in order to get the
dibs on something newsworthy. My standing there half naked with Nikolai
storming out the door—clearly bothered by my boldness, let me happily add—the
tension swirling around us like the buzz from an angry nest of bees, gives her
all the ammo she needs to fire up her question machine.

“And
that was all about what?” Lis asks, her face beaming. “Did I just interrupt a
‘he’s about to bang me’ moment? ‘Cause I’m so sorry if that’s what I did.
Especially since it was Nikolai Insanely Hot Belikov.”

Rolling
my eyes, I say, “It was about nothing. Nothing at all.” I swallow the knot of
whatever’s sitting in my throat as I stare at the door where Nikolai just
exited.

“If
you say so,” Lis answers.

“I
do. Meaning, I don’t want to talk about it,” I add, looking around for my
dinner clothes.

She
holds her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Subject change it is, then. We can
talk about the demon that got inside you out there in the auditorium.”

“One
question. Were you sleeping during the audition? Did you not see my major screw
up? I fell on my ass.” Even more humiliating than bouncing across the floor was
that Nikolai saw me. I’m scarred for life. I feel my skin flush all over again
as I recall the way I felt when I took my tumble down the hill of the most
insane in my head moment ever.

Lis
shrugs. “So what?”

I
want to shake her. No, not because I’m one of those kinds of girls, the mean
ones who abuse people for fun or stick tacks inside someone’s tutu just before
a major audition. This would be the get the hell out of here because I can’t
believe what you just said kind of shake. “She’ll never choose me. I told her
to go fuck herself, Lis.”

“I
know. My girl!” she says and lifts her hand, waiting for me to slap a high five
on it. After validating my insanity, I burst out laughing and so does she, and
it’s the holding your sides until you hurt and cry and snot all over the place
kind of giggling, too. Our temporary relapse doesn’t last long, though.

My
whistling cell phone slices through our moment, and I think my heart just
dropped into my banged up, ballerina feet. I’m pretty sure it’s Mother calling
to chew me out. She and Ines Barilla are tight and have been friends for years.
Somehow, Ines’s ties to several notable politicians were of some assistance to
Mother the night she planned our escape. I never asked how or why, mainly
because I didn’t care. I was angry and numb from going through something
neither Mother nor Alek, or even Nikolai, bothered to tell me. As usual, my
family was too busy protecting me to see how much leaving my father behind, the
tyrant I knew him to be, had affected everything I held true. I knew it
wouldn’t take long for her to hear of my bad girl behavior.

However,
the text isn’t from Mother; it’s from Nikolai. This is what he does, sends
messages when he’s too angry to speak his mind. Unlike Alek and me, who
practically grew up living in both Russia and America, Nikolai doesn’t express
himself in English as well as he writes it. And from what I’ve seen of his
temper when one of his dancers arrives late to practice, the text-my-thoughts
option is probably for the best.

N:
What is with you?

Me:
You’re the one who stormed out.

N:
You threw me out.

Me:
Er, you humiliated me.

N:
I did not.

Me:
Did too.

N:
YOU ARE INFURIATING!!!!!

Me:
Then stop acting like you don’t want me.

There.
I said it. Well, I kind of did, anyway. A long moment passes as I stare at the
screen; my eyes focused on the little pink box, which identifies the voice of
the person I’m texting and stalking with the eagerness of a hawk that’s waiting
for the chubby little field mouse to come out of the tree. No pink bubbles, no
snarky comeback. Nothing. I cannot believe I just said that to my brother’s
best friend.

Fingers
snap beside my head, jerking my attention back to the room. Lis waves a hand
before my face and says, “I’ll get the car while you two thorny birds are cyber
arguing.”

“Thorny
birds?” I ask, smirking.

“Yep,”
Lis answers, smiling as she stuffs her leotard and tutu into her giant black
bag and heads toward the door.

“I
get the thorny part, but what could possibly be birdlike about all of this?”

“Because
that’s what you two remind me of, the couple in that book the
Thorn Birds
.
It’s about a priest who wants to screw the hell outta the girl he’s watched
over all his life, but he’s too damn stubborn to admit it. Great book. A bit
dated and stuffy with the romance, but still pretty damn good. You can borrow
it.”