Page 2 of Poisoned Roses

In the beginning, I reported him and was punished because of it. The director, Rodion, believes Leo can do no wrong and accused me of trying to undermine him. He said I was alwaysplaying the diva and it wouldn’t work with him and if I didn’t like it, he would relegate me to the chorus and let another dancer take my place who would be infinitely better than me.

That’s the trouble with being the principal ballerina in the Bolshoi. There are many others waiting for you to fall. Jealous of your success, complaining that you’re not good enough and all the hard work and sacrifice only increases when you reach the top of the pile.

The applause is deafening and as we take our bows, a small child wanders on from the wings in a pretty white dress with an excited smile on her face. As she stops in front of me, she hands me another bouquet and my eyes blur when the same flower arrangement stares up from my arms, the single black rose mocking me.

I hold the bouquet reverently and smile – my heart racing, and not just because of the physicality of the show. He could be here now—watching me. Plotting his next move and I have nowhere to go or to hide, completely at his mercy and agenda.

As soon as the curtain falls for the last time, we head into the wings and to our respective dressing rooms to change. As always, my dressing room receives a stream of visitors, and tonight will be no exception. They crowd inside for photographs and to present me with flowers and broad smiles, hoping for a moment with the famous ballerina. This is their moment of fame by way of a little of my sparkle rubbing off onto them.

I accept it gratefully. It’s what makes this all worthwhile. The business men though, I could do without them. Leery, cruel, and conniving. Men of importance in their own world, hoping for a dinner date or more. There is always a line of men desperate to win my attention. Not because of me, Tia, because of Tatiana Pavlov, Russia’s darling princess.

Nadia is waiting, the one person I can trust, and she hands me my water bottle and grins.

“You were brilliant, Tia; you always are. There is nobody who can hold a candle to your brilliance.”

I’m used to hearing gushing compliments, because that’s what they think I want to hear. Nadia isn’t like that. She will tell me if I had a bad night, which is why I flash her a grateful smile and say gratefully, “Thank you, Nadia. I appreciate it.”

A gentle tap on the door causes her to roll her eyes. “It begins.”

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to receive the adoring congratulations of well-wishers. As the first person heads through the door, I set my mood to business and smile and pose for the camera and accept their gifts graciously.

One hourlater and the final person leaves and I take a deep breath and stare at myself in the lit mirror. The person staring back at me is nothing like the woman inside. Confident, immaculate and self-assured. Russia’s sweetheart – their uncrowned queen. Not the frightened woman who hides behind the smile because somebody is plotting my downfall.

The door opens and Rodion heads through it, looking flustered.

“Tatiana.”

His gruff use of my name stirs a feeling of dread inside me.

What have I done now?

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

I stand and make to follow him and he says over his shoulder, “President Orlov has requested an audience.”

My stomach lurches as I scurry after him because a request to meet with the president is an order and I’m under no illusions about that.

I follow Rodion to the private VIP room that is set behind the royal box, wondering if Leo will be joining us there. The two leading dancers typically greet visiting dignitaries together, but I don’t see him and wonder if he’s already arrived.

As I climb the stairs, Rodion says nothing and in no time we are waiting outside the VIP entrance.

“Do not embarrass me or the Bolshoi.” Rodion growls, his words designed for my ears only.

I nod as I attempt to still my frantic heart and as we step inside the room, a sea of faces turns to watch our approach.

“Your excellency, may I present Tatiana Pavlov.”

I curtsey in front of the president and his wife and he nods, appearing disinterested and merely says gruffly, “A fine performance.”

He turns away and I move to the man beside him, Rodion guiding me with a hand on my arm.

“Boris Fedorov.” He announces and I shiver inside, knowing only too well the reputation of the most feared man in Russia.

“A pleasure, Miss Pavlov.” He grips my hand and holds it tightly, his thumb caressing my skin and desire lighting his eyes.

He makes my skin crawl and I long to snatch my hand away, but duty wins out and I smile. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Fedorov.”

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