Page 16 of Poisoned Roses

“No!” I attempt to reassure her, but her smile is weak. “It’s okay, I understand. You may last a few more weeks, months even, or this could be your last performance. We both understand how it works in Russia. The State decides your life while giving you the impression you have choices. You do not.”

“I’ll fight for my right to dance.” I hiss, because if I’m sure of anything, it’s that.

“It may not be your decision, Tia. Rodion will receive pressure to replace you and you know that would happen because he prides himself on preserving the dignity of the Bolshoi and we are expendable in his eyes.”

I think back to my meeting with him earlier and a faint stirring of what could be classed as fondness washes over me. He was so kind to me back there. Holding me, murmuring that everything would be okay. Right then he wasn’t the feared director of the Bolshoi. He was the closest thing to a father I can remember.

A loud knock on the door gives me five minutes, and as I slip the ring onto Nadia’s finger, she wastes no time in slipping the costume over my head.

We don’t have time to dwell on present circumstances now because the show must go on and if this is to be my final performance, I must make it the best one of my life.

When the curtain rises,my private life fades into the background as the music takes over my soul.

As I connect with the haunting melodies, the world ceases to exist as I immerse myself in the story. Every rehearsal counts as my body reacts to the practiced moves, delivering them with beauty and grace rather than the arduous journey of getting here.

I am the music. I become it. My feet dance over the notes and react to the tempo. I am light, featherlike and at peace with the world. Nothing can touch me on the stage because here I am queen. I am admired, envied and celebrated as all the years of pain and bullying count for something amazing.

As I glide across the stage, the spotlight finds me, warming my skin and distracting me from the physicality of my movements. The audience is unaware how hard it is to look this light and effortless. It takes many years of sacrifice to reach thispoint and now, at the pinnacle of my career, they want to take it away from me.

But now I give myself wholly to the magic of ballet. I am not an ordinary girl. I am majestic, ethereal and untouchable.

There is poetry in the magic of dance and nobody can touch me here. Here I am queen and I have no king. I am dance and if this is the last time it holds me in its magic spell, I thank God that at least I’m here now.

It’s over.

The final curtain falls and I’m left with a massive withdrawal from the natural high dancing gives me. The spotlight fades, leaving the harsh light of reality shining on my inadequacies. The other dancers head off in their groups, leaving me to walk the solitary path to my dressing room to receive the line of well-wishers who only want a photograph to post on their social media accounts; pretending they are important enough to be seen with me at all.

It’s not me they are interested in, just what I am and I accepted that a long time ago.

My attention turns to my fiancé and my heart sinks. It is the same for him. I am an accessory, unimportant in his life, except for one thing. His own agenda. Whatever that is, I couldn’t care less because, for some reason, I feel safer with him right now than without him.

I steel myself for the flowers when I walk through the door and it’s as if they hit me hard in the gut as they take pride of place on my dressing table.

“Your admirer doesn’t give up.” Nadia smiles, and I return it briefly. She thinks this is romantic. The unknown Prince,charming the princess. She often wonders who it could be and has a dreamy expression on her face when she tries to work it out. I don’t. It’s as if the devil has come to the party and his intention is clear.

He wants my soul.

Well, he won’t have it.

“Nadia.” I take a deep breath as she stares at me with concern.

“Please can you dispose of the flowers and make sure if they are ever delivered again, they find the bin instead?”

“But–”

Her eyes widen and I hide behind the truth. “I am engaged and my fiancé will not appreciate an admirer, especially one whose gifts will grace every photograph taken in this room.”

“I understand.” She smiles sadly. “Of course.”

As she leaves, the visitors start coming and there is no time to think about the flowers, or who sent them.

One hour later and the last person leaves and Nadia sighs. “That was particularly arduous tonight.”

I nod, groaning as I slip off my ballet shoes.

“Listen, it’s been a long night. Why don’t you head home? I can finish up here and could really use a moment alone.”

“If you’re sure.” Nadia’s eyes are full of concern.

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