Page 31 of Natasha
"That makes me happy," she said with a genuine smile that lit up her face.
The sight made Silas let out a little moan. "You're breathtaking when you're open," he told her, his eyes intent on her.
"Thank you." Natasha forced herself not to look away from him then as she often did. She wanted to begin to see herself as he did. Like a precious and delicate thing. It wasn't easy, but like anything in Natasha Ochenko's life, that only meant it would be all the sweeter once she managed it.
And Ochenkos always managed.
* * *
"Lovely girls,"Olya Ochenko said, her eyes on the class that Natasha was currently teaching. She was standing with her daughter in what was normally her grandmother's office, but on special occasions served as a viewing area when someone of import came looking for fresh talent. Anyone worth their salt knew to come to the Brooklyn dance school if they were looking for fresh blood. That, and when they were after Natasha for a comeback role. She didn't know why they bothered; she turned every last one of them down with barely a word. It didn't stop them from visiting her every other month with visions of grandeur but that wasn't for her. Not anymore. She was a teacher now, and the girls her mother was commenting on were her own.
It washergirls in their front most classroom—a room all lined in glass to create the most impressive sight possible when new students entered the school for the first time. Only the most advanced students were ever allowed over its threshold, which made the room the school's crowning jewel.
It was a room Natasha was intimately familiar with and not just because she taught the majority of her classes in it. She'd been front and center at the age of twelve, which meant that she knew the "lovely girls" currently executing flawless technique could be as ruthless as a pack of wolves. More than once, she'd broken up a cat fight or the beginnings of drama directed at the weakest of the girls. It was a ritual that seemed timeless, the machinations of bullying the same as when she had been a child. Natasha did not tolerate bullying in any shape or form and was pleased that the behavior had nearly disappeared from her classes.
As a young dancer, she'd been the target of older girls who felt threatened by her talent. She'd gotten her first lessons in remaining cold, had become proficient in the game of lying and backstabbing. It made her sick to think of how she'd adapted to survive the harshness of that jewel box looking room.
"Mmm," Natasha hummed, her tone noncommittal as she forced her mind away from the spectacle playing out in front of her. It made her angry when she thought back to how many walls she'd needed built around her heart to survive. She didn't like to dwell on such things, not when her heart was beginning to thaw under Silas' attention. Except that her flippant response had the effect of making her mother's eyes sharply cut to her.
"Mmm?" Olya asked with narrowed eyes. "Just hmmm? Those are your girls showing off for that wet behind the ears director from Broadway today, and that's your response?"
Natasha shrugged, turning to busy her hands. She plucked a folder from the filing cabinet in front of her and made a show of flipping through it. When she didn't turn back around, her mother let out a long suffering sigh.
"Natalia Elisbeth." The name hung in the air, making Natasha cringe. She hated it when her mother used her middle name, but it was also a warning that her mother wanted her full attention.
"Yes, Mama?" Natasha answered with as even of a tone as she could. She turned to face her mother, her features smoothed out with no trace of the sudden anger that had just flared through her.
"What's going on?"
"How do you mean?"
"Dance is your life. You were the one who even set this whole thing up for the girls." Her mother waved a hand at the glass fronted classroom to their left. "And all you have to say is hmmm? That director is probably only here because he wants to try and make you take up the role of the swan, because the fool thinks that Christmas in July is just the perfect theme for a show." Her mother shook her head with a snide little sniff. "I'll never understand Americans."
"You're American," Natasha said with a little laugh. "Grandfather was from Brooklyn. Just down the street." She jerked a thumb at the door of the school for emphasis. Her mother rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.
Olya shoved her hands to her hips. "You know what I mean."
"Mmmm." Natasha hummed again, but this time, it was hiding a smile at her mother's agitation.
"Are you going to tell me why you are acting like a sullen teenager, or am I going to have to guess?" her mother asked.
"It's nothing, Mama," Natasha huffed, setting the folder in her hands down.
"It's something. Is this about that beast of a man? Peachtree?" her mother asked with a pinched look on her face, "Because if it is, don't worry. I already told that little man I was going to take him for every dollar he had if he showed his face here again and that he forfeited his advance pay for his daughter."
Natasha shook her head. "It's not about Peachtree...although good, I'm glad you told him that."
"Of course, I would tell him that."
"I know you would," Natasha lied with a thin smile.
"Then, what is it?" her mother asked, this time in a gentler tone. It was the tone she used when Natasha was sick or injured, one that made her think of snuggling close to her mother under blankets while she had her hair brushed. It was hard not to give in to that voice.
"I've met someone," Natasha said quietly. She hadn't intended on telling her family about Silas. There was the worry that they would scare him off, but now she knew that wasn't so. Silas wasn't going anywhere, least of all from her grandmother and mother putting on airs.
Olya clapped her hands with excitement. "Who?"
"A friend," Natasha said suddenly, wondering if she should have said anything. She knew her mother was eager for her to get married, but clapping with excitement was new.
