Chapter 84
1490words
It's bright outside, and oddly sunny for winter. The glare through the car's windshield blinds me at certain angles. Asher's sunglasses make it hard to catch the way his eyes skirt toward me before returning to the road.
'Where are we going?"
There's a wisp of a smirk on his lips. 'You'll see."
'Why can't you just say?" I ask.
'Because the point of a surprise is to be surprised, ptichka."
I roll my eyes, but truthfully, I'm delighted. It's clear he's enjoying himself, so this 'surprise" must be good. Plus, the last surprise like this involved me getting a bucket-list item of a ballet performance of a lifetime. What could he be cooking up?
Having something to take my mind off how stressful the last months have been is a welcome change. It's only been a few days since Asher's foiled assault on the Winter Palace. From browsing the internet on my phone, I was able to find out that the news reported the incident as the cops intervening in some massive organized crime feud. Listening to clips of the chief of police smugly rambling to the camera about how proud he was of his team for suppressing such dangerous Mafia activity was infuriating.
No mention at all that the Winter Palace was running a secret brothel.
No mention at all of the fact that those dead cops were likely all on Yannick's payroll.
I wanted to shake my phone and scream. You're going after the wrong people! I hope Adriana spoke with Jonah, and if she did, that he was able to convince the police to pull back just enough.
I feel guilty for asking Adriana to get involved. It mirrors how she must feel toward me, to see a friend getting into the thick of the underground crime world.
But she can at least walk away.
I can't.
'See anything interesting?" Asher suddenly pries.
Curious, I look out the window. I'd recognize these streets anywhere. I've walked them for my entire life. But they don't look familiar. It takes me a moment before I realize why.
'No way," I mutter.
Asher is grinning like a madman. I spare a look at him before pressing my nose to the window as we pull up to the side of the building in mid-construction.
As soon as the car comes to a stop, I open the door to jump out, gasping in the cold air as I walk toward the sight of the impossible. The scent of sawdust and paint lingers in the crisp air. The windows that were last shattered into pieces are now perfect crystal rectangles.
He's rebuilding the studio!
'Do you like it?" Asher asks behind me.
Without turning back, I gawk open-mouthed. I can't tear my eyes away. 'When did all this start?"
He lets out a pleased laugh. 'Almost immediately after it burned down." I get the idea he's trying to be modest. 'Well? What do you think?"
Throwing my arms around his neck, I kick up my feet, hanging on with all my weight. He grins, supporting me by my middle, which, in spite of my rounded belly, is no trouble for him.
'This is incredible! I can't believe it! It isn't even painted, and it looks bigger and better than before!"
'Do you want a tour of the inside?"
'Yes!" Dizzied by excitement, I nod multiple times. Asher beams as he helps me stand, then lets me lead him through the front doors. The lobby is bare of all the usual pamphlets and flyers that my mother would pin up like wallpaper. But I can see them in my head easily enough. My eyes turn toward the familiar spot where Mom would usually sit, and I feel a pang of sadness when I see nothing but empty space.
My feet carry me through the building like they know where they're going. Inside, Asher has managed to preserve the familiar old layouts, but expanded the place at the same time. The cramped office packed with hoarder levels of boxes is gone. The room built in its place is big enough to fit two full desks.
'I have everything we could save from the fire in storage," Asher says behind me. 'I wish I could say there was a lot, but …"
'No, this is perfect."
The fire destroyed a sordid part of the studio. The terrible things my parents were forced to endure in pursuit of their dreams.
It's better this way. Now, things can start afresh.
Well, as fresh as anything can be.
Turning on my heel, I flash him a smile. 'We'll make enough new memories that this room will be just as packed as before."
His eyes soften. 'Yes. I believe we will."
I must wander the new studio three times over. Each time I traverse the three different rooms, I'm inspired to do it over again. I'm trying to imprint this place into my body. To convince myself there must be some small flaw somewhere. But there isn't.
'It's perfect," I finally say. 'It's everything the two of them dreamed it could be."
And just like that, sorrow that I'm not prepared for crashes through my veins.
Asher stands in front of me. 'Once I've finished with Yannick and things are safe again, you'll be able to return here with your mother and teach your students. Old and new."
I begin to smile, but it's overtaken by a blanket of unease. The mere mention of Yannick's name creates a foreboding sensation heavy enough to throttle my joy. I try and breathe in deeper, seeking more oxygen. But the pressing feeling on my chest doesn't go away.
No matter what happens … No matter what changes ... It can't change who I am.
'Camila?" he asks gently.
I turn toward the wall of plaster with its pink insulation hanging out. Somehow, it looks organic—like the place is a living thing. Something that's regrowing and will continue to, even if Asher hadn't paid people to shape it into what it currently is.
I bite back a wave of sadness.
'It's just …" I start. 'This studio was the dream of Stepan Rubinov. Keeping this place in his memory was supposed to keep his dream alive."
A tightness has built in my rib cage. I shift from side to side, but nothing dislodges the pressure. I say, 'I wanted to keep his dream alive because I thought I was his daughter." I pause to swallow the lump in my throat. 'Only, I'm not. I never was."
I close my eyes so that Asher can't see the tears welling up in my eyes. Because if he sees them, he'll want to sweep me into his arms and promise me that Yannick can't hurt me. But nothing he does can erase the fact that I'm that monster's daughter. That his blood flows in my veins.
'What right do I have to this place?" I finally ask, and my voice breaks.
Asher edges closer to me, not shying away. Not even when I look at him with what must be enough regret to fill a funeral home. He keeps moving closer until he's touching my shoulders firmly, anchoring me like a ship tossed about on a stormy sea.
'You will always be Stepan's daughter."
'But—"
'I mean it." He cradles my face, the color of his eyes growing lighter in the brightness of the day. 'Yannick may have fathered you, but it was Stepan who raised you. He could have tossed you aside. He could have hated you. But instead, he loved you with everything he had. And you loved him. Stepan is your father. No one can take that away from you, Camila Marakov."
A shift of muscle and bone and grief moves through me. Biting back tears of thanks, I hug Asher tight, seeking his presence for comfort. His words mean the world. But his actions—they've shown me time and time again that he truly loves and cares for me.
'Thank you," I whisper. 'For everything. For helping me keep his memory alive."
'If all it took was spending money, nothing would die," he says softly. He kisses my forehead, stroking my hair.
I marvel at that before stepping away. My eyes track upward, just to take in one last look at the dance studio. My hope is the next time I see it, the mirrors will be in place, and students will be twirling across the floor.
'Huh," I say when I notice something.
Asher pulls up short. 'What is it?"
'The security cameras aren't here anymore." I point. 'Are you going to reinstall them?"
He blinks a few times. Cocking his head, Asher furrows his forehead like I gave him an impossible math problem without a solution. Suddenly, his expression changes and the lines all vanish at once.
'We have to go back home," he says. 'I just thought of something."
