Chapter 116
1772words
He leaps across the room, his reflection copying him in the floor to ceiling mirrors. One spin, a second and a third, before he bends forward, arms stretching long enough they give him the illusion of being taller than he is.
When he finishes his last pirouette, Roman faces me with his eyes ablaze. Some of his dark hair is stuck to his forehead.
I clap enthusiastically. "That was wonderful, Roman!"
His smile deepens his dimples. There's pride on his face, but his voice still has the fragility of an unsure child. "Thanks. But I keep messing up on the pivot."
"You'll get it, just keeping trying."
Cocking his head, he frowns to himself. Looking in the mirror he does a few quick half-bends, like he's testing my theory. "You're sure that's enough?"
Putting my hands on his shoulders from behind, I study our reflections. Roman has changed in a short amount of time. It began the night he was forced to witness his father's death. The kindness that was always in his heart has crawled fully into the light, allowing him to trust others, and to trust that he, himself, will never be like his father.
Under my hand I feel the rough patch of skin where his tattoo used to be. It's amazing that a single session was all it took to wipe the ink away.
He locks eyes on mine in the mirror, searching me, waiting for my answer. I smile easily. That's what's changed for me—smiling comes as often as blinking these days. "Yes, it's enough."
Leaving my star pupil to drill his movements, I walk to the front of the studio. The walls are plastered by photos of my family. It was tragic how many pictures were lost in the fire, but thanks to my husband, I was able to get copies of some, as well as brand new ones.
They look better out here, in the public eye, than hidden away in a tiny office.
Sitting behind the front desk I do a quick check of the schedule. My studio has had an endless list of students signing up. I never imagined having to limit class sizes before, but there's no choice. I don't even care that the reason has nothing to do with me or my teaching skills.
Once word spread that Astana Bukharova was running workshops, our phone didn't stop ringing. Sighing, I scribble down a few notes for myself on a chart. Don't be miserable, you wanted success, and now you have it. I'm grateful...
But I also miss the quiet beach in the Maldives.
I glance up, catching my mother just as she pushes the door open with my son in her arms. My heart bursts to its limit. Who needs a private island when I've got him? "Hi, Mom," I say, hurrying around to take Steven.
He's dressed in a breathable cotton onesie the color of a tangerine. Cooing at me, he waves his fat little fists. Pressing my face into his hair I breathe in until I'm dizzy.
"I don't mind watching him, of course," Mom says, "but I hope you're not working too hard. You know I'd be happy to take more shifts."
"You already teach half the morning classes, Mom. It's really fine." I kiss each of Steven's cheeks. "Did you have fun with babushka?"
He tucks one of his hands into his mouth, gnawing it with a smile.
The door opens again. Asher stands there, the warm air billowing into the studio. He's wearing a short-sleeve moss green shirt that hugs his biceps. His faded jeans cover the tops of his tan boots.
"Asher," I say, smiling happily.
He lays a kiss on my cheek before taking Steven in a single huge arm. His son squeals in excitement. They share the same eyes, and I wonder when Steven grows up how much he'll look like his father. "Are you ready to go?" he asks me and my mother.
She nods her head towards the dance room. "Let me tell Roman it's time."
Asher and I are alone with Steven. We come together naturally, hugging our son with our heads bent together. I crave moments like this, but today, I also need it.
I gently and carefully brush the dirt off the grave. When I'm done it's nearly polished. "Hey, Dad," I whisper, kneeling down. "Sorry about the mess. These summer rains are making everything muddy."
The grass has grown thick in the cemetery. Yellow dandelions have cropped up around my father's grave in thick blankets that lure honeybees. A few buzzes near me in drifting motions, settling here or there but leaving me alone.
That's good. I need to be alone.
"Steven is growing up really fast, I can hardly believe it. One day he's crying in the hospital, the next he's starting to roll onto his back. He's going to be a spunky one, I think." I'm smiling, but tears well up in my eyes; I wipe them away. "I wish you could meet him. I wish... I wish you were here. I miss you more than you know."
I pick out Steven's laughter on the breeze. I'm far enough away that I can barely make out my mother across the cemetery. She's holding Steven high, turning him like he's flying. I let her visit Dad first, explaining I had things to say in private. She didn't argue.
Just to her right, I see Asher looming over a grave, his head bent so low his whole face is shadowed. Beside him is someone else. Mila's black and blue moto jacket shimmers in the sun. She's cut her hair recently, the strands ruler-edged to line up with her jaw.
I can't read the name on the grave they're standing at. I know who it is, though.
Kostya's death has weighed heavily on them both. At his memorial, Asher spoke proudly about his bravery and how honorable he was. It feels strange to recall I used to hate Kostya. He'd been cruel to me, but in the end, his loyalty never wavered.
He'd saved Asher once and died trying a second time. No one will forget his sacrifice.
Mila glances up suddenly, sensing me staring. I stiffen because even at this distance her eyes are hawkish. She considers me for a long while with the wind ruffling her short hair. Finally, she turns, whispers something to Asher, and walks off with her hands in her jacket pockets.
She's always acted aloof, but I know how big her heart is.
It's thanks to her that I got this back. Clutching something in my cardigan, I lightly trace each letter of my dad's name on the grave. I hesitate before repeating it with his surname. My heart thuds quicker, curling on itself as I fight a wave of sadness.
"Until next time." Placing the rose brooch on top of the grave, I lean forward, tapping my lips on the stone in a gentle kiss. "Bye, Dad."
"This is so good! Your chef is amazing!" Adriana gushes. She stuffs another forkful of salmon into her mouth; some of it drips onto her golden dress, and she winces, dabbing at it with a napkin. Jonah hides an entertained smile behind his second glass of wine. He's drinking more than the rest of us, especially Adriana, who hasn't touched hers.
Giggling politely, I point my fork at Asher. "He cooked this, actually."
Adriana freezes with her fork in her mouth. Wide-eyed, she swallows the food, washing it down with some ice water. "He what? Well, I was already happy for you, but this confirms you've got yourself a real catch."
"It is pretty tasty," Jonah admits reluctantly.
"Don't be like that, you've polished off half your plate," Adriana chides him.
Jonah pulls a face before putting his fork down. "Because I'm hungry."
Adriana rolls her eyes at me, and I can't stop myself from giggling. It's surreal that we're sitting here in the mansion. It wasn't long ago that I'd had to sneak Adriana into the cellar in a crate of fruit. "I'm glad we could all have dinner together," I say.
"Me too," she agrees, "I've been looking for an excuse to get everyone in the same room."
Asher stiffens, casting me a curious look. I shrug to indicate I don't know what she's talking about. "What do you mean?" he asks warily.
Her grin is so big the corners of her eyes vanish in deep crinkles. Clearing her throat, she pushes her chair back, standing and tapping the edge of her glass with her knife dramatically.
"Jonah and I have an announcement. We're having a baby!"
Gasping, I shove my chair away so I can rush around and hug her. "Adriana, oh my god, congratulations!" She laughs, tears squeezing down her cheeks as we jump up and down together. My best friend is going to have a baby! Our kids can grow up together!
Asher peers at Jonah over his hands with a kind smile. "You'll enjoy being a father."
At first he looks unsure how to react. I let go of Adriana, eyeing Jonah nervously, unsure if he'll say something rude or snide or what. As nice as things have gotten, he has every right to hold a grudge against Asher for what he was put through.
Taking a big breath, Jonah inclines his head in a knowing way, like they're swapping stories. "Thanks, I hope so. No backing out of it now."
Adriana scoffs playfully while lightly tapping Jonah on the arm. He pretends to flinch, but his half smile reveals how much he enjoys their game.
When we're all back in our sets, Asher raises his glass. Now I get why Adriana hadn't touched her wine. "Cheers to your new family," he says loudly.
"And cheers to no more late nights at Topher's," Adriana says. She gives me a side-eye and smirks. "Though I can't pretend I won't miss it."
Everyone descends into chatter, conversations overlapping. I listen, but my mind is elsewhere. I'm traveling along that string of thought Adriana just handed me. Topher's was another lifetime ago. The woman I was then doesn't exist anymore, not really. I'm still Camila Marakov, but I've grown enough to understand what that means.
I've witnessed death and trauma, passion and love.
I lost many things on my way here. But when I lift my head, gazing at Asher, hearing my son cry upstairs in a nursery that was once locked away and covered in dust, I'm positive of one thing.
Life can't get any more perfect than this.
