Return Of The Untamed Billionaire. Carol Marinelli
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closed her eyes, desperate to not escape the zone that she had found tonight.
And with the sweet taste of chocolate on her tongue she remembered her first taste.
Always she had practised in the kitchen, but once she had become a teenager, her mother had told her she could not dance when the boys were eating, as it teased them.
She would put on an apron and serve their meals instead.
Oh, but there was one she would love to tease.
Roman.
He and his twin had a talent for boxing and Sergio, the maintenance man, trained them and insisted that the Zverev twins would make it in the boxing world.
As a younger girl, Anya had laughed as they’d trained and had told them that she was far fitter.
She had been.
Anya had been accepted at a prestigious dance school, but in the holidays she would come back.
There were four boys, and they were always together—Roman, Daniil, Nikolai and Sev.
Trouble the workers called them.
Anya didn’t think so.
But on the eve of Daniil’s adoption by a rich family in England, a fight had broken out and Roman had won.
She could remember Daniil sitting in the kitchen as her mother had done what she could to repair his cheek.
‘The rich family don’t want ugly,’ Katya had said to him as Anya had fetched the first-aid box.
She had looked at Daniil and seen the confusion in his eyes that his brother could have done this to him.
‘It’s because Roman wants what is best for you,’ Anya had wanted to say, for it had been clear to her that Roman had not really been cross with his brother, just let him think he could do better in boxing without him.
She had been too nervous to say that in front of her mother.
After Daniil had left for England, the little group of four had quickly disbanded.
Sev had been given a scholarship to a very good school and had later boarded there.
Nikolai had, they’d thought, run away and thrown himself in a river. But, as they had recently found out, he had simply run away.
Only Roman had remained in the orphanage.
Now, at mealtimes, Roman had come for the second sitting, the one reserved for the older, most troubled boys.
He had been so beautiful. Dark hair and pale skin and he’d had black eyes that would look across the dining room and catch Anya’s at times. Always she had been aware of him and anticipated his arrival. Even on the coldest of mornings, when he’d come in to breakfast, there had been heat in her cheeks, just because he had been near.
In the evenings, when she’d served him his stew, sometimes their fingers had touched under the plate he’d held out.
Anya had lived for those moments and ached for time to speak with him properly, but he had been in the secure wing, so it had been an impossible dream. Sometimes she’d convinced herself that she was imagining that Roman felt the same way about her, until one night when their fingers had met beneath the plate. He had given her something and Anya frowned as she’d felt the slim package.
Worried that her mother would notice, she’d quickly put it into the pocket of her apron but then, when she’d been sent to the cupboard to eat her soup, she’d taken it out.
Chocolate.
Belgian chocolate.
And a whole bar!
How had he got it?
And why, instead of eating such a rare treat himself, had Roman saved it for her?
Oh, her mother had found out. She had opened the cupboard door and found Anya pushing chocolate into her mouth.
Katya had berated her daughter as she’d slapped her, but for Anya it had been worth it, not just for the sweet taste, more that Roman had thought enough of her to give her such a treat.
All these years later she still had the foil and, as she touched it, she smiled at the memory.
It was time to return to the stage.
With her mother’s shawl wrapped around her, again she painted her lips scarlet and then back through the maze of corridors she went.
Firebird soared even higher.
She danced the monsters into the shadows and as she did so, she thought of the lover who had left her.
How he had broken her heart when he had left without so much as a goodbye.
But she had risen.
Anya had poured all her grief, her anger and her longing into her next love—ballet.
And it had paid off, it would seem, for she was here, under the lights, now a prima ballerina, enchanting the audience, whom she held in the palm of her hand tonight.
How the firebird mocked the monsters on stage as she danced them into exhaustion and yet her energy remained.
Just as she always did, she imagined Roman watching as the prince held her and turned her and she was perfection in his arms. She hoped Roman ached in regret for leaving her behind.
As the magical egg cracked open, she closed her mind to the grief and the memory of his smile filled her heart.
Flu had swept through the orphanage and the orphans had been confined to their dorms. Walking into his room in the secure unit to deliver his supper, just before he’d left the orphanage, they had been alone for the first time for a moment. How she had ached to lower her head and kiss that sulky mouth.
‘How did you get the chocolate?’ she had asked.
Roman hadn’t answered but she had warmed to the first glimpse of his smile.
And tonight she was on fire to the memory of it.
But then it had been over.
Firebird did not appear in the final scene; instead she sat on the floor in the wings and dragged in air, utterly drained. Then as the performance ended, she listened to the cheers and the applause and she hauled herself up. When it was her turn, the firebird ran onto the stage as serene and as beautiful as ever to accept the applause.
The audience rose as she returned. They knew they had seen an amazing performance tonight and that she had danced with all that she had.
Tatania offered deep curtsies, swooped and picked up the roses that were thrown onto the stage.
She knew that she had earned every bravo and every cheer and Tatania smiled as still they cheered on.
There was a ten-minute standing ovation and over and over they called her back to accept the applause, but just as the noise started to ebb, she heard it.
‘Brava krasavitsa!’
Beautiful woman.
Tatania froze momentarily and turned her face up and to the right and peered into the darkness but she could not see him.
Yet her soul recognised his voice.
Roman was here.
IT WAS NOT the words that made her freeze, because there were many Russians in the audience and she heard that phrase often. No, it was the depth of his voice that made her face lift and her eyes scrutinise the darkness, and for a brief second in an otherwise faultless performance, she was Anya Ilyushin.
The cook’s daughter.
The orphans had all thought her posh because she’d had a parent and had later attended a prestigious dance school where she had learnt