by Holly Rayner
Instead, she saw his eyes close, and felt hers involuntarily do the same. Then, she felt the soft, gentle pressure of his lips on hers and a feeling like a trapdoor had opened inside her chest and dropped out everything inside. She felt light—almost weightless—and only knew that she still even had a body because she could feel his arm around her waist, and then his hand on her back.
It was a perfect eternity, and also not nearly long enough, when he pulled back and his lips left hers. She felt her eyes flutter open, and his face—both satisfied and concerned—came into focus.
“What is it, Ophelia?” he asked, the words just barely audible. “Where is this sadness coming from? What could you possibly have to be ashamed of?”
There was no question of running, and no question of lying, and no world in which she could possibly resist answering.
“We’re not the same,” she said.
His concerned look turned to a gentle smile, and she felt his hand rest on the side of her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek.
“No,” he said. “We’re not. You’re some kind of miracle, and I’m just a man.”
She looked down again.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean…”
She stopped, unsure of how to actually say the words.
Part of her couldn’t believe she was even trying to tell him. Of all the people in the world to tell, a worldly man like Salim was last on the list. At least with the men she’d gotten close to telling before, they were a little bit closer to where she was. A bit less experienced themselves. A bit more attainable. A bit less perfect.
But he wasn’t just some worldly, unattainable man, was he? In such a short time, he’d already become so much more than that. And he needed to know. No. She needed him to know.
Ophelia breathed in, breathed out, and tried to calm herself.
“It’s just that you’ve lived this life, and been with all of these women…”
He looked relieved.
“That’s what bothers you, is it? I can assure you, no woman from my past is going to surface and try to cause problems. I left things on good terms with all of them. And, as much as I admired them, there’s no one I’m holding onto feelings for, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She shook her head.
“No, that’s not what I mean. That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s not that you’ve been with other people. It’s that I…haven’t.”
“And you think that you not having been with many other men—”
“Any.”
The word flung out of her throat without her telling it to. For the briefest moment, Ophelia saw surprise register on his face. Then, it was gone.
“You think that you not having been with any other men is a problem?” he continued.
Ophelia searched his face for some kind of sign of judgement or pity. But there was none there. Only slight confusion and a desire to understand.
“Isn’t it?” she prompted.
Slowly, he shook his head.
“There are those in my country who would think quite the opposite. And I understand, coming from where you do, that there are people that might think it strange, with your age and your place in the world. But to me…no. I see it as a result of who you are. You pour yourself completely into your work. And if that leaves you missing some other things, then that’s just an inevitability. Why would I mind anything that meant you becoming the virtuoso that you are?”
With those words, simple as they were, a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying evaporated into the air around them. And the hesitation, the fear that had suddenly compelled her to run away evaporated, too.
All that was left was her and Salim.
She leaned up and into him, pressing her lips to his, determined to make this perfect eternity last.
Chapter 24
Salim
The next few days passed like a whirlwind. He and Ophelia were together. They might not have said the words or defined anything as such, but all the same. He knew it. And he knew that she knew it. What else was there, in the end?
There wasn’t much time to see each other. At least, not without disturbing rehearsals and upsetting Ophelia’s place in the company. Gossip spread like wildfire, and there was no stopping that.
But there was a difference between rumor and blatant favoritism, and Salim towed the line carefully. He knew that causing a rift between Ophelia and her fellow dancers would be catastrophic. And with the performance in Moscow coming up, any chance of a rift was not a chance that Salim was willing to take.
Still, every chance he could get, he took Ophelia out for lunch, or a quiet drink after rehearsals were over. There weren’t too many chances. Not with the flight to Moscow, getting settled into their hotel and the theater, and rehearsing in the new space. But Salim treasured every moment he got.
He’d never felt this way before. He didn’t tell Ophelia that—not in so many words—but he had a feeling she could figure it out. The way he acted around her surprised even himself, and made it difficult for him to recognize himself sometimes. But it was, he was certain, a good change. Even though he’d never felt himself to be much in need of correction, everything about the man he was around Ophelia seemed better. More true.
He was gloriously, transcendently happy. But, at the same time, he felt as though he were stood beneath a large weight that was ready to drop on him at any moment.
Nikolai. He hadn’t seen Nikolai since he’d arrived in Moscow, but he knew he was here, lurking somewhere. He had to be.
Sometimes, in order to level the playing field, you’ve got to burn it down.
Whatever Nikolai was planning, he thought it would be enough to win Ophelia. And while Salim felt confident in her feelings for him, he would never be so foolish as to underestimate his oldest friend.
And, there was the matter of telling Ophelia about the arrangement that he had made with Nikolai—about the bet. He continued to tell himself that it would be best to save that information until after the tour concluded, but the decision didn’t sit easily with him. It sat like a knot in the pit of his stomach, and every time he thought of it, it grew larger.
If Ophelia noticed, she didn’t say anything. But Salim felt it, all the same.
So, his bliss and his misery were well-matched. And, although he couldn’t remove the knot from his stomach, he would at least be able to shed the weight over his head. For that reason alone, he felt almost optimistic as he and Ophelia entered the theater of the Moscow Ballet, ahead of the evening’s multi-performance program.
And then he saw Nikolai, and the smug smile on his face.
“Why don’t you go ahead to the box? I have some things to attend to, but I’ll be up as soon as I can,” Salim leaned in and said in Ophelia’s ear. Luckily, she hadn’t seen Nikolai yet. If he could keep it that way, the better his chances were.
She nodded and disappeared off into the crowd, weaving gracefully between the people like a skillful needle. He was allowing himself to appreciate her grace when Nikolai’s voice startled him out of it.
“I see you made it to Moscow.”
He was closer than Salim wanted him to be. He stepped back.
“I did. And I see you’re here. I’m still not sure why. You know there’s nothing here for you.”
Nikolai looked mock-offended.
“My friend! You called off our bet. Fair enough. But you think competition is the only thing that drives me?”
“Frankly, yes.”
The words surprised Salim. It surprised him even more to find that he meant them.
His sincerity must have connected with Nikolai, too. For the first time since they’d known each other, he lost his playful air. He leaned in close and pressed a program to his chest while speaking just loudly enough to be heard by Salim and no one else.
“Don’t forget, I brought you to her. I told you want I wanted. I never lied about that.”
Then, he leaned back again, leaving the program
in Salim’s hands. His cheerful behavior resumed.
“Enjoy the show!”
Without a moment’s delay, he started speaking in Russian, apparently having spotted someone he knew walking by.
Salim watched his former friend walk away and was struck by the strength of the rage he felt. His hand shook as he opened the program and looked at it.
Three shows, by three companies. The deal Tomas had struck was for the Moscow Ballet and the Williamsburg Ballet to put on a multi-performance program. But, here in his hand, the program touted a surprise one-act ballet, specially written for this evening, to be performed by the St. Petersburg Ballet.
The world grew quieter. It was as though he were watching a car crash or some other tragedy in slow motion, and could do nothing to stop it. Whatever was in that ballet, he knew Nikolai well enough to know that it would be atomic.
He walked up to his box mechanically, as though he were a puppet with no will of its own. Ophelia must have realized that something was wrong, for she grabbed his hand as soon as he sat down next to her.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, and he treasured the tenderness in her husky voice. What would he miss the most, he wondered? Was it her voice? Was it her grace?
He handed her the program.
“There’s been a change to the lineup. Nikolai’s company is going to be performing, too. They’re up first.”
He watched her face carefully as she looked down at the program and saw that what he said was true. And then, he watched as her confusion became tinged with anger.
“And there’s something about that that makes you nervous, isn’t there?”
Salim swallowed hard. Now was the time to come clean. Now was the time to say something. But the lights were dimming.
“Come on,” he said, beginning to stand and gently pulling her hand. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a whole one-act-ballet’s worth of time when we could be alone. I think we could make good use of it…”
He was trying to be charming and flirty, but for the first time in his life, it fell completely flat.
She released his hand.
“I’m staying.”
She fixed her eyes on the stage as the orchestra began to play.
After a long moment of torn hesitation, Salim sat back down. There was nothing to do but watch it play out. One way or another, he had to know what Nikolai had done.
Chapter 25
Ophelia
This was her own fault. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, telling her as much. She’d known that there was something going on with Salim and Nikolai. She’d known they were friends, and she’d certainly known that the way that they had been acting with her wasn’t normal.
She had thought it was some kind of underhanded business deal, at first. Maybe something Nikolai wanted to do that Salim had gotten caught up in—from what she’d read of the rumors about Nikolai’s business dealings, it wouldn’t surprise her. There was even a part of her that had thought that Salim needed her to help him get out of it.
Stupidly, she had thought that she could save him, somehow.
Again, she heard her mother’s mocking voice in her head. This was a distraction. In many ways, Moscow was the most important performance of the tour, and instead of centering and preparing herself backstage as she should have been, she was here, shaky and upset.
She’d thought that Salim was worth the risk of distraction. She’d thought that, although there might be something strange going on, he cared for her. She’d even let herself think he might love her. And no man that really felt that way would do anything to jeopardize what she’d been working towards her entire life.
But the way he sat down, looking like he’d seen a ghost, told her that she had been right about her original misgivings.
The ballet confirmed her worst fears.
It wasn’t subtle. Not in the slightest. Two handsome princes were introduced, one of whom was richer, the other cleverer. The cleverer one was interested in a princess, and told the richer one of his intention to win her heart. The two then made a bet as to which of them would succeed first.
It was so blatant. So crude. So unlike the man she thought Salim was, as easily as she could believe it of Nikolai.
By the time the end of the ballet came around, with the princess grief-stricken that neither man actually cared for her, Ophelia had seen enough. The advances from the two men, supposedly professional in nature but then strangely personal—it all made sense; the oddity of Salim suddenly buying the company, and the over-the-top gift Nikolai had tried to give her, as well as the condition that she would have to leave the tour and therefore get away from Salim.
It all clicked into place, and left Ophelia feeling humiliated and naïve, and broken.
She’d thought he’d wanted her. She’d thought he’d actually had feelings for her, and she’d been so desperate to believe it that she’d set aside all the suspicions she’d rightfully had.
And Nikolai! She’d actually believed that he thought her on the same level as the first prima ballerina of his company. How quickly she’d been ready to believe that, too! She hadn’t quite fallen for it, but if Salim hadn’t won her over, she might have.
And all this for what? To win?
Then, there was the lingering thought. Had they known of her virgin status? Had they guessed? When she’d bared her soul to Salim, had she only been telling him something that he already knew—something that he was competing for?
She didn’t stay for the curtain call. She couldn’t wait that long. She needed to be away from everything these two disgusting men had touched. The ballet, the theater, the very air they had breathed.
Ophelia stood and walked out of the box toward the exit to the alley. An usher tried to stop her, saying in heavily-accented English that there was no intermission between performances and that she would miss the Moscow Ballet if she walked out, but she waved him off. She didn’t care.
She was aware of Salim’s presence behind her. She could hear him calling out to her, but it only made her quicken her pace.
She couldn’t breathe. She needed to get somewhere, anywhere else.
And then, there she was, out there in the alley, laughing to herself manically when she realized that this was exactly how it all had started on the day the ballet opened, and this whole mess must have begun.
“Do you find this funny?”
To his credit, Salim looked ashamed. She let his question hang in silence for a long moment, and when she replied, she noticed that her voice sounded lower and harsher than usual.
“Is it true?” she asked. The painful look on his face when he replied almost made her feel sorry for him.
“It’s a version of the truth. But it’s not all of the truth.”
There was a part of her, even now, that wanted to believe him. Even having just seen that everything between them had been a set-up. And it was that part of her that stopped herself from telling him that anything remotely close to that truth was too close for her to want to be a part of it.
Instead, she stayed quiet, and he must have taken it as an invitation to explain himself, because he began talking.
He’d rehearsed this; that much was clear. It had the slightly disingenuous, planned feeling of the lines that he’d used on other women—that he’d tried to use on her. He went on and on, saying how he might have taken the bet, but that his intentions were honorable. He said he only wanted to save her from Nikolai, that he knew what his friend was like and he wanted to spare her that suffering; that all he meant to do was to make her fall for him just enough so that she wouldn’t be taken advantage of.
At his explanation, Ophelia felt another low, harsh laugh build up within her. And when she released it, she saw Salim’s face crumple from hope to defeated confusion.
“You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“You really don’t see that that’s worse?”
Salim took a step back, as tho
ugh she’d physically shoved him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“If you didn’t want to hurt me, there was an easy way to avoid it. You could have just warned me. You could have been honest with me. Or, I don’t know, you could have talked your friend out of it. Or you could have just not chosen friends who would act that way in the first place!”
His mouth kept opening and closing as though he had a response.
“But, no, somehow, you tell yourself that breaking my heart yourself is better. That you’re saving me. And the saddest part of it is, I think you actually believe it.”
“Ophelia.” His expression changed from confused to steely. “I know you’re angry, but you don’t understand—”
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand? Nikolai is a lot of things, but at least he’s honest about what he wants and who he is. He lied to me, sure, but how could you possibly have thought…”
She shook her head as she continued. “You bought the company. You poured yourself into it. You’ve done all of this, and you think you were trying to protect me, but all the while, you were lying to me. Who would ever want a man who would do that?”
Again, his mouth opened and closed, but he seemed to be at a loss.
Ophelia was finished talking. She turned—as quickly and abruptly as a woman with years of dance training could—and walked away.
“I have a show to perform,” she said over her shoulder. And she left him behind her, where she intended for him to remain.
Chapter 26
Salim
That couldn’t have gone worse. Salim half-expected for Nikolai to show up and gloat about what he’d done to his and Ophelia’s budding relationship. Burn it all to the ground. This was what he must have meant.