by V. F. Mason
It’s all worth it though as long as I have the opportunity to perform.
“Okay then.” She shrugs and whistles, calling, “Jane, Valencia will be by your side in a minute. Get her ready for the next act.” Then she grins at me. “Dreams come true.”
Yeah, my friend is right about that. She always wanted to be a manager in the ballet, handling all the madness behind the curtains, because she had a deep love for the art but zero talent—or interest for that matter—for the stage.
I had the exact opposite feelings.
I could live inside these walls and never ask for anything more, but all this organizing crap scared the shit out of me. “You are kickass, boss lady.” I salute her with my bottle.
She laughs and walks to another dancer who just finished his part, but not before pointing at the vase of white-as-snow peonies in the corner. “These came for you. Max sure is a keeper, since he showers you with attention every single performance,” she jokes, and shifts her focus to Jim, not seeing how her words practically glue me to my spot while my eyes widen with the new information.
Max has been on a business trip in Paris these past few weeks, and although we messaged each other often—more like he did—I made it very clear I wanted him to stop sending me various gifts. I see no point on wasting beautiful flowers for them to die behind stage, mostly forgotten as the chaos after the dance rarely allows me to take care of them.
I grit my teeth as anger rushes through me, and I sigh heavily, because once again he ignored my wishes and chose his selfish desires. He has been doing it a lot lately, which only proves that taking things further with him will not happen.
Then another thought strikes me.
Max’s favorite flowers are red roses, so he only sends them to me. He doesn’t care I prefer other flowers, that in fact peonies are my favorite. I don’t think he even bothered to ask or that I mentioned it.
Max is very anal about his behavior, so there is no way these are from him.
Furrowing my brows, I pick up the card attached to the top of the stick, open it, and blink in surprise.
Once upon a time, there was a dancing angel who gave all to her art.
She never knew nightmares.
Until the monster destroyed her carefully placed façade.
“Valencia?” Jane practically screams into my ear and snaps me out of my stupor, as I re-read the note again and again, trying to make sense of it and failing. “We need to go.” I still don’t move; I just shake my head in disbelief, wondering who played a prank like this on me. “You all right?” she asks, worry lacing her tone.
I finally raise my gaze to her and nod. “Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out. Are there any more notes?”
“Nope, just this one. You have more peonies in your dressing room though. They smell divine, but they are going to give me a headache.” She continues to chat all the way to the dressing room while only two thoughts play in my head.
Who sent me a note that implied harm? And more importantly… what does it mean?
Lachlan
Closing the door behind me, I remove my shirt and throw it on the floor. Cracking my neck from side to side, hoping to release some tension, I freeze for a second as the old wound on my shoulder throbs more than usual.
Maybe I shouldn’t have spent so much time on chopping the fucker’s body apart piece by piece, but I quickly wave away the thought.
What would be the fun in that? As much as the thrill rushed through me at the idea of him being six feet under, I don’t do this just for some sense of rightness.
No, killing is very much a sport for me. And like exercise, if you don’t practice it enough, you get out of shape. But muscles will never forget any of it.
Smirking, I grab the vodka bottle from the bar, flick it open, and gulp greedily as the burning liquid spreads through my system.
My eyes land on the framed picture on the table, displaying the most beautiful creature the universe has ever created, and all amusement leaves me.
Instead, deep and uncontrollable rage fills me.
I step onto the balcony and assess my huge mansion. Several lights showcase the carefully crafted alcoves with roses planted in them; beautiful perfectly cut green grass spreads in different shapes and forms, sort of creating a labyrinth in the garden with various escape routes. Several roses are scattered around the place, giving it a romantic yet mysterious look that makes you fall in love in the garden if you are not careful enough.
Recently, I added a bush of white peonies to it, and they bloom spectacularly.
Narrow concrete paths lead to several fountains, which pour water generously, the sound soothing and attracting doves that rest there peacefully.
All in all, one might think it’s a perfect garden for an expensive two-level house that is located on the outskirts of the city. It’s surrounded by acres of land with huge iron gates so no outsiders will ever enter without my permission.
In truth though?
It’s my hunting ground and only the strongest can escape me, but then that person needs to outsmart me.
And that never happens. That’s why it’s always amusing to watch them try.
Although, I’ve never challenged an angel before.
A brown-haired woman swirling in a circle on the stage completely engrossed in her dance flashes in my mind, her chocolate eyes sparkling with passion as she floats around the stage as if it belongs to her. How her graceful body is so in tune with the music that it’s almost impossible to separate the two.
Whenever she performs, there is complete silence, because even the slightest breath can break the magic and bring us all back to the mortal world.
Gripping the balcony railing tighter, I allow the memories to wash over me like an ocean wave, reminding me once again of her.
An angel.
The time has come though to clip those wings of hers and bring her not to mortals, but underground to the depths of hell so I can taint her light with my darkness and prove that no matter where you come from, you are never immune to it.
With that thought, I lean toward the chessboard placed on the balcony table and move a pawn on the right.
Our game has officially begun.
Chapter Three
New York, New York
Christmas 1998
Valencia, 5 years old
I glance at the clock and squeal. It’s twenty past five and I jump from bed, running downstairs with all my might, my feet thumping on the wooden floor.
“Valencia!” I hear Mommy shout, but it doesn’t deter me from my purpose, and in seconds, I end up in the living room. I gasp in awe, covering my mouth with my hands while my eyes are glued to the huge Christmas tree. Its tip touches the ceiling, the colorful lights emphasizing its power and beauty. It took me and Mommy hours to put it all together, but the result had to be perfect.
Santa wouldn’t have visited us otherwise.
Then my eyes land on the boxes and boxes wrapped in red paper and I spring to them, grabbing one with desire and laughter while Mommy speaks from behind me. “Valencia, a little bit of patience.” But once again, I don’t stop. I tear the wrap quickly and blink as I find the book in there.
The Holy Bible.
Raising my eyes to Mommy, I whine. “I already have one.” Daddy always uses the wisdom of the book whenever people come to him for advice or with their pain. He also has his favorite copy from which he preaches during Sunday services. And although I love the book as much as he does, I expected something else for Christmas.
Before she can answer, Daddy comes inside with a warm smile on his face as he joins me on the floor—while I frown.
Why did Santa send such a gift to me? I was a good girl through the entire year, and I even shared my lunches with everyone. My eyes water and I hiccup. “It’s so unfair, Daddy.” Immediately, his arm wraps around my shoulders as he hugs me closer, and nothing brings me more comfort than his arms.
Daddy is the only one who can give me an answer as to why Sa
nta made such a choice.
And it’s not as if I asked for much, just shiny pink pointe shoes so I can finally join the ballet class and dance like all those beautiful ladies on TV in colorful tutus. I can never take my eyes away from them when they are on.
They are simply magnificent.
Mommy and Daddy aren’t sure it’s for me though, so I hoped a gift from Santa would be a sign for them to agree, because it would be divine intervention, right? I don’t understand the concept much, but Daddy says this plays a big role in faith.
He is the only one I really need to convince anyway. Mommy just follows him.
So I prayed and prayed and wrote a letter. Why wasn’t divine intervention helping me?
“I think it’s beautiful. This is a reminder to you that not everyone is as lucky as you on this day.” Instantly, guilt sweeps through me when I remember we are very fortunate to live in a house and have all these gifts, when a lot of people have to live on the street and starve. Daddy takes me to shelters often, so I’ll appreciate what we have and not nag. “Always keep it with you,” he murmurs. I nod, and then he points his finger to the big pile. “Now check your other gifts. I’m sure Santa didn’t forget about your request… like pink shoes.”
My eyes light up with happiness, and I squeal and go searching for it.
My daddy is the best in the whole wide world.
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
“This is truly an amazing dress, Valencia,” Becky says. “Where did you get it?” With envy, she scans my strapless navy blue dress that emphasizes my waistline but at the same time is loose enough at the feet that I can move freely in it. The back has a deep V that reaches the end of my spine and opens up a view of my pale skin. The silky texture creates a mixed aura of secrecy and seduction but simultaneously gives me a look of innocence.
Or that’s what the designer claimed anyway when Mom dragged me to the store insisting we find the perfect attire for tonight. Why she bothered, I have no clue. The charity event is nothing special. We’ve done this every year for the last seven years. Rarely anyone pays attention to me.
“The designer is not well known yet. Her name is Frankie.” But with the selection she has, I’m sure she’ll go places.
She winks at me. “Bet Max can’t wait to rip it off you tonight, huh?” She casts her eyes to the far corner of the room where the man in question stands, in deep conversation with my stepfather. “He is so hot,” she mutters, and I just roll my eyes, although a slight chuckle slips past my lips.
Almost no one can resist Max’s appeal.
He is tall, around six foot one with a lean body that he likes clothed in expensive Italian suits that emphasize his status as the oil heir in society. His dark hair is neatly styled, while his expressive brown eyes constantly display the drive and happiness that is so addictive whenever you are in his company.
And yet my heart feels nothing.
If it weren’t for my parents, this relationship would have ended a long time ago, but the constant guilt has made me stay and pretend everything is dandy.
I can no longer do that though, and it has exhausted me to no end to always play a role in this one-actor theater that no one knows about.
Apparently my silence serves as encouragement to Becky, as she continues, “I’m so happy for your stepdad sealing the deal with the company. If everything goes smoothly, he can run for mayor.” Something flashes in her eyes, as she adds, “Who would have thought you’d have it all, huh?” She’s joking, but I don’t miss the jab in her words.
Thinking back at it though, the jab has always been present since my mom remarried and brought us into this elite world of luxury.
We’ve been the four musketeers, Becky, Nora, Bella, and I, who entered the dancing world with our eyes wide open and hearts full of dreams. We’d promised ourselves to always follow our path and perform on worldwide stages, earning praises along the way, so one day we could open a dance school with famous ballerinas as teachers.
Life had other plans for all of us though, and we barely stayed in touch. As I discovered in the following years, ballet is a lonely sport on most days, especially if you are talented and the teachers pay more attention to you. The minute you take a break, everything changes.
Especially the people around you.
Since the charity event is one of the yearly assurances that my family is known for, Victor rented an exclusive mansion on the outskirts of the city. Gold and silver walls, along with a marble floor that glistens in the lights, make the richness of the venue complete. Various candles perch in a chandelier that hangs low enough for people to admire every small detail of it, as it was custom-made in France. Dark round oak tables are filled with exquisite dishes cooked by the best chefs, while some famous band plays on the stage, creating a luxurious yet calm atmosphere.
People have gone out of their way to purchase the most expensive and fashionable dresses to impress everyone and showcase their status and rank amongst everyone else.
And I won’t say they are mean people who don’t appreciate what they have in their life, but lately this whole charade of acting while in public has brought me nothing but a headache. “Right,” I finally reply, because she clearly expects an answer, and a forced smile spreads on my lips. “Mom chose right.” But even saying it seems wrong, because although I love Victor, it has nothing to do with his money.
A soft hand touches my shoulder and I glance back to see my mom joining us. My brows furrow at the excitement shining brightly in her green eyes. She practically jumps in place as she moves her head in the direction of the men. “Victor asked for you.”
“Why?” The request is unusual, to say the least; he is usually so busy during these events. I never bother him. Besides, I’m always at my parents’ on Sunday afternoon, so it’s not as if they miss me or anything.
“Just come.” She pats Becky on the cheek. “Forgive me for stealing my girl.”
She shrugs and winks at my mom, while murmuring into my ear, “Good luck.” Mom is already dragging me to Victor while I ponder my friend’s behavior.
If Becky is as excited about it as my mom, it has to mean something.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but she just waves it off and sends a huge grin to Max, who stops midsentence and then sweeps his gaze over me, appreciation evident by how his eyes sparkle and the soft smile that graces his lips.
“Valencia,” he murmurs, leaning toward me and giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek that instantly sends revulsion through me.
Lately, I can’t even stand his touch.
I should have known a relationship with him was a dead end, but I kept going, hoping to feel something. But no matter how much I try, the situation seems hopeless.
I need to break up with him tonight, because, by the looks of it, he thinks he’s in love with me.
“Hi,” I say, avoiding his weird gaze as if he expects something from me, and focus my attention on my stepfather, who opens his arms widely. At once, I’m hugging him close, calmed a bit by his familiar scent that always reminds me of protection and power.
Mom met Victor six years ago through her job, and they have been inseparable ever since. He’s a famous oil magnate and his net worth is around one billion dollars. Not to mention his larger-than-life family. His son Braiden is three years older than me, and the minute they became serious, she introduced us to each other.
He might be a stepdad for me, but in everything that matters, he is a real dad. “Hi, darling.” He kisses the top of my head and then steps back. “You should know that I approve. I think you are the perfect match.”
Confused as hell, I have a second to ponder his words when he picks up the fork and champagne glass from the nearby tray and clicks one against the other.
Perfect match?
The music quiets down as everyone spins around to face us, curiosity written all over their features, but they don’t have to wait long.
Max c
lears his throat from behind me, and I turn around only to gasp as he slowly drops onto one knee, a navy blue velvet box in his hand. And with a swift exhale, he opens it up to display a magnificent five-carat yellow princess-cut diamond ring with several smaller white diamonds surrounding the center stone.
Most girls would go crazy for such a ring. But me? I want nothing but the floor to swallow me whole so I can disappear from this place right now.
“Valencia,” he says, but I barely hear him over my pulse ringing loudly in my ears as panic builds inside me. “You are the love of my life. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He raises the box higher to me as I hear women oh and ah at this, while a slight hiccup from behind indicates that Mom is moved by all this too.
It’s what she and Victor want for me, the perfect prince to complete my good-girl image that will last me a lifetime and suffocate me to death.
Licking my dry lips, I open my mouth and close it, trying to find the words to say but failing, because, frankly, how can I escape this situation?
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, catching my gaze, and he reaches to grab my hand, but I step back. I notice the hint of anger slipping into his eyes, but it’s so quickly gone I think I imagined it.
“Valencia?” My mom’s worried voice snaps me out of my stupor, and I finally find the strength to do what’s right.
I’ve made a lot of sacrifices in my life, but not this time.
And to hell with consequences.
“No.” My answer is so low it’s barely audible.
A woman whispers loudly among the crowd, “What did she say?”
Max stays on his knee, and says, “Didn’t get that.” Excitement is radiating from him in spades, which indicates to me he thought this would quickly be a done deal.
Why? Doesn’t he see how wrong we are for each other?
Clearing my throat, I gather all my courage and proclaim to everyone so there is no doubt about my answer. “No, I won’t marry you.” The silence that follows is almost deafening, and one of the waiters even drops a tray on the floor. “I’m so sorry,” I add, because it’s not his fault I’m incapable of feeling deeper emotions for or attaching myself to anyone; he is a great guy.