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HER PICTURE PAINTED her like an unavailable princess of the ballet, but it did her no justice compared to the woman sitting in the cab next to me.
At least you hadn’t bought that ticket to St. Petersburg yet, I told myself as we sat in silence. She made me nervous with her nontraditional beauty. Her black hair, which I had only seen tied up in the picture, was long and wavy, hanging loose outside a thin, white, knitted beret. Her eyes were greener in person than I could have ever imagined, sparkling like an emerald against the fresh snow from last night. As our cab careened the streets of Moscow towards Tanets, I clasped my hands between my knees to stop my legs from bouncing. She’d already made me so nervous I couldn’t even give her my name.
I didn’t really want to. Once she was at Tanets, I could drop her off and get back to the train with minutes to spare. It was best she not know I was the man whom had told her not to come. A million questions buzzed through my brain, like: Why are you here? Why have you come? I told you not to! But nothing I could say out loud.
Being painfully shy had never been so agonizing in my entire life.
I tried not to stare, but as she looked out the window in awe of the narrow Russian streets, I couldn’t help but take her in. She was wrapped in a thick hound’s-tooth, military-style four-button jacket that reeked of money, and the tight leggings she wore were definitely not thick enough for the current below freezing temperatures. Even her feet—she wasn’t wearing boots, or even solid enough shoes needed for walking through the berms of snow that piled everywhere, but something that resembled ballet flats without the strap. I had never seen them before, but they looked ridiculous.
She looked like a tourist.
Oh, well. It wasn’t my problem. I’d open the door to the cab and she’d leave, and within the hour I’d be on my way home. She was Pytor’s problem now.
The train station wasn’t far from the Academy, and while I was still figuring out what to say to her the entire time, we pulled up to the curb.
“Oh, no,” I said before I could stop myself.
Mina and Igor were standing on the curb, Mina’s arm up to hail a cab.
“Shit,” I swore in Russian under my breath.
Jaqui turned to me, her eyes wide. “What is the matter? What’s wrong?” I could hear her heavy breathing, and saw her grip the door handle hard. Why was she responding this way, as if she needed to flee? I was so confused.
But I had bigger problems. The cab was slowing down, and my money was precious—I couldn’t ask him to go around the block until they got another cab. Damn. This was going to go south quickly.
Unless, I just didn’t get out, and they got in. No, that wouldn’t work either. They would know I was trying to leave. I’d already missed breakfast, and I was surprised Igor hadn’t tried to call me. I hadn’t missed breakfast in twelve years. When practice starts before sunrise, breakfast is essential for danseurs. First years received reprimands for skipping it. Igor would definitely know something was up.
No, my best option was to get out, wave to them, pray they didn’t talk, and hurry Jaqui through the front door. I’d have to hail another cab, but it was the safest option.
There was one thing I didn’t plan for, and that was Jaqui being faster than me. I had wasted precious seconds thinking about what to do, so when I turned to tell Jaqui we’d go straight in, she was already out of the cab.
“Hello! Are you from Tanets, too?” She greeted the pair in English.
Mira looked at Igor, and he smiled.
I froze. Should I get out, or hope she could distract them so I could escape?
“You must be Jaquellyn,” I could hear Igor saying in Russian, while Mira swiftly translated. “Pytor announced your arrival just this morning. You were supposed to be here tomorrow, however. But, welcome to Moscow!”
“Thank you!” She said, and even through the tinted window I could see the smile light up her face. “You have no idea how glad I am to be here.” She stuck out her hand to Igor.
“I’m Igor Maneschevitz, one of the danseurs in your company,” he shook her hand. “This is Amira el Tabor, my girlfriend.”
“Mira,” she said, an Jaqui turned to shake her hand as well. “Nice gloves,” I heard her murmur, her voice changing. “They look a lot like ...”
“I like your hijab,” Jaqui interrupted. “My friend in Paris, Adara, always had the most colorful ones.”
Mira absently tucked at her hijab. “Thank you. Say, where did you get those gloves?”
I watched as Jaqui looked at her strangely. The cabbie, at this point, threw me a look and asked me to get out, but I ignored him. He swore briefly and opened his door to get our bags out of the trunk.
“No, wait!” I tried to say, but he was too late.
Igor was looking at the back of the cab and laughing at Jaqui. “You certainly came prepared with three suitcases!”
“No, I ... the other is the man that Pytor sent to escort me form the train.”
Igor ceased his chuckled immediately. “Pytor said you were coming tomorrow.”
“Yes, you said that,” Jaqui snapped.
“That red suitcase ...” Igor froze.
“What is going on here?” Mira asked, and I knew from her voice she was in full journalist mode. Finally, she turned and looked down into the cab. “Are you kidding me?”
She tugged on the handle, and I scrambled to lock it. Just let me go! Let me go home! I wanted to scream at her. Misha will ruin me, and I can’t handle it anymore. Just let me leave peacefully!
Instead I swallowed in agony while I watched Mira swing the door open.
“Vasily!” Igor called. “What are you doing in the cab? Did you ...”
“Vasily?” Jaqui gasped, her gloves, my gloves, flew to her mouth. “I ... I ...”
The cabbie dropped the suitcases on the curb and glared at me. I sighed and stepped out of the cab, pressing a few bills into his palm. He got in and sped away. I stood there awkwardly, staring at my hands.
“We needed that ...” Mira mumbled.
“You were running away,” Igor said, flatly, staring at me. I couldn’t look him in the eye and felt my cheeks redden.
“What? Running from what?” Mira looked between Igor and myself.
“Misha.” Igor’s fists curled at his side. “That bastard,” he swore.
“Igor,” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion at my sharp embarrassment. “Please, please don’t say anything.”
“Vasily? Vasily Petrov?” Jaqui asked, a little behind.
“Hello, Jaqui,” I said, looking at her. “That is how I knew your name.”
“Oh my!” Mira said, finally putting everything together in her head. “You’re Jaquellyn. Jaquellyn Arnolt. You’re from Paris. Oh...” She trailed off into Arabic then, and I knew she was putting it all together. I’d seen that look on her face before.
Shut up, I silently pleaded with her. Then, anger flooded me and my hands, which I had been curling at my side, tightened to fists. This is all your fault she’s here! I wanted to scream. Gritting my teeth, I wondered if it was possible that Mira herself had written Jaqui and told her to come, after all I did to keep her away.
“I’ll kill him,” Igor swore and turned away from us and marched back to the academy.
Igor’s outburst brought me back to the present. Misha, and that damn picture. All my worst fears were crashing in on me, and there was no way out of this. I imagined myself in a million different scenarios, all of them ending with Pytor screaming in my face to pack my shit and go back to St. Petersburg.
“Igor!” Mira yelled after him, racing to follow her boyfriend.
“What the hell is going on?” Jaqui exploded at me, as the other two raced off.
I sighed and picked up all the suitcases. “Not even I know.” Of course, I did know. But I didn’t want Jaqui to know. She really would never talk to me if she found out what I had done — sleeping with a common prostitute.
She just stared at me. “You better explain it to me. Not now, but you will, soon.” She took off to follow the others, limping with her right ankle shuffling behind her. I groaned. I had forgotten about her injury.
“Hey! You don’t even know where you’re going!” I knew she didn’t know the school and would never find Igor before he killed Misha.
“That man was mad about something, and I’ve got to stop him from doing something he shouldn’t,” she called back to me.
Fuck. I shook my head and groaned. “You just met them ...” But she was gone before I could finish trying to stop her.
I groaned and heaved the suitcases into the building, leaving them at the front desk with Grigor, the janitor, and hurried to catch up with my friends.
What a besporyadok. This mess was all my fault. Briefly I toyed with getting a cab and walking away from it all. But my aunt would grab me by my ear and march my happy ass right back to Moscow when she found out what had happened. She wouldn’t even care about Katarina, Misha, or the picture. She would only care I hadn’t been manly enough to protect my friends, or the new teacher. The last thing I wanted was a thrashing from my three-hundred-pound aunt. Grown man or not, she wouldn’t hesitate to beat me.
I took the stairs two at a time, to the third floor, to Misha’s room. As if everything wasn’t bad enough, the scene in his room was so much worse.
Igor and Mira blocked the doorway, but silently parted to let me in. Misha and Jaqui were sitting calmly at the small table against the window, staring each other down. She pushed a few bills across the table, and Misha held up his hand, palm towards him, asking for more. Without a word, Jaqui flipped more rubles on the table, and even from where I stood, I could see the top bill was 5,000 rubles. Next to me, Mira gasped.
Jesus, Mother Mary, and the saints. I hadn’t crossed myself in years, but old habits die hard. I touched my right shoulder and then my left. Jaqui threw down two months of wages on the table like it was nothing.
Misha smiled widely and slid a polaroid across the table. Jaqui took it, stuffed it in her wallet, and stood. She offered her hand and muttered thanks, and without a word, pushed past the three of us and out the door.
“Vasily,” Misha said, looking at us finally. “You have friends in high places.”
“Watch it,” Igor warned, and I knew he was still angry. “She’s Pytor’s new assistant.”
“Sure, beats the last one, at least in looks,” he sneered, leaning back in his chair and thumbing through the stack of newly acquired bills.
Mira pushed past me and muttered in Arabic. “Come, Igor, Vasily.” She motioned to the hall.
We followed her, leaving the door wide open.
We all reached the elevator at the same time. Terrified to ask what I had just witnessed, Mira blurted out what I had been dying to say.
“Why did you do that?” Mira whispered to her.
Jaqui pushed the button for the bottom floor and looked at me. In her native French, “You left my suitcases at the front desk I saw when I entered, yes?”
“Oui,” I answered, remembering the basic word.
Once inside the elevator, she turned to Mira. “I did that because as an employee of Tanets now, it’s important for everyone to work together. We don’t need blackmail or any such petty things.”
Mira stared at her. “I thought Igor was going to kill him.”
“Or suspensions for that matter,” Jaqui said matter-of-factly, eyeing Igor.
Igor nudged Mira. “I like her.”
Mira glared at him, crossing her arms.
I didn’t say a word as Jaqui flounced out of the elevator, her purse swinging freely on her arm.
“I really like her,” Igor said to the two of us, as we stood in the foyer, watching her gather her suitcases and talk to Grigor, smiling and assuring him his terrible English wasn’t so awful.
“You know who she is, right?” Mira asked us both.
Igor shrugged. “Who?” I said.
“Jaquellyn Arnolt? You don’t know who the Arnolts are?”
I shook my head. “Should I?”
“Only the most famous and richest family in France, her father was some restaurant tycoon, from old royal money. Related to some king like two-hundred years ago or something, back when the French Empire was in power. Strange story, too. The Arnolts are related to the old kings, about eight times removed. It’s weird though, her hair.”
“What about her hair?” I asked.
“From my research, I know her ancestor was Eleanor Aquiaine. Her only son that survived had red hair.”
“So?” It was Igor’s time to ask.
Mira shrugged. “They said she was a witch or something, that part was unclear. But black hair? That’s some recessive genes.”
“I’ll say,” I muttered wistfully.
“Those eyes, though? She’s clearly related to Henry, though history records his real name as Guillaume. Guillaume Lanval. The family is cursed, they say,” Mira added with a chuckle, as if it wasn’t anything believable.
“Damn,” Igor whistled. “That’s some history. You found all that?”
“The Internet is a great place,” Mira laughed. “Except that apparently, King Henry never really died. He has three different dates of death in the histories I found.”
“Fake news, as the Americans say,” Igor dismissed it. “Not everyone on the Internet is true, you know.”
Mira rolled her eyes at him. “Also, you should know her father died a few years ago,” Mira added, changing the subject. “A fire in one of his restaurants. He saved his son, but didn’t make it out alive.”
“I knew that,” I offered, mulling over a strange family history that even trumped my own famous relative that no one here knew about. “But not how it happened.” I know almost everything about her, I wanted to add, but how did I not know this, that she was rich, and even related to royalty? Jaqui never even mentioned it once. In fact, after our brief phone call I assumed she was just as poor as I was.
“I remember her father’s death was huge news, three, no, four year ago, when I was in Paris for college for a semester,” Mira added.
“You’ve been to Paris?” Igor rose an eyebrow at her. “You never told me that.”
“It was three months, I hated it,” she said quickly. “Also, her mother is American, had some kind of scandal, marrying another American.”
“You know a lot about this family,” Igor mentioned, half frowning and shaking his head. “What do you do all day?”
“Well, I’m a journalist, it’s what we do,” Mira said proudly. “Also, I specifically remember her mother inherited the entire fortune.”
“All of it? What about her brother and sisters?”
Igor and Mira stared at me this time. I shrugged. “She wrote a lot.”
“Wow,” Mira said. “Nevertheless, it’s still strange.”
“What?”
“She has siblings and none of them got the money?” Mira bit her lip, shaking her head. “Besides, she doesn’t seem very happy to see you, and that’s pretty strange. You’ve been writing every week for what, three months?”
“Something like that. And of course, she isn’t happy to see me. I told her not to come.”
“You did what?” Mira nearly shrieked. Across the room, Jaqui and Grigor looked back at us, but then turned back to their conversation. Jaqui was now teaching him some French words, from what I could overhear. “How long ago?”
“Three weeks ago! She wasn’t supposed to come!” I tried to keep my voice low.
“Then why is she here? Why would you do such a thing?” Mira glared at me.
“I have no idea. And Igor told me to!” I backed up a few steps. Mira’s bad side wasn’t where I wanted to be.
“You ...” she glared at him. “Why would you do such a thing? After all the time we took to write her that postcard, to get Vasily a nice girl, and you told him to ...”
“In my defense, my love,” Igor interrupted, “I thought she was going to be old and ugly, and I just wanted Vasily to be less lonely. That’s why I went along with your plan.”
“Stop, you two,” I whispered harshly. “Here she comes.”
“Floor three, is that good?” Jaqui dangled a key from her hand.
“That’s Vasily’s floor,” Mira quipped. I groaned.
“I brought your suitcase.” Jaqui slid it across the granite floor towards me. “Where were you going, anyway?”
“Just a day trip,” I checked my watch. “It’s too late now. Oh well.”
Igor threw me a look, and Mira’s glare was enough to start fires.
“Shit! Vasily, we have performance training in thirty. We need to get moving.” He grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me back towards the elevator.
“I’ll see you there!” Jaqui called after us. “Wait, where is it?”
“You’ll figure it out, you sound smart!” Igor shouted, pushing the button to the tenth floor.
“She’s going to our floor, why didn’t you let her come with us?” I objected, wondering why we were going to the floor with the mailroom and cafeteria. “Plus, it is Saturday. Today we only have morning and evening classes. And it is noon.”
He turned and looked at me. “We have bigger problems, Vasily. Misha didn’t just have one copy of that picture. He made a few of them.”
I gulped. “How many?”
“Enough to stuff in every mailbox in the academy. That’s how I found out about it.”
“Oh, no. Do you think Pytor knows about it?”
He shook his head. “If he did, he would have suspended you by now.”
I clasped my hands behind my back, so he didn’t see them shaking. “Maybe he’s waiting until today, to publicly embarrass me.”
Igor closed his eyes briefly, pinching his nose with two fingers. “Fucking Pytor. He’ll introduce Jaqui and at the same time have you expelled.”
The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, door opening, but no one was there. That didn’t surprise me. On Saturdays the academy emptied out for students to spend time somewhere outside the ballet that was their life for six nonstop days a week.
“I don’t know what’s so bad about the picture,” I admitted as we passed the seventh floor.
“You know Pytor. He’s obsessed with the reputation of this school. If it got around you slept with a prostitute ... and on top of that, according to Misha, didn’t pay her ...”
“It was Katarina, Igor. Nikolai’s daughter, from the bread shop. She’s not a ...”
He held up his hand. “I think Nikolai is the only one oblivious to his daughter’s career as a dancer. And I don’t mean the ballet kind.” The wheels in my mind started to turn as the pieces started to click into place. This was not good.
“How did you know that?” We both knew such places were strictly off limits to students.
“Mira,” we said at the same time.
I sighed. “What’s your plan?” I asked as the door opened into the wide hallway that led to the cafeteria on one side, hundreds of mailboxes on the other.
“Oh? It’s simple. We’re going to tamper with the mail.”
Thank god for good friends.