I forced a smile, surprised at myself for softening my true feelings to stop Roksana from feeling upset.
You did just sit through two hours of classical music, I told myself. Your brain is fried.
It could be that, or perhaps it was because I could see Roksana’s love for the ballet, the yearning in her eyes as she looked at the ballerinas.
I understood that feeling in some ways. My love for science had always been out of arm’s reach, taken from me because of the traditional rules of my family. No encouragement, no college.
Until…
I pushed him out of my mind, not willing to go there just yet.
“At least you didn’t leave halfway through,” she mused. “When I convinced Roman to go with me once, he didn’t even make it to the second scene before getting up and leaving.”
“Roman doesn’t seem like the ballet type.”
Roksana laughed. “No. No, he’s not. Not even lovely Danika enjoys the ballet. But she does pretend to, which is very kind of her.”
We moved up in the line, squished together as the hallway grew more crowded with women needing to relieve themselves.
“At least I have Konstantin to go with me.”
I grimaced at his name. “At least.”
Roksana searched my expression. “I know this is definitely not my place and, well, we’re strangers, but can I ask what is going on with you and Konstantin?”
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was more the fact that I didn’t know how to put what was going on with Konstantin and I into words.
“If his advances are unrequited, I can warn him to back off.”
I met her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“I remember what it was like to be the main focus of one of these men. It can be…intense.” Her cheeks pinkened. “Their attention can be…all consuming.”
It was my turn to search her expression. “Is that what happened with you and Artyom?”
“Yes and no.” Roksana quietened her voice, letting the loud chatter of the hallway offer us more privacy. “I am not like you, or the other women. I did not grow up in the mafia. I chose Artyom and the life he leads.”
I couldn’t stop my shocked reaction. “You chose this? All I want to do is leave.”
Her expression softened. “I did. I chose Artyom, the man I loved, and this life is part of him. You cannot pick and choose what parts of people you love.”
“Were you a ballerina before?” The words came out before I could stop them, fueled by curiosity and my remaining shock.
Roksana paused, before answering quietly, “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“And now you’re not.” The finality of my statement cemented what I had previously believed. Women could not flourish in this world; our goals were not obtainable. We were either wives or dead.
Instead of answering, Roksana took my wrist and pulled me out of the toilet line. I followed as she ducked into a private alcove. She lifted her leg onto the wall and pulled up her dress.
“Are you okay?”
Then I caught sight of Roksana’s knee. Where unblemished skin should’ve been, Roksana’s knee was a collection of white and pink scarring. Even the kneecap looked to be awkward, dented almost.
The brutality of it made my lips part.
“No. I am no longer a ballerina,” she murmured, dropping the skirt. “But not for the reasons you think.”
Questions bubbled up. I wanted to know everything, wanted to know what had happened and how she dealt with it. But mostly I just wanted to know if it still hurt.
My pain didn’t leave me—did hers?
“What happened?” I asked.
Roksana’s expression tightened but she went on to say, “My father got into debt. A lot of debt. When the loan shark came for his money and my father could not pay…” She blinked rapidly. “My father broke too easily, so they turned their attention to his young daughter.”
Roksana fell silent.
“Why did you show me?” I asked.
Roksana shrugged. “I love my family. I love my family more than anything in this world.” She smiled sadly at me. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re curing Tatiana because you have a deal with Konstantin. That’s fine. But do not judge what you do not understand.”
“I understand the world of the mafia.”
“You do not know the world of the Bratva. Or Konstantin Tarkhanov.” Roksana’s expression implored me. “He is…he is a good man. A violent one, but a good one.”