my hand, holding it to my heart as I sob, bent over. I miss, want, and love him too.
Behind his letter is a small booklet, and I take it out and look at it. My heart misses a beat or two. It’s one of the story booklets he made for me as kids, like the one I still have. It’s short and sweet, with frankly terrible drawings in it, but I don’t care. It makes me cry more, and I know this will also become a precious, treasured item, along with the other booklet I kept all these years, and this letter.
The next day, as we head to the airport, I get the driver Ilya loaned us to stop the car. I hop out by the postbox and slot the thick letter in. It’s a reply to Bohdan, and it has the book I kept all this time in there. The one I treasured, which he will get to see once more for the first time in many years.
My mother isn’t with me. I told her at the last minute I wanted to go alone on this tour. She wasn’t as upset as I thought she’d be. She has friends here who oooh and aaah over her plans to buy a big house in the city. I’m glad she won’t be with me. I don’t want her there. I’m not sure I’ll want her there ever again. Not after what Ilya told me.
I haven’t confronted her. There is no point. My mother won’t admit her faults, and she’ll duck and dive and do anything to dismiss responsibility for all she’s done.
When the plane takes off, I feel light. Free. Of her. Of the baggage of the past.
The tour is a huge success, and every night I receive standing ovations, flowers, praise, and headlines in the papers of whichever city I am in.
By the time I get to Paris, I’m a nervous wreck. Lilliana is with me backstage before every show. On the last night, she comes to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Is it because this is the last night that you’re so terrified, Dasha?”
It shows, does it?
I shake my head. “No. I invited a special guest to be here tonight. Sent him a ticket, and I’m not sure if he’ll come.”
“Ah, I see. If you’re talking about who I think you are, I bet he will.”
The music starts, and I blow out a deep breath. I’m about to go out onto that stage, and someone very important to me may or may not be in the audience below.
I walk with Lilliana along the corridor, down the stairs, and to the backstage area. Once I’m at the side of the stage, I feel as if I’m going to be sick. God, if he doesn’t come, I’ll be a wreck, and if he does, I’ll be a wreck. Either way, tonight is going to be a hard performance to get through.
The music swells to a dramatic crescendo, and that’s my cue to get on stage. I hug Lilliana and then walk out. As the curtain rises, I stare out into the front row of seats, and my heart sinks. There in front of me, a beacon of lost hope, is an empty seat.
I pushed him away. Our whole history has been me running away from him, and I did it again. It seems this was one time too far.
Why did he write me, though, if he had no intention of being with me? Maybe it was a trick? Or perhaps he’s changed his mind since then?
You can do this, I tell myself. Put it all into the dance. The Dying Swan should be a breeze the way I’m feeling inside. I strike my pose, and to the side I hear rustling in the wings. I turn, expecting to see Lilliana still watching me, but instead my heart stops.
Right there, almost close enough to touch, is the man I’ve been waiting to see every single performance.
Bohdan.
He isn’t in his seat because he’s right here. Our eyes meet, and he smiles at me and then he lifts his arms and lets some leaves fall.
Oh shit, he’s going to make me cry. He’s sprinkled some magic dust, the way he used to when I would dance and twirl in the woods for him.
I sniff hard, which isn’t remotely Prima Ballerina like, and realize I’ve missed my first two steps. Damn. I get my head in the game and start the dance.