The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,11

together could turn anyone into close friends. This cast of characters was my family. I had no life outside of these people. This world.

“Ahh, Selena. You look stunning, lassie. Let me have a gander.” Benny moved toward me.

I steadied my nerves. I was unfortunately used to being leered at by old men. “Thanks, Benny. You must be thrilled to see Vika and Jared compete tonight.”

“Yes, luv, it’s great to see them give it a fair go.” He wet his lips and whispered in my ear, “But we both know they’re a no-hoper against you and Dim’er. Sorry about earlier with Bret. I wanted to give him the best chance and knew you would try to knock back if I told you ahead of time.”

I smiled, glad for his vote of confidence. “It’s fine. I was just shocked. I’m glad he’s going to be on the show. How did you convince him to be on it?”

Benny’s face dropped. “Well, it’s tragic, really. His friend was killed in Iraq. He is trying to raise money for his family.”

Oh my god! My heart ached. How awful. And what a saint Bret was. I was truly a moron for ever leaving him.

Nicole and her husband, Eric, walked over to the group.

Nicole kissed Benny. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Selena. Are you excited about tonight?” Nicole cradled their infant daughter.

I was in awe of Eric and Nicole, one of the only couples in the ballroom world who were truly in love, on and off the floor. “Hi, Nikki. I’m thrilled. Thanks for helping me with my cha-cha choreography.”

“No worries.” Nicole placed baby Rebecca in Eric’s arms.

A pang clutched my belly. Would I ever have a family of my own?

I took out my phone and looked at the time. “I have to run and get ready.”

“Me, too.” Vika gave Benny a kiss on the cheek, and he patted her bottom.

Nicole took Vika’s bag from her father and smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

I would never understand how it didn’t bother Nicole that her stepmother was ten years younger than she was.

Elizabeth joined us, and we walked down the hallway together. We posed for a few fan pictures for the younger dancers. Visions of my twelve-year-old self squealing after receiving a kiss on the cheek from champion twenty-two-year-old Dima flooded my head.

“Selena, about time.” Jenny’s voice rang out as I walked through the door. That girl couldn’t whisper if her life depended on it.

Jenny stood before a single-mirrored makeup table. She helped me get into my costume. After giving up on my stubborn dress straps, Jenny settled into gluing crystals above my eyebrow so quickly that it looked like someone had hit fast-forward on the scene in front of the mirror.

Nicole led Vika over to a corner and unfastened her bun. Elizabeth’s sisters helped her get ready. At least ten other dancers were in various stages of undress. Another dancer bound her long black hair into a knotted ponytail on the top of her head, like an Arabian princess. One dancer rubbed baby oil on her body; another was being sewn into her costume.

The door flew open, startling everyone. The rancid smell of yesterday’s Stroganoff wafted into the room.

“Lovely, the Russian Mafia is here,” Jenny muttered. She threw a look of pity Vika’s way then buried her head in my bag, looking for God knows what. Nicole excused herself to go check on her baby.

Vika’s grandmother Irina and her six-person entourage took over the dressing room. Irina and two pre-pubescent Ukrainian dancers started spreading Vika’s costumes in the cramped right corner of the room. Vika stripped down to nothing but her dance heels.

“Vika, sidyat!” Irina grabbed a still-naked Vika by her hair and shoved her into a chair to finish her makeup as her ladies-in-waiting fussed with her nails and jewelry.

Vika had married Benny to get a green card. Dima had also married his first partner for a green card, and he’d tried for years to get his cousin over here legally. In the end, he’d set her up with Benny.

Benny adored her, but I doubted that Vika truly loved him in any way other than a father figure.

Vika’s family bullied her into competing, teaching long hours at their studio, showcases, and keeping up appearances. Dima used to drill into my brain that this lifestyle was a privilege, and Americans like me didn’t know how to sacrifice. But then, he got famous. To Vika, happiness was a blend of success and wealth. She had told me as much.

But Vika’s eyes