There’s a loud knock on my door and a man opens it. So much for waiting on me to reply.
He holds out five fingers and then points to his watch, before shutting the door.
I guess holding up five fingers is his way of telling me I’ve got five minutes until I go on stage. He had five fingers for me, but I’ve got one in particular I want to give this whole situation I’ve found myself in. My middle finger pointed sky high.
I stare at myself in the mirror and open the drawer. Then it hits me. The picture of me with my parents is back in New York. Someone’s got it, if they haven’t thrown it out already.
Now I really feel terrible. I always looked at that picture before I went on, but not this time, and never again.
I really loved that picture. It’s the best one of the three of us I have, or should I say had.
I pretend to be happy. A sad performance is not what the crowd needs right now, nor do I. I’m starting off in a new country and I need to make a good impression. These people are known to be cold at first, until they open up to you…if they open up to you. They’re used to excellent performing arts, and if I don’t deliver the reviews will be quick to destroy me.
I’ve got to pull myself together.
There’s a knock on the door again, and that same man opens it. He motions for me to come.
I stand, and take a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing,” I say, looking into the mirror one last time.
He walks me through some tunnel towards the stage. He’s behind me like he’s taking me to my death, and in a lot of ways that’s exactly how I feel.
I know the number I have to perform. It’s different than the one from New York, and it starts out with a solo. Still I wonder where the other dancers are when I line up behind the curtain.
It’s dark and cold, and when I turn around he’s gone signaling that now I’m also alone. The story of my life.
I take the starting position and wait for the curtain to rise.
It’s a hard position to hold and the cramping is already setting in. Not sleeping or eating on the flight combined with the long travel…dehydration is already evident.
This is going to be a complete disaster.
I hear the announcer speaking in Russian. I don’t recognize the words, but I recognize the cadence. He’s counting down from ten.
Nine…
Eight…
Seven…
Six…
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…
Show time.
CHAPTER 15
Barbara
The curtain rises and I feel the spotlight on me.
I’m facing the crowd, and I immediately notice the theater is completely empty.
What in the world?
Is this some sort of trick? I feel like I’m in one of those movies where I’ve been trafficked into sex slavery and now I’m about to meet my fate.
Could this situation get any worse?
And then I hear it.
To my left I hear clapping, followed by footsteps.
I rise out of my position and see a man walking towards me. The lights are coming from every direction and I can’t make him out at first, until…
“Brian!”
I run to him. I don’t feel anything as I move across the stage in record time before jumping into his arms.
“Glad to see me?”
“You have no idea,” I say, hugging him as he cradles me in his big, safe arms.
“And I’m relieved, and excited to see you.”
“How did you find me? How did you get here so fast?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Later,” he repeats, placing my feet on the ground. “Because first there’s something else I have to tell you.”
He reaches for his slacks just above the knee, lifting them which allows his knee enough room to bend as he places it on the floor.
He reaches into his coat pocket and removes a Tiffany blue box.
“Oh my god!”
“Beautiful. I’ve been in love with you for a decade. An entire ten years. Ten years that I thought about you every day and night, but I didn’t have you there in my arms. That will never happen again. We’re never going to miss another moment of this journey called life together, if you will do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me?”
My hands find my face, and the tears are pouring from my eyes. My day has changed from the absolute worst, to the absolute best, and it’s all because of him…the man who never forgot about me. The man who met a girl long ago and inspired her, captivated her, and made her fall in love with him.
And like a real man, he waited for her. He searched and he found her, and in doing so I found him…the only man I ever loved and will ever love.
“Yes,” comes from my lips in hushed tones. I can barely speak I’m so excited.
He reaches for my hand and I watch him slide the ring on my finger. It’s a perfect fit, and does it ever sparkle under the theater lights.
He lifts himself off the floor and scoops me in his arms once again. It’s right where I belong, and his lips meet mine. It’s where our two lips belong, attached to the other’s forever.
“Now let’s get out of here,” he says.
“Yes!”
EPILOGUE
Barbara
I’m asleep most of the plane ride back.
My life has been completely exhausting since I started the show in New York. At first it was great, and then it became a tragedy, and now I’ve found my peace.
I’m a bit out of it when the plane lands. We take a car, and next thing I know we’re pulling up to the St. Regis.
The fuzziness is starting to wear off and I’m feeling better already.
“Back to the Dior room…where it all started?”
“I have a surprise in store for you this time.”
“This time? You always do.”
We enter the hotel and follow the same routine, but this time we arrive at a different floor. I shake my head in disbelief when we arrive at the door.
“Tiffany Suite?” I say, reading the beautiful sign on the entrance.
“I didn’t want your ring to get lonely.”
“My ring will never get lonely, as long as my hands are interlocked in yours.”
He smiles, taking my hand and leading me into the room.
“Drink?”
“Well, I’m not performing anymore so how about a champagne?”
“My thoughts exactly, but there are some other thoughts I need to share with you.”
“Ut oh. Is everything okay?”
“More than okay,” he says. “Just one second.” He phones in our champagne request and returns his attention to me, guiding me over to the couch.
“While you were in Moscow I had my team get busy on figuring out just exactly what happened.”
“I wanted to ask you about that.”
“I was curious too. This whole thing didn’t add up, at all. So it turns out that Hendrix put someone on our tail.”
“Someone was following us?”
“Yes, and apparently he blackmailed you when he transferred you out of New York.”
“How did you know?”
“One of the ballerinas had her microphone turned on, but had set it down on a table. It recorded the whole conversation. It’s been turned in as evidence now.”
“Those little microphones we wear in our hair?”
“That’s the one. They’re more powerful than they look. I guess technically it didn’t record the sound, but they’re hooked up to recording devices before you go onstage, but that’s neither here nor there. The good thing is we’ve got him on tape.”
“Wait, did you say turned in as evidence?”
“Yes, he’s through. Blackmail, which is technically extortion here in New York State. He was forced to resign immediately, and he’ll be going to prison.”
�
�Prison?”
“Where do we start? Improper use of contribution funds. Kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?”
“International kidnapping actually. He didn’t complete all the paperwork properly so technically he kidnapped you. We’re throwing everything we can at him.”
“We’re?”
“My legal team.”
“You’ve got a team on it already?”
“Of course. No one messes with my fiancée. No one.”
“Awww. Thank you,” I say, giving him a big ‘ol hug. “Wait a second,” I say, pulling back. “How did you find me?”
“That’s the best part.”
“You can say that again.”
“So remember how I told you I had a client meeting with a man who showed me your picture in that inflight magazine?”
“I remember.”
“He wanted to see you perform so badly, and was terribly upset when he didn’t get the chance. Well his name is Alex…at least that’s the name he goes by internationally. His real name is Aleksandr Sokolov.”
“The Russian oligarch?”
“And also owner of…”
“The…Russian…Ballet.”
“Bingo! I made a few calls, got in touch with him, and explained everything. He said, in a thick Russian accent this time, “I read Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. This is enough tragedy for one lifetime. You must come and get your woman.”
“He said that?”
“Like he was a warrior summoning me to battle, not that I needed any encouragement.”
“But you’re not a warrior.”
“You’re saying you don’t think—“
“Shhh,” I say, placing my finger to his lips. “You’re my knight in shining armor, arriving just in time on your white horse.”
“And now that I’ve taken you back to my castle, what in the world shall we do?”
“Well, first of all I love the way you’ve decorated your Tiffany blue castle,” I say.
He tickles me playfully, which I return with a good tickle right to the ribs.
“I can think of a few things,” I say.
“Only a few? There are a lot of rooms in this place.”
“How many rooms are there here?”
“One hundred and seventy one.”
“Perfect, so if we switch every second day we’ll finish in just under a year.”
“That’s another thing.”
“What’s another thing?”
“I’ve made the switch to New York. I’m going to represent my new favorite artist and live here now.”
“That’s great! But wait, what artist?”
“My favorite performing artist…you, silly!”
“Me? I’m unemployed.”
“Not anymore. The ballet would love to have you back as soon as you’re ready.”
“How is that possible?”
“After I helped uncover the fraud, and the millions they were losing, their natural response was if I knew anyone who would be a good fit now that the spot was open.”
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“And who did your choose?”
“Your ballet buddy from ten years ago.”
“You didn’t?”
“She starts tomorrow!”
“Lindsey! Oh my god! I’m working for your daughter now.”
“With my daughter. It’s truly becoming a family business.”
“But how…?”
“She worked extensively with the Sydney Opera House the last few years. It was a natural fit.”
“But isn’t she too—”
“Young? They wanted someone who could not only improve their bottom line, but they wanted to start over fresh. A young woman was the perfect way to do that.”
“At your suggestion.”
“Of course. When you’re part of my team, I’m known to make a lot of…suggestions…that quickly get implemented.”
“And I’m honored to be part of your team, Mr. Brian Bowen.”
“And I’m honored to have you, soon to be Mrs. Barbara Bowen.”
“And I have a suggestion of my own,” I say, motioning with my head towards the bedroom.
“I see you’ve also mastered the art of the subtle suggestion,” he jokes.
“Believe me, there’s nothing subtle about the way I feel for you.”
I pause looking even more deeply into his eyes, as he does me.
“I love you,” I say.
“And I love you.”
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
Barbara
Seven years later
“Chow is ready. Get it while it’s hot,” Brian says.
Bryce, our oldest, jumps up from the pile of sticks he’s been focused on turning into a proper fort for the last forty-five minutes. He’s got on the “Cowboy kit” we found for him on Amazon. There’s a little hat, a fake leather vest, some chaps, and even holster for his cap gun.
He had studied the Wild Wild West just before his school year ended and became enamored with the whole idea of open frontiers, exploration, and “livin’ off the land.” And that explained why we were here, camping this weekend.
But the proper term was more like “glamping”…glamorous camping.
Brian had packed up the helicopter, it really never does get old saying that, and brought us out here to The Hamptons.
We were just between East Hampton Beach and downtown Montouk. We’d paid $117 for reservations and service fees. The house behind us rented for $40,000 for the weekend.
The rosy dawn skies, beachfront views, and the sound of the gentle rolling surf didn’t care how much you spent. Nature was the great equalizer, and if anything our views and location were even better than our higher priced neighbors. We were closer to the water, and closer to the fun.
Plus there’s something about the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with that salty ocean breeze that really makes you feel alive in the morning.
And eating flapjacks, sausages, and eggs while we watched the sun rise together, as a family, melted my heart more than the butter on our freshly popped popcorn around the campfire last night.
I loved that Brian wasn’t afraid to “rough it.” Sometimes I wondered if he enjoyed it even more than Bryce and our little daughter Brianna.
It gave him a chance to get out of the city and reconnect with the kind of art that inspires him, and those he works with, the most. Nature.
And the best part was it gave us all time to bond even closer.
Brian had given us a life in the city I never could have dreamed of, but there was something about pulling together as a family out here that showed the four of us that we really were the perfect team.
I hear a zipper, and see the tent door next to me come open.
“Morning Barbara.”
“Morning, Lindsey.”
“Morning there little lady,” Bryce says in his best cowboy accent.
“Were you guarding my door last night? Keeping the critters, varmints, and city slickers out?”
“I sure was,” Bryce says.
I laugh remembering how Brian had to carry him from the campfire and put him into his tent. He was sawing logs before story time, exhausted from a day of fishing, swimming, and doing what he does best…be a fun loving little boy.
“Not this city slicker,” a voice says from inside the tent. “Morning, everyone,” Kyle says as he steps out of the tent.
Lindsey and I were like sisters again ever since she took over the ballet. She’d even managed to recover the picture of my parents and I, the one I’d kept for so many years, always looking at before I went on stage. I don’t know how she’d been able to locate it, but apparently that was just a little more of her never-ending magic.
Billionaire's Virgin Ballerina: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 27) Page 7
