For the first time in her life Anya had truly thought she could not perform. On the most vital night of her career to date, she had doubted that she could go on.
Somehow she had made it to the theatre and taken out all her tiny keepsakes, her earring, the foil from the chocolate and the label from the sheet.
Oh, she had thought about tossing them; instead she had wept on them, grieved again for the two of them.
But then she had risen.
Anya, that night, had danced better than she ever had, though her fury, to this day, remained.
‘So,’ Anya demanded as she wrapped a robe around herself and Roman did up his clothes, ‘how is she? Does she wait backstage...’ She looked at his immaculate suit. ‘She dresses her plaything well...’
‘My money is mine,’ Roman said.
‘Please...’ she scoffed. ‘You had nothing.’
‘When I knew you,’ Roman said, ‘I had nothing. I made my fortune myself.’
‘Rubbish—you found a rich wife. I saw her sitting there, dripping in jewels. So, tell me, how is she?’
‘She was wonderful,’ Roman said, and let her know in those words that his wife had died and that he would defend not just his late wife but the indefensible fact that he’d had another woman after Anya. ‘Don’t speak poorly of her again, Anya, or you shan’t like my response.’
A violent drenching of jealousy flooded Anya as he spoke.
‘Celeste died a year ago.’
There were two things that Anya hated about that statement.
That she knew his wife’s name and that she had died a year ago yet still he hadn’t sought her out.
But, then, what did she expect? Neither had he sought out his identical twin. Roman was the coldest, most complex of men, his dark eyes had always held mystery and she stared into them now.
‘Did you know I was performing in Paris, then?’
‘I did.’
‘Did you come and see me?’ Anya asked, for always she danced for him.
‘No,’ Roman said. ‘Celeste wanted to but I made an excuse not to go and she went with a friend.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t want to answer.
Roman knew exactly the night Anya referred to. He and Celeste had been sitting at a pavement café and waiting for her friend to arrive.
‘Why don’t you want to come to the ballet?’ Celeste had asked.
‘I just...’ He had shrugged.
‘We’re breaking up, aren’t we?’ Celeste had reached over and kissed him. ‘It’s okay, Roman, we agreed to two years.’
And those two years would have soon been over. But Celeste had just found out that she was seriously ill and had had only six months to live.
He had taken a drink of his coffee and his decision had been made.
‘I’m not leaving you to face this alone.’
He had taken her hand.
‘I’ll be with you all the way through this,’ he had promised, and it had been sealed with a tender kiss.
A kiss that, it turned out, Anya had witnessed.
‘Why?’ Anya demanded. ‘Why did you not come and see me perform? Didn’t you care?’
‘No,’ Roman said. ‘I promised that I would be faithful to my wife. To watch you dance would have felt like an affair.’
It was the only glimpse he gave her that, through the years, feelings had remained.
She didn’t understand him and he gave her nothing that might bring her closer to doing so. ‘Why haven’t you told Daniil that you are in London?’ Anya challenged.
‘You don’t know that I haven’t.’
‘Yes, I do because I was at Daniil’s this afternoon,’ Anya said.
Roman said nothing but she saw his jaw grit as she made it clear that she and his brother were in touch.
‘He is married...’ she told him.
‘I read in the news.’
‘They have a new baby.’
‘I read about that too.’
‘He still searches for you,’ Anya said. ‘He doesn’t know if you are alive or dead.’
‘Did you not tell him that you saw me in Paris?’
‘No,’ Anya said. She hadn’t told Daniil because she wished that she had never seen Roman sitting in the sun and kissing a woman that had not been her. ‘Perhaps I shall tell him next time I see him,’ she taunted. ‘Did you know that your niece gets christened next Sunday?’
She watched as his eyes shuttered.
‘You might have erased your past when you joined the legion but we all live on. Your niece’s name is Nadia...’
‘Anya...’ He put up his hand to halt her but she refused to be silenced.
‘Oh, and Sev will be there, with his new wife Naomi...’ She could hear his heavy breathing as she bombarded him with names from his past.
People he had loved yet had chosen to never contact again.
‘Nikolai is coming. You remember he loved ships, well, he has a superyacht now...’
‘You lie,’ Roman said. ‘Don’t you remember?’ He looked at her. ‘Of course not, you were off at dance school, but Nikolai ran away and committed suicide.’
They had been such dark, painful times. Roman could still remember the night that they had been informed that Nikolai’s body had been pulled from the river.
He had asked if he might speak with Sev, because he’d known that he would be devastated. After all, Nikolai and Sev had been best friends.
That request had been denied and Roman had been locked in his room instead. He hadn’t cried, he hadn’t even known how to, but that night, thinking of the torture that must have been in Nikolai’s head, he had been the closest he had ever come to breaking down.
Now Anya was here, telling him that Nikolai was alive.
‘Nikolai ran away, but the body they pulled from the river wasn’t his,’ Anya said.
Roman kept his feelings hidden—he always had—and his time in the legion had honed that skill, but hearing Nikolai was alive, that all his friends would be together next Sunday, meant it took everything he possessed to keep his voice level.
‘And shall you be there?’
Anya nodded. ‘I am coming back from Paris just for the day.’
‘Coming back?’
‘We go there tomorrow.’
‘We?’
‘The dance company.’
He wanted to ask about Mika, yet he did not.
Tonight was a one-night stand, for old times’ sake, Roman told himself.
There was another knock on the door, and they were told that the car was there to take her to her leaving party.
‘It can wait!’ Anya called back.
‘You ought to go,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll have your mother calling me a saboteur again.’
‘She died, Roman,’ Anya said. ‘And please don’t offer a false apology.’
‘I shan’t.’
He hated Katya, more than even Anya could know.
‘I will leave you to get ready for your party.’
‘So we just have sex and you leave?’ she challenged, and then she gave a derisive laugh. ‘Nothing changes, does it?’
She watched as he checked his reflection in the mirror. She knew it was for her sake, walking out wearing her make-up would not be a good look, but his unruffled demeanour incensed her.
He smoothed his hair back and straightened his tie, and with a tissue he removed a little of her make-up that had smeared onto his face.
As he went to give her cheek a kiss Anya pulled her head back, but just as he reached the door she called him back.
There was something she just had to know.
‘How did you meet your wife?’
‘It doesn’t matter,�
� Roman said.
‘It does to me. I want to know,’ she said. ‘Was it love at first sight, or was it her money you wanted? Tell me, Roman, how did you meet?’
‘I answered an advert. She was looking for a husband.’
And with that sordid revelation he might as well have ripped out her heart and stamped on it. Rather than search for her, he had simply answered an ad.
‘Bastard!’
‘Yep,’ Roman said.
‘You’re a whore, Roman,’ Anya swore. ‘I hate you.’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Because I made a life for myself?’
She did not answer. Yes, she hated him for making a life that did not include her and she would never forgive him for marrying another woman. ‘Come on, Anya.’ He touched on a subject he did not necessarily want to discuss. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t seen anyone.’
‘Of course I have,’ she said. ‘Do you really think I kept myself on ice for you?’
She lied.
There had been no one else.
Dance was all she had.
She had not just kept herself on ice, she had turned into it. No one could ever come close to the memory of him and so she held onto it and held back from others.
‘It was good to see you, Roman,’ she said. ‘Please don’t expect a repeat performance in Paris. I would prefer it if you stayed away.’ She turned to head to the shower, but then changed her mind. ‘You need to let your twin know you are alive, or I shall. You chose to reappear,’ she said. ‘I shan’t keep any secrets for you from now on.’ She told him Daniil’s address. ‘He changed his name a couple of years ago, so that you might find him. I can’t believe you have not spent every day searching for him.’
Then she looked at a man who had simply turned his back on the life they could have had, and, yes, actually she could believe it.
‘I hope she was worth it.’
‘Worth what?’
The end of them.
‘Go,’ Anya said.
She wanted him to leave now.
And, because it was Roman, just like that, he went.
It was pride that stopped her calling him back.
* * *
She stepped into the shower and quickly dressed for her after party.
Blasting her hair with the dryer, it fell softly around her face. Her hands were still shaking from their brief reunion.
She pulled on a pale grey dress and some heels and then headed out.
Colour she saved for the stage.
‘Where were you?’ Mika asked, as she climbed into the limousine to head to the hotel where the party was being held.
‘I had people to greet.’
They sat in silence, Anya lost in her thoughts. Mika was sulking at being kept waiting and he read what was being said on social media about tonight’s performance. They ignored each other but as they stepped out onto the red carpet they came alive again, for it added to the mystery of the dance world. There were screams for Mika, because he had quite a fangirl following. Mika, though, put a protective arm around Anya and they smiled for the cameras and then headed inside.
Instead of refusing the delicacies that were being offered, as she usually did, Anya took a serviette and a small beignet and bit into the warm, sweet dough.
There were a few raised eyebrows when she took another and then another. The lemon in her water was her usual fuel for this type of thing.
But sex had made her hungry, or was it that Roman was back?
Yes, the people around could see the changes. Not just that she ate but that her cheeks were pink and her green eyes glittered.
After all these years, her body felt alive again and yet he had killed her soul.
The next morning as the famed ballet troupe headed for a snatched week at home or straight on to Paris before rehearsals began in earnest, Anya fought with herself not to stop the car and get out.
Roman was in London.
And as she sat on the plane and strapped on her seat belt she wanted to disembark. It felt wrong to be leaving when he was here.
She turned away from the chatter of colleagues and stared out of the window and thought of Roman and Daniil catching up after all these years, and then she thought of what had taken place last night.
Then, despite harsh words to Roman and a brutal lecture to herself, insisting that she was through with him, she consoled herself with one thought.
She would see him at the christening, she was sure.
It wasn’t over.
It never had been.
CHAPTER FIVE
ROMAN AWOKE ON the morning of the christening and as he lay there he was hit with an unfamiliar feeling—he wanted to be waking up in his Parisian home.
Roman was not used to missing a city, or a building, but as he got up and showered he was glad that soon he would be going home.
Today, though, he would meet with Daniil.
He still hadn’t contacted him.
The natural assumption might be that he would want to see his identical twin before seeing Anya.
The assumption would have been wrong.
He and Daniil had been abandoned at approximately two weeks of age. No one knew who had been born first but it had always been assumed that Roman was the elder.
Roman had been a natural leader and, though Daniil was as tough as they came, Roman had looked out for his brother at every turn. He had taken care of him and taken the fall for him and had wanted only the best for his twin.
When Daniil had been adopted Roman had made a promise to himself that he was letting his twin go for good.
Daniil had had a chance, a real chance for a good life and an entirely new start, and Roman had insisted that he take it.
When Daniil had refused to leave, when he had reminded Roman that they would make it themselves as boxers, Roman had told him he would do better without him, that he was the better fighter and that it was Daniil, if he stayed, who would drag him down.
A forbidden fight had been set up in the dorm and Roman had fought dirty that night.
‘See, shishka,’ Roman had said. Daniil had been recovering from a savage blow that had ripped apart his cheek and Roman had used the name they had called him since they had found out he was to be adopted. It meant big shot. ‘I do better without you.’
So Daniil had taken his chance. There had been no letters sent from England to the orphanage, no attempt by Daniil to contact his twin. Though Roman had missed him, the knowledge that his brother had a chance had consoled him.
When Roman had left the orphanage he had considered trying to track Daniil down, but the thought of turning up on his doorstep, of being a burden on his twin, meant he had decided to leave well alone.
Roman had considered it again when he had come out of the French Foreign Legion. Unlike most legionnaires, he had amassed quite a fortune thanks to a long conversation with a comrade, Dario.
The men had rarely spoken about their lives before joining the legion—it was what they had come to get away from after all. But one night in the desert, both wounded and waiting for help to arrive, they had touched on their pasts.
‘Stay awake,’ Roman said as Dario slipped in and out of consciousness. Roman too wanted the bliss of closing his eyes but he knew it would have signalled the end. The sand in his lacerated back felt as if salt was being rubbed into his wounds, and he could hear the gurgle of his chest as he tried to breathe. He held onto the gold earring he had taken from his pocket and it felt as if Anya was by his side and for her he kept his eyes open. ‘Dario!’ he commanded. ‘Talk.’
Silence.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Roman asked.
‘My wife,’ Dario said. ‘I left chaos behind me,’ he admitted to Roman. ‘I just hope she is okay.’<
br />
They conversed in French, as was the rule.
‘If I’d stayed I’d have been locked up, I think,’ Dario said. ‘What about you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Roman tried to imagine what life might have been like had he stayed. He might have moved to Saint Petersburg but he could not imagine things going well there. How would he have supported Anya? He couldn’t have.
He thought of the furious words that Katya had hurled at him. Anya’s audition hadn’t gone well and the blame, her mother had said, lay squarely with him.
‘I tried it as a boxer but got nowhere,’ Roman told his wounded comrade.
‘You’re a good boxer,’ Dario commented, because Roman was in the parachute regiment kickboxing team.
‘I knew nothing about nutrition then,’ Roman said. ‘Anyway, getting beaten up for a living never really appealed. It was just a dream when we were growing up—a way out.’
‘We?’
Roman didn’t answer that question.
‘I was good at the share market,’ Dario said. ‘I got rich but then I got foolish.’
‘Foolish?’
‘I didn’t stick to the rules,’ he admitted. ‘You have to know when to hold steady, know when to pull out.’
And Dario told Roman the rules that he had failed to adhere to and he told him about brokers and such things. Recovering in Provence, Roman had set things in motion.
Legionnaires’ board and lodging were provided and Roman had barely touched his wage so he set it to work. He was attached to nothing and no one, certainly not money, and he had way more self-discipline than most. These were the perfect ingredients to play the stock market and Roman did it incredibly well.
Having recovered from his injuries, Roman signed on for another five years but he would leave the legion a wealthy man. Still, there were things he did not know about and had never experienced and he was embarrassed to go to his brother. The night before he walked out of the gates he and his comrades had drunk plenty. They would miss Roman and could not imagine a better solider beside them in battle, or a more focused, determined person to get them there on long, seemingly endless marches. He had done all he could to never leave a comrade behind.
Return of the Untamed Billionaire Page 4
