Return Of The Untamed Billionaire. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ the prince hid in the garden in wait to watch and then capture the firebird, and after another pause she came back on and swept up a piece of golden fruit.

      Firebird was so beautiful, Anya thought as she danced. So slender, fragile and graceful. Few knew the agony that it took to birth this beauty and tonight, on closing night, it all came together as she shimmered and danced for him.

      For Roman.

      The man she had loved too much.

      Their love affair that had lasted for just two short weeks but then he had so cruelly left.

      For a long time she had feared he had died.

      He had not.

      And he had never once told her he loved her.

      Had he? And would she ever see him again? Firebird asked herself over and over as the prince captured her in his arms and the pas de deux commenced.

      There was a small flutter of hope that she might—soon the dance company would move to Paris and that was where she was now sure he lived.

      Would Roman seek her out this time? Firebird wondered as the prince lifted her high into the sky.

      Left alone on the stage towards the interval, she danced her solo with everything she had.

      Everything, everything, was right.

      The interval came and she did not respond to the chatter from her colleagues; instead she shut herself in her dressing-room. For the first ten minutes she just recovered her breathing. The role was the most demanding of any of them. Then Anya ate the other half of her banana and a small chocolate bar and closed her eyes, desperate to not escape the zone that she had found tonight.

      And with the sweet taste of chocolate on her tongue she remembered her first taste.

      Always she had practised in the kitchen, but once she had become a teenager, her mother had told her she could not dance when the boys were eating, as it teased them.

      She would put on an apron and serve their meals instead.

      Oh, but there was one she would love to tease.

      Roman.

      He and his twin had a talent for boxing and Sergio, the maintenance man, trained them and insisted that the Zverev twins would make it in the boxing world.

      As a younger girl, Anya had laughed as they’d trained and had told them that she was far fitter.

      She had been.

      Anya had been accepted at a prestigious dance school, but in the holidays she would come back.

      There were four boys, and they were always together—Roman, Daniil, Nikolai and Sev.

      Trouble the workers called them.

      Anya didn’t think so.

      But on the eve of Daniil’s adoption by a rich family in England, a fight had broken out and Roman had won.

      She could remember Daniil sitting in the kitchen as her mother had done what she could to repair his cheek.

      ‘The rich family don’t want ugly,’ Katya had said to him as Anya had fetched the first-aid box.

      She had looked at Daniil and seen the confusion in his eyes that his brother could have done this to him.

      ‘It’s because Roman wants what is best for you,’ Anya had wanted to say, for it had been clear to her that Roman had not really been cross with his brother, just let him think he could do better in boxing without him.

      She had been too nervous to say that in front of her mother.

      After Daniil had left for England, the little group of four had quickly disbanded.

      Sev had been given a scholarship to a very good school and had later boarded there.

      Nikolai had, they’d thought, run away and thrown himself in a river. But, as they had recently found out, he had simply run away.

      Only Roman had remained in the orphanage.

      Now, at mealtimes, Roman had come for the second sitting, the one reserved for the older, most troubled boys.

      He had been so beautiful. Dark hair and pale skin and he’d had black eyes that would look across the dining room and catch Anya’s at times. Always she had been aware of him and anticipated his arrival. Even on the coldest of mornings, when he’d come in to breakfast, there had been heat in her cheeks, just because he had been near.

      In the evenings, when she’d served him his stew, sometimes their fingers had touched under the plate he’d held out.

      Anya had lived for those moments and ached for time to speak with him properly, but he had been in the secure wing, so it had been an impossible dream. Sometimes she’d convinced herself that she was imagining that Roman felt the same way about her, until one night when their fingers had met beneath the plate. He had given her something and Anya frowned as she’d felt the slim package.

      Worried that her mother would notice, she’d quickly put it into the pocket of her apron but then, when she’d been sent to the cupboard to eat her soup, she’d taken it out.

      Chocolate.

      Belgian chocolate.

      And a whole bar!

      How had he got it?

      And why, instead of eating such a rare treat himself, had Roman saved it for her?

      Oh, her mother had found out. She had opened the cupboard door and found Anya pushing chocolate into her mouth.

      Katya had berated her daughter as she’d slapped her, but for Anya it had been worth it, not just for the sweet taste, more that Roman had thought enough of her to give her such a treat.

      All these years later she still had the foil and, as she touched it, she smiled at the memory.

      It was time to return to the stage.

      With her mother’s shawl wrapped around her, again she painted her lips scarlet and then back through the maze of corridors she went.

      Firebird soared even higher.

      She danced the monsters into the shadows and as she did so, she thought of the lover who had left her.

      How he had broken her heart when he had left without so much as a goodbye.

      But she had risen.

      Anya had poured all her grief, her anger and her longing into her next love—ballet.

      And it had paid off, it would seem, for she was here, under the lights, now a prima ballerina, enchanting the audience, whom she held in the palm of her hand tonight.

      How the firebird mocked the monsters on stage as she danced them into exhaustion СКАЧАТЬ