Return Of The Untamed Billionaire. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ as she always did, she imagined Roman watching as the prince held her and turned her and she was perfection in his arms. She hoped Roman ached in regret for leaving her behind.

      As the magical egg cracked open, she closed her mind to the grief and the memory of his smile filled her heart.

      Flu had swept through the orphanage and the orphans had been confined to their dorms. Walking into his room in the secure unit to deliver his supper, just before he’d left the orphanage, they had been alone for the first time for a moment. How she had ached to lower her head and kiss that sulky mouth.

      ‘How did you get the chocolate?’ she had asked.

      Roman hadn’t answered but she had warmed to the first glimpse of his smile.

      And tonight she was on fire to the memory of it.

      But then it had been over.

      Firebird did not appear in the final scene; instead she sat on the floor in the wings and dragged in air, utterly drained. Then as the performance ended, she listened to the cheers and the applause and she hauled herself up. When it was her turn, the firebird ran onto the stage as serene and as beautiful as ever to accept the applause.

      The audience rose as she returned. They knew they had seen an amazing performance tonight and that she had danced with all that she had.

      Tatania offered deep curtsies, swooped and picked up the roses that were thrown onto the stage.

      She knew that she had earned every bravo and every cheer and Tatania smiled as still they cheered on.

      There was a ten-minute standing ovation and over and over they called her back to accept the applause, but just as the noise started to ebb, she heard it.

      ‘Brava krasavitsa!’

      Beautiful woman.

      Tatania froze momentarily and turned her face up and to the right and peered into the darkness but she could not see him.

      Yet her soul recognised his voice.

      Roman was here.

CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS NOT the words that made her freeze, because there were many Russians in the audience and she heard that phrase often. No, it was the depth of his voice that made her face lift and her eyes scrutinise the darkness, and for a brief second in an otherwise faultless performance, she was Anya Ilyushin.

      The cook’s daughter.

      The orphans had all thought her posh because she’d had a parent and had later attended a prestigious dance school where she had learnt not just to dance but to talk well and to eat and walk like a lady. They had not understood that she too had been dirt poor. Before she had boarded at dance school and later during the holidays, she had risen before five in a freezing house and had gone to the orphanage with her mother. There, unlike at home, the kitchen had been warm. Katya would work all day and through till late at night, not just cooking but cleaning and scrubbing and sorting out supplies. Once her mother had put the oats to soak, ready for the morning, they would return to their dark, cold home, ready to do it all again the next day.

      Anya had always yearned for the next day. When she was there, she had always looked out for him.

      And she was looking out for him now.

      Now she peered into the dark of the audience, but he did not call out again. Perhaps she had misheard. Or maybe she was going mad, Anya thought as she made her way back to her dressing-room.

      Now she was exhausted and aching.

      She sat there at her dressing-room table and fought to concentrate as she was told that soon she would receive the duchess.

      ‘Who else?’

      There were many people who would want to greet her, and Anya found she was holding her breath as the names were read out.

      Last year, when she had first played Firebird, Daniil, Roman’s twin, had been in the audience and had come backstage to make sure that it really was her.

      She had run to him as for a tiny second she had thought it was Roman, but even before she had seen the scar, her heart had collapsed as she had realised it was not Roman.

      She was scared to get her hopes up again.

      Yes, she understood that it was imperative that she greet the duchess and she gave a terse nod. Of course one of the sponsors was here and with him his teenage daughter, who wanted to be a ballet dancer too. Anya felt her hands ball in impatience as the list was read out.

      ‘Who else?’ Anya snapped.

      ‘There is a gentleman, he says that you would remember him as Daniil Zverev’s twin...’

      Anya’s heavily made-up lashes fluttered as it was confirmed that Roman was here, yet he had not directly given his name.

      ‘He offered his congratulations for your performance tonight. He said that he always knew that you would make it. He asked that I pass on this.’

      Anya glanced down and there in the assistant’s palm was the small, thin gold hoop that she had left behind the time they had first made love.

      Oh, she remembered coming home that day, late of course. Her mother had asked where she had been.

      ‘Your earring is missing,’ Katya had said, and then she had seen her daughter’s glittering eyes and flushed cheeks and her mouth and skin inflamed from Roman’s rough, hot kisses and she had slapped Anya’s cheek.

      Hard.

      And then the other.

      Now Anya’s cheeks reddened at the memory of their first time and the bliss that both had found, and now Roman had brought the earring back to her.

      ‘Tell Daniil’s twin that he can return it himself. You can bring him to my dressing-room after I have greeted the others.’

      Oh, she ached to have the pair. Her mother had given her the earrings when she had been accepted into the school of dance.

      But, no, it would be a cheat to her heart and it would scald her fingers to take it from anyone other than Roman.

      For now she had to line up with the rest of the cast, and as the duchess congratulated her on her performance, she shivered with the hope that Roman was still near. Tatania curtsied deeply and smiled and conversed with the duchess, but her breathlessness was not from awe, but for the potential moment to come.

      She greeted others that she had to and accepted their congratulations with grace. She spoke with the sponsor’s young daughter and even gave her a pair of pointe shoes.

      Yes, she did all the right things until finally she sat at her dressing table and told the assistant that she was ready to receive her final guest.

      She stared into the mirror and saw that the feathers shook in her headdress and her eyes were wide, as if in shock.

      She СКАЧАТЬ