Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
The gesture is out of left field, and I’m not sure what to do. So I say a simple thank you.
He nods. “I thought that perhaps this afternoon you could help Nonna in the kitchen. After your appointments, of course.”
“The kitchen?”
“Yes.” He rubs a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “We are having a guest for dinner tomorrow evening, and she will be doing some baking if you’d like to join her.”
It seems like an odd suggestion, but it’s not like I have anything better to do. “Okay.”
Silence is an ocean between us, and I don’t know what else to say. Neither does Nikolai, apparently. His eyes are hostage to my new figure, and I’m self-conscious of his attention. Before, he said I was too bony, but perhaps now he thinks the opposite to be true.
“You look much better,” he says roughly. “Healthy. Your skin is glowing.”
It isn’t what I expected to hear, and my answer is as awkward as I presently feel.
“Thanks. It’s all the fish. The doctor said it’s good for the skin … so yeah.”
This conversation is going nowhere fast. I’m out of sorts, and I don’t know why, but my cheeks heat when Nikolai’s eyes trace over my hips. I’m in the least flattering outfit I could imagine wearing—a pair of baggy shorts and a tee shirt—but it’s all I have left apart from the one leotard he didn’t destroy.
“Keep eating the fish,” he says. “It does you good.”
And with those words of wisdom, he departs abruptly, leaving me dazed and disoriented.
I’m tempted to check the bags now, but I wait until I’ve finished my practice. When the timer goes off downstairs, Nonna will be in to collect me and lock up the gym for the day. Since my release from the bed, I’ve been grateful to return to my practice. I was also surprised to find that Nikolai had a barre installed. Something I forgot to mention or thank him for while he was here.
It seems like an odd gesture of kindness from someone who has no interest in my returning to the stage. But I will take whatever small scrap he offers as far as my ballet is concerned.
“Time is up.” Nonna enters the room in keeping with her schedule.
“Okay.”
I finish my last set of pliés at the barre and collect my things, including the bags Nikolai left for me. Nonna locks the gym behind us but doesn’t bother to escort me upstairs. I’m free to roam as I like unless I break the rules again.
“The doctor will be here in thirty minutes,” she reminds me.
“Thank you. I’ll be ready.”
I trudge up the stairs to my room and set the bags down on the bed. The mystery of what’s inside gets the best of me, and when I peek, my breath falters.
Ballet clothes.
He bought me ballet clothes. Tights, leotards, wraps, leg warmers. Everything I could possibly need to return to my practice with renewed vigilance. Something thaws inside my chest, and I realize when a wave of emotion crashes over me that this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
It seems paradoxical when he was the one to ruin my clothes in the first place, but my father never bought me clothes. Dante never bought me clothes. I was given an allowance to shop online, and every item I owned was chosen by me personally. Nothing was ever gifted. It’s a new experience trying on clothing that someone else chose for me. I’m left to wonder what went through his mind when he picked each piece out. If he imagined the way they would look on my body. If he felt anything at all when he contemplated colors or sizes or fabrics.
The clothing is beautiful. Every piece is expensive and well made. But my favorite is the pale pink chiffon leotard dress. It’s light and flowy and pretty. When I try it on, I don’t want to take it off.
Inside another bag, I find a pair of pointe shoes with a note taped to them.
For later.
My heart squeezes, and I have to take a moment to process this turn of events. I’m not naïve enough to believe that Nikolai cares one way or the other if I ever dance professionally again, but this feels like hope. It feels like someone believes in me, and I haven’t had that for a very long time.
I don’t know how he determined my sizes, but it seems like he went through a lot of trouble to do this for me, so the least I can do is thank him properly. I sit down on the vanity bench and slip the pointes on to get a feel for them before I start my work. Every pair needs to be modified to fit perfectly, but not every pair needs the same adjustments. I can only ever tell by walking in them, which is what I intend to do now.