From Russia With Love

The following morning Dominika woke early with a nervous sense of anticipation. Today was her very first day dancing for a real ballet company, something she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl. The sky was inky and mottled outside, warning of an imminent thunderstorm. She sighed as she pulled her duvet up over the bed, straightening the edges even knowing the cleaning lady would soon be along to change her linen.

Today she sat on the padded polished wood chair in front of her dressing table as she combed through her hair and pinned it into a neat dancer’s bun, secured with a thin hairnet she’d borrowed from Donna. Her skin had a red tinge today, blushed from excitement and she longed for makeup, adding it to her mental list of things still needed to buy. Dominika changed into her dance clothes slowly, admiring each piece as she put it on. Her outfit was pale white and soft pink, perfectly neutral for ballet school. She’d spent an hour on her new shoes the night before she’d finally gone to bed, adjusting the placement of the ribbons, adding traction to the soles and breaking in the shank, customizing them to her foot like she had every pair of ballet shoes she’d owned since she was a child. Now they were tucked into her backpack, awaiting their first full day of wear. Dominika wondered how long the pair would last, knowing she had a terrible habit of destroying a new pair of shoes within a week.

She slipped a new pair of elastic black pants over her ballet tights and a loose grey top over her head, comfortable and warm. She wrapped her arms around herself as she ambled down the stairs, singing in Russian under her breath.

Konstantin was already in the kitchen of course, his back to her as she entered, sniffing the air.

“What’s that?” she asked in Russian. Konstantin turned to face her, spatula in hand.

“Semolina” he answered “I thought you could use a good start to your day”

“Wow, thanks! I haven’t had semolina since I was a kid”

“That’s why you’re too skinny, young lady, eat up”

Konstantin ladled spoonfuls of porridge into a bowl and added butter and sugar before gesturing for Dominika to take it. She complied and sat on the lone chair in the kitchen, blowing on her food to cool it. The steam curled around her face and dissipated into the air.

She ate her breakfast quickly, chattering quietly to the chef between mouthfuls about the state of affairs back in their homeland. She learnt that he had lived in America for over twenty years after growing up in the slums of Moscow, having come here by chance in the hope of a better life. Konstantin had indeed found a better life, and had worked his way up through the culinary chain to become a renowned chef highly regarded all over the country.

As she passed him her empty dish, he placed her lunch bag in front of her and wished her luck for her first day. Butterflies beat against her stomach again as she tucked it into her bag along with a couple of bottles of water, knowing she’d need them. Dominika was over two weeks out of practice now and even her short performance yesterday had left her with aching muscles. She rubbed her neck sub-consciously.

It was even earlier than the previous day and the sun was just beginning to rise over the trees as she stood on the porch, arms wrapped around herself in the chilly air. Birds called delicately in the distance, adding to the sleepy ambiance.

John’s vintage Bentley rolled up the driveway almost silently and she rubbed her arms, eager to get into the warm cabin of the old car. He leant over the seat and pushed the passenger door open, calling to her.

“Hey, Princess! Ready for your first day?”

Dominika ducked into the car and placed her bag at her feet, smiling at the older man as she shut the door.

“I can’t wait”

They drove the now-familiar route into the city, Dominika’s hands twiddling nervously in her lap as they went. She was so excited but also frightened, today was her first day dancing with other people besides her ballet instructors back home. Would the other girls like her? Would she like them? It suddenly occurred to her how different she might be treated if they knew she was the Russian princess. She’d seen the news reports on TV, she knew Russia and her escape were hot topics right now, highlighted by the huge media presence at the airport when she’d arrived in the country. Did she really want to be treated the same way at dance school? No. She wanted to be normal for once in her life, to blend in, just like everyone else.

Dominika felt stronger and resolved as John parked the car in the lot of the ballet company building, keeping the radio running as he cut the engine.

“Do you want me to walk you in or will that embarrass you?” he asked, smirking.

“I’ll be okay” Dominika replied, slipping her arm through the loops of her bag. She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, ducking down so John could hear her as she spoke.
“Thanks for the lift. How will you know when I’m finished?”

John leant over the seat again and rifled through the glove compartment, producing a folded piece of paper. He held it up at her.

“I’ve got your timetable. I’ll be here when you finish”

Dominika laughed to herself as she closed the car door, slinging the bag over her shoulder as she walked into the reception. The same woman from yesterday manned the desk, typing at her computer frantically. Dominika cleared her throat quietly as she approached, butterflies darting around in her stomach nervously again.

“Oh! Hello, Princess” she said, looking up from her work. She wore bright red lipstick and thick-rimmed glasses today, making her look extra-professional.

“Hi” Dominika replied “I hope I’m not late. I’m not sure where to go for my first class”

“I’ll print your timetable for you”

She turned her attention back to the computer again for a moment then swiveled her chair over to a printer in the back corner of her office space, scooting back to hand a freshly printed page in sharp black ink to Dominika over the desk.

She pointed to each square on the page with her pen as she spoke.

“This column is today, and this square right here is your first class. You have warm up with Miss Rubenstein in the Danilova building. Next is toning class with Mrs. Jenkins in Albert Hall...”

Dominika tried to concentrate as the timetable was explained to her but she was so excited and nervous to start she only heard every second word the receptionist spoke. Finally the paper was handed to her and she followed the woman to her first assigned class, heart thumping against her ribcage.

The Danilova building wasn’t particularly large but the interior was spacious, helped by wall-to-wall mirrors that reflected every angle. A traditional ballerina’s bar stretched around the entire length of three walls, providing plenty of space for dance. Several girls were already there, using the bar to warm up, stretching and adjusting shoes. Their busy chatter fell silent as the receptionist walked in the room, Dominika at her heels. She glanced at them briefly behind her hair and smiled shyly at the red-haired girl with pale skin and freckles that met her eye. The red-head nudged a thin girl with mousey brown hair next to her and the other girl looked up too, smiling at Dominika.

The receptionist and the dance teacher spoke quietly between themselves for a few moments before the teacher addressed the room.

“Class, this is Dominika, she’s new to our company and just arrived in the country from Russia. Please give her a warm welcome”

The girls muttered a garbled combined greeting that Dominika couldn’t make out but she tried to appear friendly anyway, smiling at them as she stood next to the teacher.

“Dominika, why don’t you take a place over there and we’ll start our warm up, this will probably be pretty close to what you’re used to from home”

Dominika took her place at the furthest end, a little away from the rest of the girls to begin her warm-up. She was shy, and didn’t want to disrupt the order they’d already formed along the bar. The teacher stood in front of them and gentle piano music began to play.

Dominika moved her limbs slowly, mimicking the teacher’s movements. Muscles she hadn’t had the chance to use in weeks began to warm and she welcomed the burn as it came, overjoyed to be dancing again. All the pain within her heart seemed to ease a little as she stretched, reconnecting with the passion she had treasured since she was a child.

The class seemed to last only a few minutes but the clock on the wall high above them showed it had been an hour by the time Miss Rubenstein brought it to a close, briefing the girls on the day ahead. Dominika was slipping her top back over her head when she heard a high-pitched voice at her side, and she jumped in surprise.

Next to her was the red-headed girl she’d made eye contact with earlier, flanked by the mousey brunette.

“Sorry” the red-head said “didn’t mean to scare you”

She had a thick, nasal American accent.

“It’s okay” Dominika replied “I’m a bit jumpy lately”

“I’m Daphne, this is Harriet. We just wanted to welcome you to the city, and the company”

The brunette, Harriet, moved to stand beside Daphne and Dominika noticed her deep green eyes, shadowed by dark brows.

“Dominika. It’s nice to meet you” she said, plucking her bag from the floor. The girls already had their top layers on and she wondered where their bags were, dreading having to lug the backpack from place to place.

“Where’s your next class?” Daphne asked, smoothing her hands over her head. Her hair was tucked into a neat bun, scraped back from her face.

“Toning class with Miss Jenkins”

“Oh, Harriet’s in that class, I have rehearsal, want us to walk you there?”

“Yes, please” Dominika replied.

She walked side by side with the girls as they made their way down the long hallway and out onto the stone-paved terrace, wild ivy growing up the brick of the exterior walls.

“So you’re from Russia, huh? Were you there when the war broke out?”

“Yes” she murmured quietly “I came here to escape the conflict. I’m living with my American…godmother till it’s safe to go home”

The girls exchanged a look that Dominika couldn’t decipher and for a moment she was paranoid they didn’t believe her half-true story. Daphne continued to talk in hushed tones as they walked along the pathway slowly.

“I heard the whole Russian family was murdered, can you believe it? The whole family”

“I know” Dominika whispered “it’s horrible”

Notes

Please read my author's note in the comments for the previous chapter so it makes sense! Thanks for reading lovely readers! <3