Prologue
Eyes snapping with a combination of temper and triumph, Natasha marched into her bedroom. So, Mikhail and Alexi thought it would be funny to dress the dog in her new bra and best dance skirt. And they had discovered, she reflected, just what happened to irritating younger brothers when they put their grubby hands on what didn't belong to them.
She imagined Mik would be limping for the rest of the day.
Best of all, Mama had ordered them to wash the bra and skirt—with their own hands. And hang them out to dry. Where, she thought with growing pleasure, several of the neighbor boys would be sure to see them at their task.
They'd be humiliated.
Mama, she thought, always dealt out perfect justice. It was even better than the kick in the shins she herself had dealt out to her brother.
Natasha turned toward the long mirror on her wall and to calm herself, lowered into a plié. Her fourteen-year-old body was as slim as her brothers', with just a hint of curves at breast and hip. Ballet lessons had taught those limbs, those joints, those bones, to bend, twist, adjust to demands, had schooled her mind toward discipline. And given her heart the greatest of joys. She knew the lessons were expensive, and how hard her parents worked to see that she—and her siblings—had what they wanted most.
Because she knew, she practiced religiously, worked harder than anyone else in her class.
One day she would be a great ballerina, and every time she danced, she would thank them for the gift.
Imagining herself in a sparkling tutu, hearing the music swell, she closed golden-brown eyes, lifted a delicate chin. Her hair, a long curling fall of black, swung gently as she rose on her toes and turned in a slow pirouette.
When she opened them, she saw her sister in the doorway.
"They're nearly finished washing it," Rachel announced. As usual when she looked at Natasha she was struck with a mix of pride and envy. Pride that her sister was so beautiful, looked so lovely when she danced. Envy that at eight she felt she would never be fourteen, never be so pretty, so graceful.
Natasha's ribbons never fell out of her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. And she was getting breasts. They were small, but they were there.
For Rachel, every ambition, need and desire centered around being fourteen.
Natasha merely smiled, turned another pirouette. "Are they whining?"
"A little." Rachel's lips twitched. "When Mama's too far away to hear. And Mik says you broke his leg."
"Good. He deserves a broken leg for taking my things."
"It was a little funny." Rachel came in to bounce on the bed. "Sasha looked so silly in your pretty white bra and pink skirt."
"A little funny," Natasha admitted. She walked to her dresser to pick up her brush. "Maybe very funny when they put on Swan Lake and pretended to dance with him." With temper over, she grinned and ran the brush idly through her hair. "Well, they're only boys."
Rachel wrinkled her nose. Boys were currently very low on her list. "Boys are stupid. They yell too loud and smell too much. Being a girl's better." Though she wore faded jeans, a ragged T-shirt and a Yankees' cap over her disordered black hair, she believed it absolutely.
Her eyes, the same color as her sister's, danced. "We can get them back."
She told herself she was above such things, but Natasha studied Rachel with growing interest. Rachel might have been the baby of the family, but she was devious. "How?"
"Mik's baseball jersey." Which Rachel privately coveted. "I think Sasha would look very handsome in it. When they go out to hang the wash, we can get it."
"Nobody knows where he hides it when he's not wearing it."
"I know." Rachel's smile spread over her pretty face. "I know everything. I'll tell you, and I'll help you pay him back, if…"
Natasha lifted a brow. Devious, and clever. Rachel always had an angle. "If?"
"If I can wear your gold earrings, the little hoops with the stars carved on them."
"The last time I let you wear a pair of my earrings, you lost one."
"I didn't lose it. I just can't find it yet." Part of her wanted to pout, but that would have to wait until the deal was set. "I'll get the jersey, help you dress Sasha, and keep Mama busy. You let me wear the earrings for three days."
"One day."
"Two."
Natasha let out a sigh. "All right then."
With a cagey smile, Rachel held out her hand. "Earrings first."
Shaking her head, Natasha opened her little jewelry box and took out the hoops. "How can you be such a wheedler when you're only eight?"
"When you're the youngest, you have to wheedle." She hopped up, happily putting on the earrings in the mirror. "Everybody else gets everything first. If I were the oldest, these would be my earrings."