Dance, Sugarplum

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

LYLA

FIVE YEARS LATER

Christmas Day.

It’s my first thought when my eyes open. I reach for Mikhail, assuming he’s asleep on his side of the bed, but of course he’s not here anymore. That man wakes up too early.

I race downstairs, skipping as I go, and it’s not only because this is my favorite time of the year. Mikhail is the better gift giver between us, and I’m so excited to see what he got me. It’s funny because he always acts so tough, but he’s thoughtful and observant. Of course he nails it every year.

But this year, I have a surprise, and he won’t see it coming.

“Mikhail!” I yell, making a big fuss.

I find him in his office, his nose buried in paperwork. He has another production coming up this spring, and he’s been stressed.

“No work today,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Don’t retire, and I can relax,” he signs to me.

The signing took time and convincing, but eventually, he realized we needed a way of communicating that wasn’t constantly hurting him. For more than fifteen years, he closed himself off from the world and was content not being heard often. But since I came into his life, there are a lot of things worth giving an opinion about.

“I think you’ll survive with a new prima ballerina. And I’ll be around anyway. It’s not like I won’t dance anymore.”

He shoots me a look. As usual, it has the opposite effect, and I bite back a giggle. He’s been complaining about my retirement announcement since I started playing with the idea. He likes that I’ll be around more—no more long rehearsals and all that—but as a producer, he’s been impossible, acting like it’s the worst thing in the world to find someone to replace me.

I go to him, grab his hand in mine, and tug him away from his work. He’s not going to find a new prima ballerina looking at paperwork on Christmas Day. I might like to be annoyed with how hard he works, or how hard I have to work to get his focus, but he’s just being Mikhail , I guess.

“Come on. It’s time for presents.”

Mikhail drags his feet but follows me to the living room, where our tree sits. It’s a perfect winter wonderland finally matching the outside of his iconic building. Before he has a chance to take a present from under the tree, I jump into action and take the one I have for him.

“I go first!”

I’m jumping up and down like a child. I’ve never been this excited before. He notices my nervous energy and narrows his eyes in suspicion, but I thrust the small box into his hands and nudge him to open it.

I bite my lip and hold my breath as he opens the narrow red box and finds his gift sitting there. He looks down and then back at me.

“This is serious?” he says so low I almost miss it.

“It is.”

Mikhail takes the positive pregnancy test out of the box, looking at it as if it could be a trick, but it’s right there in bold letters. I’m six weeks pregnant. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, and I don’t see him coming when he takes me into his arms.

“My Lyla,” he whispers into my ear, his arms around me and his nose buried in my hair.

I laugh. I planned this so carefully so we could have the perfect Christmas memory. And we’ll have many of them now.

“ I guess I’m okay if you retire. Having you barefoot and pregnant could be very interesting, ” he signs to me.

“No pointe with my belly?”

“ Definitely not. I think you’ll find I’m even more overbearingly protective now. ”

“I think I can live with that.”

“ I wouldn’t be so sure. ”

I squeal and giggle as he scoops me into his arms, and minutes later, we’re under the Christmas tree enjoying the best present of all—us.

Looking for a darker and crazier Christmas retelling? Sacked and Sleighed