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      While I was writing this novel I realized that

      Belana’s grandmother had the personality of my grandmother:

      imperious to a fault, but very funny. So this book is dedicated to

      the memory of my grandmother, Ester J. Long,

      who left this world at the age of ninety on November 14, 2010.

      Thanks to my editor, Kelli Martin, once again for her help

      in making this book the best it could possibly be.

      And to the rest of the editorial staff at Kimani Press.

      You’re all wonderful to work with.

       Chapter 1

      Belana Whitaker stood backstage at the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center waiting for her cue to take the stage for the final act of Swan Lake. While she waited, she kept her muscles warm by stretching and raising her body onto the tips of the fresh pair of pointe shoes she’d changed into after the first three acts. She rarely had to change shoes between acts, but the toe box in the left shoe of the other pair had begun to break down. Well-fitting shoes were essential to a good performance.

      Tonight marked the last show in which she would dance the role of Odette. Around her, other members of the ballet company warmed up as well. Strains of Tchaikovsky’s passionate score played by the symphony orchestra filled the air. The sound waves vibrated in her belly, making her jittery with excitement.

      Her partner, Gideon Oliveras, who was dancing the role of Prince Siegfried, sidled up to her. Six-two and with a body whose muscular frame had been honed to perfection from years of ballet, he also had the face of a screen idol and was the sweetest guy in the company. “Ready to create magic?” he asked softly in his Spanish-accented voice.

      Hearing the smile in his tone, Belana turned her face up to his and smiled back at him. “More than ready. I’m fired up! It would be nice if we didn’t have to die this time,” she joked. In the ballet, the lovers drown in the lake and their souls ascend to Heaven.

      Gideon beamed. “Sorry, I can’t make any promises. Besides, when you fall into my arms, it’s the highlight of my night, every night.”

      Belana laughed shortly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

      “I do not!” Gideon replied, feigning hurt at her accusation. He was happily married to another dancer. He would never cheat on her, but he’d always had a soft spot for Belana. He saw no signs that she was aware of it, though. In times like this she was focused only on the dance. He gave an imperceptible sigh, and drank in her beauty. Underneath the stage makeup was golden-brown skin that glowed, and somewhere behind the artificial eyelashes that were so long and thick they looked better suited for a cow, were warm, golden-brown eyes that sparkled. Heavy makeup was one of the sacrifices a ballerina made in order to be seen by theatergoers in the last row.

      “Of course you do,” Belana said with a grin. She smoothed a stray lock of long, wavy, dark brown hair with auburn highlights behind her ear. “We girls appreciate the attention. Although we know you’d never leave Gwen. You’re too perfect together.”

      His wife, Gwen Barrow-Oliveras, was a principal dancer with another ballet company in New York City. “Because she would kill me if I cheated on her. She’s very high-strung, our Gwen,” Gideon said.

      Belana couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the image of slender-to-the-point-of-near-emaciation, ultrafeminine Gwen overpowering her much larger husband made her giggle. Now, if she were the one with blood in her eye, she might do him some damage. She was not one of those tiny ballerinas who looked as if a stiff breeze might blow her away. She was an athlete with muscles capable of achieving onstage leaps rivaling those of her male colleagues. Twenty years of ballet plus weight training and long-distance running had made her strong. She didn’t look bulky like a weight lifter. Her

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