Page 28 of Reverence

“That would indeed go against the pervasive opinion that you hate me.”

This almost stopped Juliette in her tracks, except she really did not want to chase after the woman again and cause additional whispers in their wake.

So she slowed down before quietly saying, “I don’t know why you trust the words of someone you clearly don’t respect and who even more clearly doesn't respect you. Michel Duval is not your best source of information, you know.”

The right corner of Katarina’s mouth turned up briefly before the impassive expression was restored to the sharp features. Juliette felt like she was in a twilight zone—in fact, that she had not left this very zone since last night—because surely Katarina Vyatka was not capable of camaraderie, or of a nervous breakdown, for that matter.

“If I don’t listen to the masses, I am bereft of any sources of information.”

“Do you need them?” Juliette almost wanted to smack herself on the mouth. Did she really have to go and say that? Katarina’s smile disappeared, her eyes devoid of emotion yet again.

“We can’t all be Juliette Lucian-Sorel, at liberty to listen to gossip in the hallways and not fear what she overhears.”

Of course, whatever thaw Juliette had imagined was not happening. Twilight zone was gone and stark reality had returned. They were back to square one.

“They say nasty things about me too.” Even to her own ears, she sounded defensive and therefore would not be believed. As if to prove the point, Katarina simply quickened her pace, and after a few seconds Juliette let her walk away, the wilted flowers bowing their little petals in rhythm with her stride.

The rehearsals went downhill from there. Well, that is to say, for Juliette. For everyone else it was smooth sailing. Francesca seemed happy, pleased with how even on the fly she was able to come up with things that the dancers themselves found innovative and exciting. The first act and the iconic pas de troiswere not as reworked as the second act of the ballet, where the introduction of Katarina dancing the part of Odile separated the oldSwan Lakefrom the new production.

As this was an entirely fresh choreography, the learning of the steps took longer, with Francesca being both demanding and ravenous for perfection. If Juliette was perfectly familiar with the classicSwan Lake, in this iteration Francesca allowed herself to really discard all the preconceived conventions of the profession and go all out.

And this is where the downhill began for Juliette. The white and the black swans’ pas de deux was turning into her worst nightmare. Yes, it was extremely technical, but she reveled in that. Her movements were the gold standard of the ballet. And dancing with a partner such as Katarina, who was perfection in every single step, was quite a gift in itself. At any other time, Juliette would have relished this opportunity. As it was, she couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus, couldn’t settle. Every time she and Katarina had to execute as much as an arabesque with their hands touching, Juliette would break out in goose bumps.

What would she do when they moved to the more complex and intimate support positions? And she knew for a fact—she had seen the choreography sheets—Francesca had envisioned them ending their pas de deux in a series of embraces. She shuddered at the thought that the most prolonged one required Katarina to fully encircle Juliette in her arms, supporting her backward bow before straightening them both and finishing the movement with them firmly pressed together, Katarina’s arms holding Juliette from behind.

Juliette was beside herself with anticipation and apprehension. And she knew she couldn’t entirely hide either of those emotions.

Gabriel teased her gently—and she loved him even more for the gentleness but really wished he’d not go there at all—about how Juliette would never wish to dance with him ever again.

“She has me beat, Jett. Next thing you know, you’ll want to switch me off with her inDon Quixote, too! If she could lift, she’d be actually throwing you around, darlin’. I can sense all this pent-up animosity turning into something that would require the performance to be adults only.”

He gave her a soft pat on the shoulder as she handed him back the water bottle she’d nearly dropped at his words and looked across the studio. Katarina was icing her left calf. The injury couldn’t be too serious, since it had not slowed her down even for one millisecond.

Juliette—completely innocently, and not at all worried about the other ballerina—had asked their physiotherapist during her own visit earlier if Vyatka had introduced herself. Not only had Katarina not done so, she hadn’t booked a treatment or a massage for the bothersome calf at all.

This didn’t come as a surprise. After all, the issue of the révérence was still very much a thorn in their sides as it lingered between them like a ribbon of oil over seawater. Cleaning that up would require special care.

Care Juliette simply did not currently have. She was in the last stages ofDon Quixoterehearsals. Even if she had danced this ballet four out of her seven seasons here in Paris, she still was unsure of herself. It wasn’t especially technical and Gabriel was a steady presence, but she had never enjoyed it, and this year, with all eyes on her and the responsibility of carrying this performance square on her shoulders, it felt excruciating.

And so she watched Katarina ice her calf while leafing through a high school French textbook and wondered how the hell she had gotten here and how many more missteps she would encounter on her way to ridding herself of this woman whovexed and infuriated her and whom she really should dislike more than she did.

There were only two problems with that line of thinking. She didn’t dislike Katarina at all, despite the “pervasive opinion” of the ballet troupe. Things would be so much easier for Juliette if only she hated the woman.

The second problem was last night. It weighed heavily on her, the tears, the grief of the sobs—even if Katarina had said nothing, it undid all the carefully laid work that Juliette had constructed day after day, brick after brick, into the wall around herself.

Katarina licked a finger and turned a yellowing page of the old textbook, and Juliette’s palms went damp.

“I see I am already entirely outmatched. Literally been speaking the last three minutes, Jett, did you hear one word I said?” Gabriel sniffed theatrically and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“That we need to work more on the last scene from Act One ofQuixote?” Juliette finally turned away from Katarina and gave him a grin, and he smiled back. She knew her guess wasn’t even close, but he let her get away with it.

“Oh love, we need to work on more than one scene in that cursed performance. I don’t care what Cesca says, we should have stopped dancing this particular rendition of it a long time ago. And certainly not four years in a row.”

“You think it will tank?” Juliette could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears. What would it mean for her if it tanked? What would happen ifSwan Laketanked as well? They’d chase her out on a rail.

“I don’t want it to, but how does that saying go—the one about doing the same thing over and over again?”

Juliette wrapped her sweater tighter around her heated muscles and pretended she was shivering from the chilly draft. She could ill afford the centerpiece of the season to fail.

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