Page 50 of Reverence

“First, an orphanage. And honestly, that should be a conversation for another time. If it even should be a conversation at all. I don’t think you want to hear about children being beaten with a leather belt, the sadistic alcoholic teacher trying very hard for the buckle to hit you every single time, to tear your skin and leave marks…”

“You never see Thierry.” At the realization of why the prima, who was enduring a grueling season, had still not gone for physical therapy, Juliette finally let the sob out. And this time when the tears came, the flood of them could no longer be stopped, not even by Katarina’s fingertips wiping them away.

“I was a ballet prodigy. Those genes, you see.” Katarina gave Juliette a gentle kiss on the forehead before continuing. “Myfather, even in the agony of trying to prove that my mother had been tortured to death, took care of me and ensured that I had the best dancing opportunities. He took me to Leningrad and Moscow, showed me off to the most prominent ballet masters in both cities. So I was not an unknown. Somehow the news that I had ended up in an orphanage reached one of the people he had me dance in front of. Stepan Nikolayevich Marinov.”

Something in the way Katarina said the name made Juliette smile even through tears. No, she did not know the man, but the voice warmed up so much, going from forced indifference to unrestrained affection, that Juliette’s heart responded with a gentle thud. Someone had loved little Katarina. Surely this someone had been good to her.

“He risked his own career when he pulled all the strings to have me transferred to Moscow. I was the daughter of the Enemy of the State. Capital letters and all. My mother, even in death, was dangerous. And so was I, by association. A permanent brand on my skin. These associations could kill careers, stop promotions, cause a lot of issues in personal and professional lives. But Stepan Nikolayevich persevered. And he was my ballet master for almost ten years.”

Katarina’s smile was gentle when she paused and sad when she finally continued.

“He passed away when I was twenty?—”

“After you danced your Giselle.” Juliette could not hide the awe in her voice. It was the one grainy, copied-a-thousand-times video Gabriel and she had watched over and over again in London. Their own ballet mistress had shown them the wonders of the flawless performance, instilling in them the understanding of what ballet perfection looked like. “You were everything in that pas de deux.” Juliette knew she sounded breathless. Ridiculous, even. She didn’t care.

“Ah, so Stepan Nikolayevich wasn’t the only one to have seen me inGiselle. Did they really smuggle the recording? I heard stories but wasn’t certain. What did you think?” Katarina’s face was amused, her voice playful. She was breathtaking.

Juliette rose up on her elbows, and when their lips were a breath apart, whispered, “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And the most brilliant ballerina in the world.”

Katarina laughed and then brought their mouths together, the kiss lingering, tender and sweet, full of promise and easy affection.

When they parted, Katarina traced Juliette’s lower lip with her fingertip before leaning in for a quick peck, seemingly unable to help herself. Good, Juliette was becoming more and more conscious that she would never be able to help herself where this woman was concerned.

“As for my mentor, yes, Juliette, he did see me inGiselle, and he was proud. And among everything that had been going on around me, it was the one event that was special and pure and worth dancing for.”

Juliette expected her to say more, but Katarina remained silent, simply watching her, occasionally tracing her cheekbones or lips, apparently lost in her thoughts. Then she dropped her hand and lay back on the spot Juliette knew she’d never ever think of as anything but “Katarina’s place”—Juliette’s left shoulder.

The silence was not uncomfortable, and Juliette half hoped that Katarina would fall asleep, the last hour of reliving memories clearly taking a toll on her, but Katarina’s fingers were tracing her clavicle and there was no sign that she might doze off.

“I bet you have a million questions.” There was a smile hidden in that whispered observation, and Juliette felt her ownbloom. But the things she wanted to ask were dark and full of fear, and Juliette held on tighter, refusing to allow the shroud of those nightmares back over Katarina’s features.

When Katarina spoke, however, Juliette knew it had already blanketed her lover’s heart once again, if it had ever lifted.

“I was never allowed to leave the country because my KGB dossier says ‘daughter of the Enemy of the State.’ You know, children, small babies who were sent to gulag back in the forties had those actual words on their files and were tortured into confessing that they were in fact conspiring against the country. Ten-year-olds, fourteen-year-olds. What could they have been conspiring against? Boiled vegetables for dinner? It’s so absurd, so utterly incomprehensible, and yet so normalized, driven into regular people’s skin like the smudged green of prison tattoos. And life goes on, millions of souls snuffed. Millions of fates altered.”

This time it was Katarina who held Juliette tighter, closer.

“You said you saw your father twice?” Juliette knew she probably should not ask this question. It was bound to bring new pain, but something was there, an essential piece of the puzzle to this entire horrific picture. And it felt imperative that she hear this answer.

“Six months before Bolshoi departed on this tour. I was not scheduled to be part of it. I never was part of any of them. As I said, the borders are closed for someone like me. But I bribed my way back to the institution that still held him.”

She was silent for so long, Juliette felt that perhaps she had changed her mind and would not answer the question. Juliette would not fault her. How much pain could one person withstand?

“He stopped screaming, Juliette. He stopped screaming, speaking, he just stopped. My father, the one who taught me three languages, who read three hundred books a year, whobrought my mother yellow tulips, was gone. A man with shorn hair and empty eyes, who I am told has no voice because he tore his vocal cords years ago, lies there in his place. He didn’t recognize me. He knew not who he was, nor who my mother was when I showed him a picture. My father was gone, and the man I was allowed to see was dead inside. And I knew then that I needed to do everything I could to get out. For years, I entertained the silly dream that I could dance my father out of the institution. After seeing my dream get ground into a forced medicated haze, all I had left was to dance my way out of that godforsaken company. Or I knew I’d be next. And while my father screamed for years, I knew for a fact I’d never last that long. So I made a deal of my own, Juliette. With the man you know as Ivanov. A deal I’d rather never think about again. He pulled his KGB strings. And I…”

Katarina trailed off, her words dying in the warm air of the room, among their mingled scents. And they were just words, after all. Yes, ones hiding an unspeakable tragedy, but Juliette chose to close her eyes and honor Katarina’s wish. There was no point in asking about the deal. Katarina was here now. She had done what was necessary and she was safe.

The tears did not come anymore, the abysmal powerlessness, the acidic grief taking their place, and Juliette again allowed the taste of blood to wash away the monstrosity of the memories that lived within this woman, who was light herself, who was art herself, and yet who seemed to have stigmata all over her soul.

Outside, dawn was breaking, its majesty—all royal purples and stately reds—breathing hope for the new day onto the horizon. Katarina’s breathing evened, slumber finally claiming her, and Juliette lay quietly, her heart matching the beats of the one sleeping in her arms.

How had this soul survived to remain this gentle? How did it still thrive after all the horrors unleashed on it? And what hadJuliette ever done to be the one afforded the privilege of holding it and letting it rest for a bit? She didn’t know what the future held, but for now she herself held this future, skin on skin, and it looked amazing from where she was lying, bathed in those royal purples and stately reds of the Parisian sunrise.

19

OF DANCES WITH THE DEVIL & PAYING THE PRICE

They say that if you dance with the devil, be ready to get burned. Juliette knew the saying did not actually end like that. But in her mind, this was the only way it fit her situation. So, she went with it.

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