Page 52 of Reverence

“Paris Opera Ballet has been named the world’s premier ballet company three times in the years you are drowning it in the swamp, Monsieur le Ministre.”

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, Juliette regretted them. He had given her more than a fair warning. In fact, he had fired the shot across her bow the moment she had stepped foot into the office. They had a deal—this was the place it had beenstruck. He had held up his end of it, as shown by Katarina’s cold hand gripping hers firmly. She was here. In Paris. Dancing at Palais Garnier.

And he could undo said deal with a snap of his fingers, because despite all the talk and all the column inches in the press, Katarina still hadn’t received her new passport, or any other document for that matter. Every time Juliette asked, she’d get an anxious headshake as an answer and something about bureaucracy being a nightmare. Hell, Juliette remembered that it took her ages to get her working visa. And Katarina’s asylum was a thorny political quagmire no matter who pulled which strings. And so Juliette had to honor her end of it now. She had, after all, promised to ask no questions.

His eyes, full of anger and, dare she say, hatred, scorched her, and she lowered her face, earning her a confused look from Katarina.

She was, however, saved from retracting her little rebellious comment by the arrival of the very person whose ransacked office was the main stage for this absurd melodrama.

“I’d repeat Juliette’s astute remark, Monsieur le Ministre, but you heard it already. Did you not answer it because you have nothing to counter it with?”

Francesca stepped into the space, suddenly taking all of it, the room feeling crowded rather than the emptiness it exuded just a moment ago.

“I have sent a courier to your house with the paperwork. You are in breach of your contract, Madame Bianchi, and hence no longer need to be here. Someone will make certain your things are delivered to you.”

Francesca took a few more steps into the dilapidated room then turned in a circle, as if taking it all in, her cane thumping loudly on the wooden floor.

“To say that I was not expecting a knife in the back, Monsieur Lalande, would be a lie. I expected you to do this. I even prepared for you to do this?—”

“Now, Madame Bianchi, there’s no need for scenes?—”

“You are in the largest, best ballet company in the world, and you are telling me there is no need for scenes? Drama is in the blood here.”

Francesca’s laughter was loud and sincere. Juliette wanted to smile, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. In her hand, Katarina’s fingers tightened as if warning her about what would happen next. Well, it was unwarranted. Juliette knew that when all the theatrics and posturing was over, she’d be the one thrust center stage, and then she’d lose a friend. Francesca would be betrayed, publicly so, and would want nothing to do with her. How would Gabriel and Katarina react? Juliette squeezed the icy hand back and prayed.

“Madame Bianchi, if you think you can threaten me into changing my mind?—”

“I am not threatening you. Merely underscoring that you only believe you have most of the power here. And you probably have some.” She gave him a long look before taking another step closer. His lower lip trembled for a second, and he quickly sucked it in before looking directly at Juliette with something akin to a plea for help.

Francesca turned too, and her gaze was very different. Gone was the arrogance, the teasing. Francesca looked at her with so much pride that Juliette struggled to breathe around the lump in her throat. Was this how Judas had felt?

“The power I hold is the love of my people. You see, one leads a company by building loyalty. Affection. Respect. Why do you think Gabriel and Juliette are here? Vyatka too, though at the beginning there, I thought she’d either claw my eyes out or drop a piece of stage equipment on me.”

Katarina’s fingers fluttered in Juliette’s hands before a razor-sharp smile blossomed on the full lips.

“Could’ve gone either way, Francesca.”

Juliette blinked at the appellation. Katarina, who had rarely called anyone in the company by their first name, was using Francesca’s. She was standing by her as much as she could despite still being an outcast, despite having almost no rights, an undetermined political status, and everything to lose. Katarina was taking a stand.

Juliette’s heart fluttered in her chest, its chambers filling with blood and admiration. And love. She had felt the stirrings of it during their pas de deux just a few weeks ago, and yet it felt like lifetimes before. And now this feeling was coursing through her veins, flourishing and overtaking her.

Juliette was in love. And she was about to break every heart in this room, including her own. Because apparently her love came with those sonnets and those poems and those songs, but also with the sacrifices and the stakes and the infamy.

Wasn’t it life’s greatest joke to slide irrevocably in love in a moment like this? It was too big, too earth-shattering to discover in a place when their stage roles were flipping and Katarina was the hero, while in a matter of seconds Juliette would have to announce to the world that she was the villain.

Katarina and Francesca exchanged a few more friendly barbs before Lalande interrupted them, clearly having gathered his courage to finally end this spectacle.

“Madame Bianchi, if it is compensation you are seeking, I assure you, the legalities of a contract termination will be fully respected and your rights under the Collective Labor Convention properly taken care of?—”

“Oh, my union. You have dotted every i and crossed every t, haven’t you, Monsieur le Ministre?”

Lalande bristled, puffing up with what he surely saw as righteous anger. Between his and Francesca’s justified wrath, the room was filled with so much rage it was getting harder to breathe.

“Screw you and your procedures and your lawyers and their bargaining agreements. She doesn’t need any of that, Lalande.” Gabriel lifted his fists. “She has more respect in this building than you ever will. If you fire her, we will all walk. Everyone in this room, everyone in the studios below!”

Gabriel did not say her name. Did not even look at her. His chest rose and fell, heaving, his voice raspy and breathless by the end of his tirade. When he let his fists drop, the room released a collective sigh of relief that he wouldn’t beat Lalande to a pulp just yet. It would not be a fair match.

In the middle of the office, Francesca stood silent. When Juliette lifted her eyes for a second, she was met with a thoughtful stare, and what color was left in her cheeks drained. She could feel it leaking all over the floor, seeping through the parquet boards. She was a coward.

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