Page 57 of Reverence

The faint echo of Katarina’s acerbic words, the ones saying it wasn’t just yesterday, made Juliette smile before she said, “Not when you know the score.”

Juliette’s tartines were delivered with little flourish, as if the server was trying to hide it from the world. He was still giving her that incredulous look she deeply resented. Just like a man to have opinions about her life. What a damn ridiculous situationthis was. Juliette tore one in half and dunked it into her coffee. She bit into the crust with gusto.

“Well, that shows us all now, Jett.” Francesca stared then shrugged and followed suit.

They ate in silence, the absence of words a comfortable void. Life rushed outside of the windows, and inside they made theirs stop to nurse the hurts and the cuts they had inflicted on each other.

“Where will you go?” Juliette didn’t really care what happened as long as something did. She had wronged this woman, and there was no way for her to fix it. Guilt was a strange feeling. She wanted her happy and she wanted her out of her own orbit to avoid choking on regret every single time they came across each other. She wondered if that made her incredibly selfish. Or incredibly human.

Still, it would be nice if Francesca landed on her feet. The luster of the world-class ballet director had been blackened by the abysmal performance of the Paris Opera Ballet these last two years.

“New York.” The finality in the words and voice were immediately and immensely gratifying. Francesca had a sure thing on the line. Juliette felt her own shoulders relax in relief. “It's sweet that you were worried for me, amor.”

“You knew I would be, Cesca.”

Francesca gave her a sad smile. “I did. And I’m sorry I let spite get the best of me. I’ll let Rochefort know to call off the dogs. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you under Foltin anyway. Not with Katarina there.”

“Oh?” Something in the way Francesca spoke the name, something in the way she looked at Juliette, hinted at pity—and understanding. Of what, Juliette did not know.

“Amor, you cannot tell me that he has not been congregating with Katarina, seeking to promote her, seeking to push his ownagenda. He canceled two of your performances. He gave her the lead inLa Bayadère. And I hear she will be inSleeping Beautyin spring? The one and only Bluebird.”

It was a miracle, some sort of universal stroke of luck, that Juliette had not taken a sip of her coffee as Francesca delivered the final blow. Well, if she had sought to pay Juliette back for her betrayal, Francesca had succeeded. Katarina was dancing the Bluebird? And Juliette had absolutely no idea when that had happened and why nobody had told her. Why hadn’t Katarina told her?

The pain did not come right away. Maybe it was the delayed reaction to the realization that Katarina had kept a secret from her. The moment she thought it, Juliette wanted to laugh at herself, at her own naïveté. Katarina kept secrets the magnitude of which Juliette had no grasp of. Her meteoric rise in Moscow, her battles to become the sole prima at Bolshoi, the fates of her rivals suddenly no longer standing in the way. Even her very defection. Why Paris? Why now?

Katarina kept secrets like people kept mementos of their loved ones. Collecting them. Guarding them. A veritable dragon with a golden hoard.

Still, Juliette told herself that an “I love you” meant very little in the big scheme of things when ballet was on the line.

And that was when the pain came. A stab under her fifth rib. A dagger to the heart, Francesca, with her touch of the theatrics, would say. But as she tried to draw shallow, inconspicuous breaths, Juliette thought back on her beginnings in pointe shoes. She knew she had always been an outlier in some aspects when it came to her life’s work. Particularly because she didn’t think it was. Her life. Just work.

Katarina lived and breathed ballet. It was everything, and existing without it was the greatest punishment. And for Juliette? Something that she adored. But not something she soldher soul to. Ballet was a fickle mistress, cruel and capricious, and Juliette wanted nothing of the unpredictability of her whip.

For the first time in her life, she felt that this difference actually mattered. The things we do for love. The things we do for ballet. Not the same for Juliette. One and all for Katarina, perhaps.

Juliette licked her suddenly dry lips. It was beside the point that she did not want the part for herself. Because Juliette didn’t. Not really. Not even after so many of her own performances had been canceled or postponed to the springtime slots.

“Well, that’s ballet…” Even to her own ears, her words held a hollow quality. Juliette added a shrug for good measure. Maybe Francesca would leave it be?

Francesca, being Francesca, did no such thing. What else was new? She reached out and patted Juliette’s hand before simply covering it with hers.

“You were always the worst liar. Just absolutely godawful at fibbing. Granted, you never had to, amor. The world was your oyster. What will you do when the sea swallows you whole?”

Juliette tugged her fingers from under Francesca’s.

“The level of drama, Cesca, honestly…” She thought she had at least managed to feign indifference rather truthfully.

“What is it with people trying to tone down the passion and the theatrics these days?” Francesca rolled her eyes. “I said it the other day, I am saying it again. Drama is inherent to our world, amor. It would serve you well to remember that. And to always act assuming something is afoot. Something dramatic.”

When Juliette said nothing, Francesca just lifted her shoulder and added finality to her tone. “You are the biggest talent this side of the Iron Curtain, and yet you have zero comprehension of the intrigue and even less inclination toward the dramatic. I feel like I went wrong somewhere in your education.”

“I chose to do my job.” Juliette hunched her shoulders and didn’t care how defensive she appeared. She was past caring. She had all these thoughts buzzing in her head, taking up all the space, leaving no room for her to sort through the wrinkles in the satin ribbons of the events. There were just too many. And by the look on Francesca’s face, there would be more incoming shortly.

“Ah, there is the issue at the heart of it all. A job. It’s life and death for these people. For your Katarina, it’s life. And I mean it in the most precise way, because her talent is what landed her here, giving her all of these new beginnings. Paris, Palais Garnier. You.”

Juliette blinked at Francesca echoing some of her earlier considerations. She had been prescient even as her heart did a little treacherous flip at hearing Katarina being calledhers. Juliette tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. When did an outing with a friend become a game of high-stakes poker?

The friend in question, meanwhile, took a long sip of her espresso, her eyes never leaving Juliette’s as if trying to gauge how real her own assertion was. Well, it was very real. Above all else, Katarina did have Juliette. For better or for worse.

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