Page 77 of Reverence

The show was over. It was time for the révérence. The last bow. There would be no curtain calls.

“I’m sorry, Katarina.”

Juliette got up and picked up the cane, Katarina’s “So am I” following her out of the room.

28

OF VIOLENCE & LONG OVERDUE CONFRONTATIONS

The words would have actually followed Juliette right to Greenwich Village, except today wasn’t done being a very strange day. She had buried a friend. She had damn near buried herself in a lover that had never quite become an ex.

And it seemed the universe was conspiring to make her face her mortality, her love, and her regret all in one fell swoop.

At the elevator bank, desperately clinging to her cane with one hand and pushing the button with the other, Juliette heard the light clearing of a throat behind her and knew instantly that whatever plans she had for this evening, they’d have to be delayed.

She wasn’t done, not by a long shot. As she turned with as much grace as she could muster toward Rodion Foltin, Juliette knew that out of the many mistakes she had made over the years, everything she had done and especially abstained from when it came to this man had probably been her worst.

Because instead of standing her ground when he kept taking swaths of it upon his arrival at Paris Opera Ballet, Juliette had surrendered. Her role as the Étoile, the first Prima Assoluta of France, her parts in all the productions, her place in the historyof French ballet, and most importantly, she had surrendered Katarina.

In the fog of anger and sex, Juliette had not considered Katarina’s earlier words. The earnest confession at her apartment. That while Katarina had indeed betrayed her, she had not done so willingly. In the moment, and even now, with time and pain between them, the distinction hadn’t mattered. A betrayal was still very much a betrayal.

But looking into the smug face of this man, Juliette knew she had been wrong to dismiss said distinction out of hand.

“Mademoiselle Lucian-Sorel.” Foltin took a step forward, eyes gleaming with something akin to the self-satisfaction of a job well done. Well, he had indeed done a job on her years ago.

Cufflinks sparkling blindingly, he extended that spidery-fingered hand to her, and Juliette balled hers.

Same voice. The heavy-accented Russian attempting French, shooting for intriguing and falling straight into grating. The same tone. Going for mysterious and barely managing palatable. The man himself, tall and slim, almost bald, with an unfortunate combover that hid absolutely nothing yet served the purpose of pretenses.

Just like him. The con man, teetering on the verge of villainesque, was simply a regular fraud.

For years Juliette had thought him evil incarnate. Sure, Katarina was the other side of that villainous coin in her mind, but Foltin… Well, Foltin was the fulcrum of all her sorrows.

And yet, standing in front of her, that conceited smile on his face, Juliette could not for the life of her understand why she had let this man ruin her life.

Though… Had he?

The elevator beeped its arrival behind her. Foltin stretched his lips in an even more unpleasant imitation of human emotion, and Juliette had an epiphany.

He passed by her, clearly amused by her confusion and stupor, and she watched him go. Watched him press the button to the ground floor. Watched the hundred-year-old doors slowly close.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

And now, when Juliette stuck her cane in the gap between the elevator doors and they sprang open for her, when she faced him full-on, when she took a few steps into the brightly lit square space covered in mirrors that oddly reminded her of the dancing classroom, Juliette heard what she had so wished to hear back in Paris.

The violence of steel hitting her trusty dark oak sounded in the quiet, luxurious air of the hotel, and the note of fear in the voice of a man whom she hated with all her heart settled something inside Juliette.

This man terrorized Katarina. This man was the one whom Juliette had allowed to make a mockery of her career and her prestige. And whom Juliette had blamed for the longest time for destroying all of it.

“Except, I ruined it all by myself…” Juliette murmured to herself before raising her voice to be heard. “I have nothing left to lose now, Foltin. Do you know what people who have nothing to lose do to others?”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him the slowest once-over. He took a faltering step back, his thin form reminding her of a roach, all mustache and filth. She held the cane firmly and moved closer to him. The doors closed behind her, and with her free hand she pressed the STOP button.

They tell you to take a deep breath before you begin the thirty-two fouettés, the series of fast, continuous spins on one leg being one of the most complicated movements in ballet. So difficult due to their exquisite technique, but also becausethey demand perfect balance. Juliette marveled at the simile. So much like her own life.

She took that prerequisite deep breath. Foltin yelped and lifted a hand in front of himself.

“You’re mad!”

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