Page 83 of Reverence

Under the arcades of Rivoli, Juliette took a few steps to the corner of Rue d’Alger. Just a few more and she’d be in front of the entrance to the building that had been her home for seven years. The building that still held her heart.

It was late and dark, but she had a feeling Katarina would be home. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth that it was she who now called the apartment where Juliette had spent seven years her home. But then they were seven apiece now, so their claims to the airy space would probably be moot at this point.

As she stepped from under the awning, Juliette couldn’t help but glance up, and her heart flipped over in her chest and some of the stitches she had so painstakingly placed around it tore. Figures that it wouldn’t be pain that undid them. Simply love. And yet there was nothing simple about it.

On the top floor, the pink light illuminated the kitchen windows. The sole bright spot on the entire block, it was reminiscent of the lighthouse beam. The little lamp. Juliette’s guide home. A tear escaped, and Juliette let it slide down her cheek as she bit her lip to stem the tide of the coming flood.

The elevator that Juliette never used to take before sounded like a dying man in excruciating agony. Juliette could sympathize. Seven years and she had been wandering the world half-blind and angry, and yet the light shone through the night for her. She had a feeling it had been shining since the day she left.

“I always look up from the street, and seeing the light on makes me imagine someone is home. And that someone left the light on for me. In that moment, I matter. I matter enough to make an effort…”

She remembered her own words and the sensation of Katarina’s eyes on her. Watching her with something remarkably like understanding. As if Juliette indeed mattered. How had Juliette been so oblivious of the simplest of truths? She had been loved from the start. And she had been the one who wavered. The kitchen light shone on, and Juliette thought how much she had to atone for. Years, words, broken hearts.

She hoped she’d be given the chance.

Juliette took a deep breath and clutched the flowers tighter to her chest. She exited the elevator, and before she was ready—though how could one ever be truly ready to face one’s destiny?—she was standing in front of the yellow apartment door. Her thoughts were running amok, a jumble of anxiety and overthinking. And maybe hope. Was it a fresh coat of paint? If so, the shade was exactly the same as the one she herself used to cover the sturdy oak all those years ago. She had broken all the French rules when she dared to paint it, but Juliette didn’t care. She’d had yellow splatters on her fingers for ages?—

Katarina flung the door open, and then nothing else mattered. Not the paint, nor the twinging in Juliette’s knee.

She was beautiful. But then, she had always been ethereal. Framed by the door and the pooling light behind her, her face gaunt and tired, hands clutching the same old shawl around thatthin frame, Katarina was sheer perfection. She took Juliette’s breath away. Still. She also took her sanity away, because of all the things to say, Juliette stumbled through the awkward “Hello” and Katarina’s eyebrow lifted, the move so familiar Juliette felt the second tear trickle down.

Katarina bit her lip and after only a moment lost the fight with the smile that had come on the heels of the raised eyebrow, and when she reached out a steady hand, Juliette wanted to scream. Her own hand on the cane shook, making the wood rattle slightly and the flowers in her other arm tremble.

“Tears and chrysanthemums, Juliette. Do you know the French deem them death blossoms?”

Juliette grimaced. She had forgotten. Katarina smiled gently.

“Good thing they also symbolize neglected love and a rebirth for pretty much all other nations. Should we go with that meaning?” Juliette nodded, and Katarina’s smile widened. “And all of this at almost ten in the evening. For someone who has never been dramatic, my love, you sure embrace it when making your entrances.”

Juliette couldn’t tell what exactly did her in—though she suspected it must’ve been the oh-so-natural “my love” slipping off Katarina’s lips as if she had been saying these words for seven years—but her legs gave out and her heart shredded the rest of the stitches and she fell to her knees on the threshold by the yellow door, the chrysanthemums, mirroring the exact same color, falling all around her.

And the flood came. The tears, the unstoppable release of all the years of loneliness, of pain, of loss, all poured out of her and she bent over, shaking so hard she was afraid she’d simply shatter—surely the very fabric of her being would rend, her very bones crumble. They had before. From heartbreak, so why not from regret?

But they didn’t. Two cool, slightly callused hands lifted her face and cradled it in the crook of a shawl-covered shoulder, where the scent of the orange blossom welcomed her home.

Katarina sat on the floor next to her, rocking them, murmuring soft incantations that for once had no edges. Warm skin, short nails, tickling wisps of golden hair.

“I’ve come back home. Will you forgive me?”

Juliette’s words fell even as the tears abated, and she raised her head to see one of Katarina’s fluttering on those still impossibly long butterfly lashes before she flicked it away with an impatient hand.

“I’ve been waiting for you. You were forgiven years ago.”

Katarina could hide the tears, but the voice betrayed her, an ocean of emotion overflowing in it.

“I’m sorry I made you wait all these years.” Juliette ran her fingers over the tips of Katarina’s disheveled locks, and it felt like dipping them in gold.

“I didn’t mind the wait. As long as you were coming back, my love.”

Juliette traced the sharp jaw, the divine craftsmanship on full display.

“How did you know I would?”

Katarina caught the wandering fingertips and kissed them, one by one. Juliette’s skin felt like a branch covered in ice that the sun touched for the first time with the coming of spring. The thawing a physical sensation, Juliette blinked and savored both the warmth and the simple pleasure of being held, hearing the sound of the voice she thought she’d never hear again.

“I didn’t, my love.”

Katarina looked down just as Juliette’s eyes flew open in surprise.

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