Page 4 of Reverence

No, it wasn’t the austere beauty. Juliette could and did have any attractive woman she wished. It was the terror behind it, an emotion so incongruous with anything a prima should have felt. This emotion made Katarina Vyatka not just a beautiful and talented dancer. It made her a mystery?—

“You’re not serious, darlin’.”

She had completely forgotten about Gabriel, who was observing her very closely, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Juliette turned away from him and made her way down the corridor and into one of the smaller rehearsal rooms. It was time for her own stretches and to get ready for a day of planning the season ahead of them.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He fell in stride with her, and once the door closed behind them, he leaned back against it, arms crossed over his broad chest, a bemused smirk on his face.

“Gabriel…” She sighed. “Don’t even start. It’s not what you think. There is just something about her.”

The smirk was gone, and he narrowed his eyes, suddenly solemn.

“Sure, darlin’, there’s a lot about her. There’s the five foot ten—to put it in measurements your Yankee and my Irish selves understand—of supreme specimen among goddesses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone built that way. And I don’t thinkanyone in my presence ever landed a jump with no sound. No offense, Jett.”

Juliette scoffed and waved him away, “None taken, and you might be right, though I am not ready to admit all that just yet. Still, it wasn’t the jump. Nor the fact that she is indeed gorgeous. If you’re into cold, distant, arrogant older women. I just think I saw something.”

“Well, I am not into either cold, or distant, or arrogant, or women, but I know one particular prima who is. A good friend of mine. You might know of her? The Princess of Paris?” Juliette swatted at his shoulder, and he ducked away, laughing. When he stopped, he eyed her closely. “And what about thissomething? Is that why you made such an uncharacteristic blunder? Even you know better than to say stuff like that out loud, darlin’.”

Juliette tsked and turned away from him, only to be hoisted off her feet and tickled.

“I will use every advantage I have on you, Jett! You may be the smart and skilled one, but I am stronger and prettier.” Gabriel smiled and held her tight till her own fit of giggles subsided. He could always make her laugh.

When he finally put her down, she glanced at him in the mirror as they stood side by side. They looked good together. Better than good. The yellow gossip magazines—and some of the not-so-yellow ones—kept pairing them up. The rich donors and those who didn’t know them very well asked if they were planning for children. No, they had no plans and why would they, a lesbian and a gay man? Not that their closets were even that tightly shut. In the homophobic world of the eighties, their profession blessed them with a freedom rarely attained these days.

But he was her best friend. And he knew her better than anyone else. So of course he’d seen through her, of course he’d read her. Because he was just so very good and sovery perceptive. Which made him lovely but also occasionally inconvenient when Juliette wanted to keep some things to herself.

“Are you all right?”

Yes, very perceptive. And very inconvenient. She wasn’t ready to confess to anything regarding the Soviet prima and the sense of premonition that was like the cold sweat on her back, distracting and ominous. Hence, a diversion was in order.

“Helena called.”

“Ah.” His hands gently squeezed her shoulders in a gesture that had become familiar between them, comfort given and comfort taken. “I miss her too.”

Juliette tended to forget that Gabriel and Helena had been close and that losing her ex-lover had been hard not only on her, but on her best friend as well. She patted his warm hands before stepping away.

“I don’t know why she still calls.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. She had been with Helena for three years. The loss was no longer as acute as twelve months ago when they had said their goodbyes. It had been Helena’s choice to say those goodbyes in the first place, so why was she the one still calling?

“I have this tiny little hunch that she didn’t really believe you wouldn’t follow her, Juju.”

The use of her childhood nickname meant Gabriel was being gentle with her. She lifted her face to meet his gaze, and yes, the radiant green was tinged with a tenderness that made her own eyes sting. Which only angered her.

“I feel like you should have been the one to leave everything behind and move to New York with her, Gabriel. The way you have been carrying on since she left.”

She softened the blow by cloaking the words as a joke. But even she heard the slight whip of viciousness in her own voice. Still, he smiled.

“I’m not the lonely one, darlin’. You are. Lonely and wounded by Paris.”

Before she could find the words to slap him all the way back to Belfast, he was gone, leaving the door to her rehearsal room ajar in his haste. Well, one thing he always did know was that her wrath wasn’t one to be trifled with, especially not when he’d hit a very painful spot.

And painful spot be damned! She was the Prima Ballerina Assoluta desired by every company, and her options and her calling card were full to the brim. Her title, one of the handful of such honors in the entire world, had been bestowed by the French Government. A unique distinction for a foreign ballerina in Paris. In Europe, in fact. A Prima Assoluta was usually someone local, someone of their own. Juliette was very much an alien among Parisians, and yet she had cemented her place. She needed no one, least of all her ex, who had scampered to New York and who had also had the audacity to believe that Juliette Lucian-Sorel would meekly follow her. Juliette Lucian-Sorel followed no one. She led. Ballets, companies, productions, partners, dances. No, Dr. Helena Moore knew better. Or should have known?—

A commotion in the hallway drew her out of her indignant thoughts. Someone was running, fast, but the sound was that of pointe shoes. What kind of fool would run in those? One wrong step would cause a twisted—or worse, broken—ankle.

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