Page 44 of Reverence

Beside her, Gabriel was clearing his throat and joking. With a last glance to the audience, Juliette found Francesca, all focused energy, sitting next to a very familiar face.

Shannon Robbards.TheShannon Robbards. Second only to the Goddess that was Margot Fonteyn in London, Shannon Robbards was a deity in her own right. She had danced in London, behind Fonteyn, then in New York, leading that company for over a decade. She had returned to London in her later years, where she had retired. The thought crossed Juliette’s mind that she had no earthly idea what Shannon Robbards did these days. She was always talked about as the next director forthe Royal Ballet, but Rodion Foltin had been running that show after he’d defected a year ago.

For some reason, thinking about Foltin made Juliette want to hunch her shoulders. Katarina never talked about him, and that in itself was strange, since he had been her dancing partner for over a decade. But then, Katarina hardly spoke of anyone at all, so what else was new?

Juliette stretched her back and focused on the present. Shannon Robbards was now whispering to Francesca, whose face bore a strikingly worried expression.

Peeking one last time at the two dance masters, Juliette turned back to the dark stage. She’d have to ask about this exchange later. Something Helena said on their last phone call tugged at her memory, but Lenoir was raising his baton, the oboist was getting ready to play the famous first notes of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece, and Juliette knew it was time. Odette was about to step on stage, and the magic ofSwan Lakewould take over.

And take over it did. Sequence after sequence, step after step, jump after jump, Juliette’s muscles sang and her heart beat a steady rhythm along with the orchestra.

To think that she had had doubts about this production. To think that she believed they would not be successful. To think that she assumed this interpretation was bound to fail.

When the curtain lifted for the second act, Juliette glided on stage and the audience held its collective breath. Instead of the Prince coming toward her, the Black Swan made her entrance in one jump.The weeks of rehearsals, the months of tension, of doubt, of yearning, had been worth it. And of course, the stage of Palais Garnier would be that place where the embers between them ignited.

The synchronicity, the angle of movements, the timing of the sequences. They were perfect. Juliette matched Katarina’s every breath, every heartbeat.

When their hands met, Juliette could swear her skin caught fire. She burned, and the speed of the jumps and arabesques only fed the flame.

Francesca’s choreography strayed from the original, and the pas de deux unfolded in an unwavering crescendo that took both the dancers’ and the audience’s breaths away.

By the time they were entwined, their embrace the culmination of the scene, Juliette was crying and Katarina’s eyes were full of unshed tears. With Katarina’s arms around her, her body supported and cradled, Juliette allowed the pressure of the last months—hell, of the last few years—to sweep her up and then away, like a summer thunderstorm, violent and then cleansing.

She closed her eyes and let her other senses take over. Touch was the one she chose to focus on most, as Katarina did not let go, her skin warm, her arms gentle. Opening her eyes, Juliette saw the luminous ones opposite her alight with so much emotion, so much tenderness, that she knew there was no coming back from this.

Katarina Vyatka dancing, living, breathing Tchaikovsky was a sight to see. A once-in-a-lifetime moment for every ballet aficionado. And surely the crowning achievement of every dance partner the Empress of Moscow chose to share the stage with. Juliette knew she’d never forget it. Would never be able to, not after being blessed by the light of these celestial eyes, burning with so much passion, so much pride and satisfaction.

A job well done, a ballet revolution, history made. Juliette turned her own hand, palm gliding over the arm holding her midriff, and Katarina’s lips twitched before the dimples peeked and then fully blossomed on the heavily made-up face. Juliettewas certain she heard gasps from the front rows. Maybe even swooning. Katarina Vyatka bestowing a full-on smile was a swooning occasion, after all.

Eyes on each other, chests heaving, they stood in their embrace for what seemed like forever, despite the music having to move forward. Lenoir, ever the experienced and savvy conductor, understood the moment too well and did not transition to the next sequence, where Gabriel would enter the stage along with the corps. Rather, he repeated the last thirty seconds of the pas de deux, giving her and Katarina time to collect themselves.

There should have been doubts and worries and missteps. Instead, they had danced like their lives depended on it. And they did. At least their professional ones.

Their eyes remained on each other, and Juliette could feel that whatever was happening, she wasn’t alone. Katarina’s own were filled with the same emotion Juliette knew was radiating from her. A heartbeat, another, and then the audience erupted, and they finally turned to the now-standing crowd of exaltation.

A rather gauche instance of interrupting a ballet with an ovation seemed only fitting this evening. The evening Juliette Lucian-Sorel and Katarina Vyatka broke convention. Annihilated boundaries. Revolutionized ballet. With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Katarina let her go and led her closer to the front of the stage, executing her famous révérence. The unthinkable yet so perfectly appropriate gesture of acknowledgment of the audience’s reaction was met with more applause. Katarina’s hand in hers trembled, and Juliette’s tears started anew.

Tears of joy. Tears of pride. Tears of, dare she think it, love. Juliette lowered her head. Could it be all over for her? Was she in love? It felt immense. It felt like she was on the precipice ofsomething poets wrote sonnets about. The kind kings abdicated their thrones for. The kind witches were burned at the stake for.

When she felt Katarina’s hand gently tugging her up from her bow, the tenderness was painfully poignant, thoughtful, giving her the time to savor the applause yet communicating that they needed to allow the production to proceed. And Juliette knew she’d burn. There would be no turning back. This moment—of sharing the stage, the dance, the révérence with Katarina Vyatka—had changed everything. Juliette wasn’t certain she’d do anything differently even if she could. It was too late anyway.

When the curtain fell for the last time, after being opened a record eleven times for ovations, Juliette finally allowed herself to breathe again. Fully. Unrestrained.

Her earlier anger long gone, she looked around for Katarina. They really should talk. Juliette had things to say. Life-altering things. Katarina surely couldn’t pretend anymore. The pas de deux had revealed way too much for them to keep circling each other, acting like nothing was happening.

Instead, the moment Juliette entered the wings, arms full of flowers, Katarina disappeared and it was Francesca who caught her in a hug and kissed her firmly on the lips.

“I don’t have to say it. But you are the best ballerina I have ever had the privilege to direct, amor. Never forget it.”

Another kiss and Francesca was gone, the line of people clamoring for her attention a mile long. Resolved to find Katarina after the opening night madness subsided, Juliette turned her attention to her present situation.

There would be a line just as long, if not longer, waiting for Juliette and Gabriel and Katarina at the stage door of the theater. She was happy to share it with them, even though the public clearly felt compelled to crown her all over again. It was her night, after all. Odette wins. Seduced but not broken, she lives to defeat the temptation and get the Prince.

Juliette had been right about the sheer number of people at the stage door, young girls and autograph hunters alike swamping her with flowers and screaming out her name to sign the program, random scraps of paper, or their skin.

Juliette soaked it all in. In a few hours, the reviews would be in, but she knew this time she wouldn’t need to hide from them, nor pretend she didn’t care.

As the after-party with the important guests at The Meurice was winding down, Gabriel twirled her around the dance floor.

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