Page 2 of Control

I turned to walk away, my back to the Brothers, with my men in tow. But before I stepped out of earshot, I turned back to address the eyes that were on me with one last blessing. “Long live yourPakhan.”

He wouldn’t. Irony was a bitch.

Chapter I

Claire

“One, two, three. And one, two, three. Relevé.” The speakers crooned out the melodic notes once composed by Mozart—each tinkle of the piano keys matching the movements I had choreographed for the girls. Ten pairs of little feet clad in pink ballet slippers that matched the tutus and tights above were lined up along the bar, all moving in unison to the rhythm—or, rather, moving together as well as could be expected from five- and six-year-olds.

The audience waiting for the girls grew as we neared the end of class. Mothers, fathers, and even nannies hovered near the door, whispering to each other as they watched their little ones dance. Every so often, someone would hold up their phone to take photos or record videos of their ballerina. I didn’t mind. Their excitement stemmed from love for their child and reminded me of my own mother’s. She never had the chance to see me perform after my studies. Everyone’s days were numbered, so who knew how many more ballet classes these parents would live to see? They could continue taking as many videos as they wanted during my instruction.

I stepped over to my phone and pressed pause on the music before clapping my hands to get the girls’ eyes to focus on me. “C’est ça.Très bien.”

They stared at me with, pint-sized eyebrows knitted together in confusion. My most brazen student stepped forward with her hands on her hips resembling a grown woman in her thirties. She had beautifully tanned skin, dark wavy hair, and the prettiest green eyes I’d ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than a few feet tall, but the air about her made her seem like she had her life together, a car that was paid off, and a 401k plan. It was amusing to see such a big personality in such a small package, decked out in pink tulle and pig tails held together with matching bows.

“Oui, Meena?” I said, putting my hands on my hips, mimicking her stance. I wasn’t about to be shown up by a five-year-old.

“Madame Varon, why do you always speak French?” she demanded.

I held back the giggle that was dying to burst through my lips. I was sure Miss Assertive wouldn’t appreciate the humor I found in this. Clearing my throat, I replied, “Because I’m French.”

“We’renot French, and we don’t understand what you’re saying.” So, now she was speaking for her whole crew?

I couldn’t fight my grin. If she only knew how cute I thought she was, she’d probably scold me to remind me she was abig girl. “You will with time. It’s good to learn new languages. You will be able to speak to so many more people if you do.”

“I already know other languages. My daddy speaks Hindi to me,” she answered proudly.

I bent over to meet her at eye-level. “That’s wonderful. And now you’ll know French, too.Oui?”

She let out a big sigh in defeat—too big to possibly contain only the amount of air that could fill her small diaphragm. “Oui, Madame Varon,” she ground out, probably pissed that she had lost this argument.

“Okay, class. Work on your chassé for next class. Make sure you have a partner, like your mom or dad, to practice. See you next week.” I waved them toward their chaperones.

They skipped across the dance floor to find their adults, who showered them with hugs and kisses. I always watched each child to make sure that they went home with the correct guardian.

A beautiful red-headed woman approached me, with Meena in tow. I knew it was her mother, as I had seen her at dismissal before. This was our third week of this round of classes, so I hadn’t had a chance to speak to each parent individually yet. “Madame Varon?” she asked.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Sethi?”

“Oh, please, call me Amelia.” She waved off my formality with her left hand. An enormous diamond ring flashed against her skin, the classic setting matching against her bare but manicured nails. She was groomed perfectly but wore minimal makeup on her light skin. I could see the resemblance to her daughter. They had the same crystal green eyes.

Her features were radiant, but I was particularly interested in her outfit. She seemed like the kind of woman who was powerful, probably had a big-time career in an office, yet she wore a Metallica concert t-shirt under her tailored suit. The realness she emanated was refreshing, since most of the parents I met were very well off and often stuffy.

“I’m sorry about Meena today.” She held her daughter’s hand and looked down at her as if expecting her to apologize. Though, Meena wasn’t interested in her mother’s subtle cues. Amelia smiled nervously at me as she whispered so her daughter couldn’t hear. “We’re working on politeness.”

“No need to apologize.” I looked Meena in the eye to address her. “I respect your bravery to speak your mind. That’s an important quality to have.”

The little girl beamed at me, happy that she wasn’t in trouble.

“Thank you so much for your patience. She really does love your class. It’s all she ever talks about at home,” she said, petting her daughter’s head lovingly.

“I’m happy to have her. She’s a great dancer.”

My compliment must have warmed her inside because Amelia’s smile reached her eyes, lighting up her whole face.Parental pride. “Say goodbye to Madame Varon,” she said and nudged Meena.

“Goodbye, Madame,” Meena said, with one arm wrapped around her mother’s leg impatiently, showing she was more than ready to leave.

“Au revoir,Meena.” I waved.

---