Page 15 of Prelude To You

Marguerite sighed dramatically. “My friend says so far all the readers have been fired like on the first day, and one reader on the second day. Maybe they aredesperate. But you have the chance for an interview. Is good,oui?”

“But if everybody gets fired, what are my chances?”

“The point is, chéri,that this is a good opportunity and easy money.”

“That’s to say I get in,” I said, unconvinced there was anything simple about this venture.

There were more dramatic sighs from Marguerite, and she mumbled French obscenities under her breath. “Pourquoi es-tu si pessimiste!?”

I decided beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially when they had rent and bills due. “I’m not pessimistic, and sure I’ll do it,” I told Marguerite. “Is there a number I call, or an address…?”

“No, just be ready in the morning at eight-fifteen. You get a ride there and back. I’ll give them your address. And go hungry, lunch is on the house.And that kind of money it’s probably smoked salmon and caviar.”

“Thank you, Marguerite,” I said, surprised about the actual ride there and back. It saved me from having to take Uber, so I wasn’t going to complain.

“De reins,but try to get the job, chéri,”Marguerite added. “And try to KEEP the job. I have to go!Au revoiryou sexy bitches.”

Meg mixed us another cocktail. “Now all we have to do is hope the old man doesn’t die before you make a ton of money.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. Meg had no filter. At times like this that was infuriating because it felt heartless to laugh, but was impossible not to. I aired my misgivings. “I have to admit, it sounds a little shady to me.”

“Read the signs,” Meg said. “Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen right now.”

I closed my eyes because I knew the lecture that was coming by heart. “Don’t start with that bullshit, please,” I begged.

Meg was, as always, undeterred. “See, I know you don’t believe me, but you have a path already set out.”

“Oh God, here we go.”

“All you have to do is follow that path. Preferably with conviction.”

“Easy for you to say, Meg. How am I supposed to follow a path I can’t even find? Tell me that.”

Meg insisted on giving me what she considered the hardcore facts. “Fate will find you, if it hasn’t already. It’s your job to not ignore it.”

There was no point in arguing with her. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I mean, it’s not like I’m aiming for a fairytale. My own little pastry shop. Maybe even true love one day, who knows. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, it’s not too much to ask. All you have to do is open yourself to the Universe and what will be will be. The bright side is, from here on out, you have nowhere to go but up.”

I knewit would be impossible to sleep because Stranger invaded my thoughts every chance he got. So I decided to go to the dance studio two blocks down.

Anna, a Russian ballerina who’d defected to the U.S. over forty years ago, ran the place. She’d been my teacher for over a decade. After my professional dancing career came to a screeching halt, she told me to never stop dancing, and gave me a spare key to the studio.

Tonight I was going to dance until I was so exhausted that no intruding thoughts could possibly prevent me from falling asleep.

I walked to the dance studio, desperately trying to figure out how those twenty minutes in the bookshop could change my emotional state so utterly. None of it made sense. It was so random, and intense. Not to mention insane.

The studio’s front door was already unlocked, so I knew Sergei would be inside. He was a company soloist, and probably had his usual groupies with him; female corpse de ballet dancers from the same company.

What can I say about Sergei? He was as big a part of my life as anyone could ever be. We grew up together in the studio. It morphed into a romance, even though I never fell in love with him. Not through lack of effort, because nobody could accuse me of not trying my best. But apparently “trying to fall in love” wasn’t a thing, and if it was I failed miserably.

Sergei was a sweet and extraordinarily beautiful man, with the aristocratic features of his Russian ancestors: high cheekbones, aquiline nose and generous mouth. And being a dancer, his body was a sculpture. He lived his life with passion and it was difficult not to get swept up in Sergei’s world, where anything seemed possible.

My relationship with Sergei boiled over into constant disappointment for us both, and after five years of on-again, off again, I decided to end the romance part completely. He deserved the chance to meet someone who could give him the devotion I wasn’t able to. There was no shortage of girlsthrowing themselves at his feet, and as far as I know his sex life didn’t suffer at all.

Though it remained an enigma as to why I couldn’t feel for Sergei in the way I thought I was supposed to. More than once I blamed myself. If I couldn’t fall in love with a man like him, what exactly was it going to take? That was a question I never found the answer to. Until tonight, when I met the man who changed everything.

Inside the studio, Sergei was practicing lifts with four female dancers from his ballet company. They were all having fun, and it was clear the girls were competing for his affections. When I walked in, he abandoned the group and danced over to me. “Isabel!” he called out. “Malishka.”

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