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Suddenly all eyes in the room were on her, and Juliette realized she must have spoken at least part of her internalmonologue out loud. She winced and felt like a fool until she met Katarina’s gaze and there was so much gratitude in it, so much wonder, Juliette was immediately elated.
Yeah, she was smitten, all right. Beyond smitten and not even hiding it, since Gabriel threw her a narrow-eyed stare before winking saucily. She’d have to deal with it—and him—but for now, she had asked a question.
“Well, we had to know who we were harboring…” Lalande trailed off, realizing that he had used the wrong word altogether. Juliette was up and in his face in a second, and only Gabriel’s arms pulling her back prevented her from doing something she’d probably regret later.
“She’s not a goddamn criminal! She’s a refugee! And if you had spent half of your energy trying to make things work instead of tearing them down, instead of tearing people down, you’d not be facing the issues at Garnier that you do. All you’ve done since you took over has been to sow discord and lord over us like we are inept children. It’s insulting.”
He had the decency to look sheepish, but there was no saving this meeting. They’d not be getting any new facts, nor would they be moving back to a constructive conversation. Perhaps sensing that, Francesca stood up and, banging her cane exaggeratedly on the antique parquet, exited the office, leaving the door wide open, exposing the dozen or so people standing there, too close to have been engaged in anything but eavesdropping.
Nauseous, feeling like she needed a shower and so exposed, her shawl not helping despite covering her entire upper body, Juliette followed Francesca and did not look back. She’d stepped over another line today. Applause, glory, respect, professional security be damned. She’d lose it all before she’d lose Katarina to these vultures.
As she raced down Rue Saint-Honoré, past shops and hotels on her way home, Juliette knew the only real question waswhether she was prepared to lose anything other than Katarina. Anyone. The question was whether she was prepared to lose herself too.
When she came out of the shower, the apartment no longer felt empty. It was quiet, but Juliette could tell another person was in. As she wrapped herself in a towel and sheepishly exited the small confines of the old bathroom, she noticed the tiny things she had started to take for granted in the past few months since they had become roommates.
Her keys were on the hook and not thrown haphazardly on the little table by the door. Her shoes were placed carefully, perfectly aligned with other pairs. Her wrap had been hung up in the hallway. Despite her being home, the little pink light was on in the kitchen, and the apartment smelled like mint.
She decided against dressing just yet, her curiosity too strong and, as always, so was the pull of Katarina. Especially this Katarina, the one puttering by the stove, making so little sound she might as well be a magician.
Perhaps she was. A witch. Surely only someone magical could look ethereal in pink light wearing oversized leg warmers and a sweater that reached mid-thigh, about a gazillion sizes too big.
“You changed the bulb.”
Talk about pointing out the obvious. Juliette wanted to smack herself over the forehead for having the worst foot-in-mouth disease in the history of lesbians. Wasn’t she supposed to be the experienced one? The one who could pick up any woman in a bar and take her home, all the while being the suave seductress all these people imagined her to be?
Clearly not wherethiswoman was concerned. Katarina turned away from the kettle, holding a mug with her uninjured hand and balancing a teaspoon in her stitched-up one, and Juliette lost her breath, almost dropping her towel.
She grabbed the soggy cotton tighter and tried to look inconspicuous. Katarina’s eyes were as inscrutable as ever. Her cheekbones were suddenly tinged with crimson, undoubtedly from the heat of the kettle. Surely not from almost seeing Juliette naked. Absolutely not.
The clock on the wall beat a steady tattoo and the intimacy of the domesticity enveloped Juliette like a cozy blanket. Had she ever felt this way? Like the apartment was more than a home, like the person standing in the middle of her kitchen more than just a stranger?
She couldn’t even call Katarina a friend, though cutting her hand to ribbons for Juliette must qualify her for some kind of appellation. But the pink light was washing her in hope and tranquility, and Juliette did not have the words.
It was Katarina who finally broke the comfort of the silence. “I lied, earlier.”
Juliette grabbed the towel and held it so tight her knuckles went white on the cream cotton. She tried not to jump to conclusions, not to assume what exactly Katarina had lied about, but the pause was giving her brain too much time to run away with the most painful scenarios. God, why was Juliette so desperate to believe her? To believeinher?
Katarina, finally glancing at her, must have noticed the confusion and panic on Juliette’s face and immediately amended her previous statement.
“No, oh no, not about the glass or not being the one to drop it in your shoes. I didn’t.” Then she rolled her eyes, and the caring expression turned haughty on a dime. “Honestly, Juliette, that was such a poor job of trying to maim you, it’s an embarrassing effort altogether.” She tsked and placed the mug on the table, and then sat, still not touching the back of the chair.
Juliette lowered herself gingerly in the opposite seat, mindful of the towel, and reached for the tea. The scent of mint made her smile. Once she took a sip, her smile widened.
“What’s so funny?” A raised eyebrow was supposed to be menacing and so was the tone, except the days when Katarina Vyatka could intimidate her with a single look were long behind them.
“You know the way I take my evening tea. Mint, half a sugar cube.” Juliette was too pleased with the entire situation to react to Katarina’s scoff and eye roll.
“Yes, well, it’s been a few months. Anyway.” Katarina waved her fingers at her as if turning the page, clearly done with Juliette’s ridiculousness. It did not dampen Juliette’s joy—in fact, it made her feel a touch giddy that being busted for paying attention to Juliette’s habits made Katarina uncomfortable.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Katarina got up and poured another mug of tea, then turned back to Juliette and lifted her hands in exasperation. “You take you coffee with no sugar, you avoid carbs during the day but allow yourself more than your share in the evenings, you love peonies and pay way too much money to the lady on the corner who steals them from the garden behind City Hall. You don’t care about the theft. All you want is for the lady to like you. She does. Begrudgingly, because she thinks you are too fancy, but she does anyway. She can’t help it, you are very likable.” Katarina accompanied each factoid with a bent finger.
“You knot your shoe from left to right, but you are a righty. Your hair smells of lavender, even though your shampoo is scentless, and it’s because you add essential oil drops into it. And just like with the lady on the corner, you care too much about what people think. Even me, whom you don’t like because you are afraid that I will steal your job.”
Well, that was a refreshing spate of not just full sentences—since she had not heard that many words from Katarina in… actually, ever—but also honesty.
“I do. Care, that is.” Juliette turned the mug in her hands in slow circles, not lifting her eyes to Katarina’s. “And I do like you. Maybe a little too much for a person who is very much capable of taking my job.”
Outside, an owl hooted in the Tuileries Gardens. Somewhere nearby, the wind was playing with the broken shutters, a rarity on Rue de Rivoli. The rich enjoyed their comforts, and the banging would surely wake up a few of them. Right on cue, a neighbor opened their own window and shouted. Then someone else joined in. After a few seconds of back-and-forth, the banging stopped, the owner clearly shamed enough by the neighbors’ insults and complaints.
