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“I did not ask for your opinion, Katya.”
After weeks of rehearsals and meetings, Juliette would know the high-pitched, out-of-place voice belonging to Foltin anywhere.
“Don’t—”
Katarina’s single word sent Juliette’s heart into overdrive.
“What, suddenly you are too good for your Soviet name?”
Foltin’s mocking was coming through clearly even from this distance. Juliette hurried her steps.
“There is nothing sudden about disliking being called something that is entirely foreign to you.” Katarina’s voice held so much distress that Juliette almost vaulted over the secretary’s desk on her way into the office. The beautiful vase full of yellow roses would surely have been a victim of her protective instincts. But her lover’s next words stopped her dead in her tracks.
“You want me to betray Juliette, and you want me to do it when she has lost everything.”
There was movement, steps and rustling fabric, and through the cracked-open door Juliette saw Foltin approach Katarina, whose back was so straight she feared it might snap at any moment.
“You and I want the same things, Katya, I think you’ve forgotten that this was the plan all along.”
The spidery-thin fingers traced Katarina’s jaw, and Juliette felt bile fill her mouth. She almost gagged and doubted she’d be able to hold it in much longer.
“Rodion, you have no idea what I want.”
His laughter was like nails on a chalkboard.
“Oh, but I do. You could have defected in London, in Madrid, in Rome. And yet you chose Paris, with a vulnerable Étoile whois also a lesbian and would thus be easily hoodwinked. You’ve done it in Moscow, right before you threw Tatyana off the stairs. I heard that didn’t work for you so well here?”
This time when he touched her, Katarina did flinch, and Juliette felt that movement like a blow straight to her solar plexus.
“I never?—”
“Tut, tut, you never what? Never fucked Tatyana, or never pushed her? Never fucked Sorel? Never pushed her either?” Foltin stepped back, and Juliette could see Katarina’s chest rise and fall in deep breaths. Too bad she could not say the same of her own. The nausea was so overwhelming she feared she would lose her lunch any second now.
“You are running out of ‘nevers,’ and I have no time for your excuses. You need to dance every single part the American is dancing. I have no time for her stubbornness. I have no time for her, period. She doesn’t love ballet. She doesn’t live it. And frankly, I just much rather prefer you, dorogaya. The company needs a fresh start.”
Foltin sat behind his desk and placed his bony, creepy hands on the oaken surface, the contrast between the pale skin and the dark wood making the appendages appear even stranger and less human. His thin lips stretched into a smile as he went on.
“This is why Lalande wanted me. I am that fresh start and you are fresh out of a nicheSwan Lakesuccess. It was too gay even for the Gay Paris. But no matter. Your Bluebird will be spectacular. The city is at your feet. So is Sorel, and I commend you on some good taste, at least. Though if she will cause you issues, I advise you to get rid of her. And I know you’ve seen the vultures circling anyway. Bianchi will snap her up in New York. And Robbards is now back in London, picking up my discarded sloppy seconds there, as Sorel did here with you. She will fit right in…”
He allowed the line to dangle, the words unspoken but louder than a volcano eruption. Juliette closed her eyes to stave off the images of Katarina and Foltin. When it failed, she bit her lip, the taste of copper in her mouth doing more to ground her than to wipe away the pain of discovery.
Juliette was uncertain what hurt the most. The fact that she had been the victim of a conspiracy so simple as a lonely lesbian falling for a beautiful, unattainable woman? That Katarina had done it before to cement her place in a ballet company and hence had perfected her modus operandi? Or that Foltin was acting like whatever his relationship with Katarina had been, it was not in the past?
All of the above? Or that she believed—for once Juliette Lucian-Sorel believed another soul when she heard “I love you”? Hadn’t she been told to beware? Hadn’t she been warned? Hadn’t her own mind kept some reservations about the events of the past few weeks? Hadn’t she thought just this morning that they needed to talk?
Yes, she had doubts. And yet, the one doubt she should have had and never did, not for a single second, was that Katarina Vyatka loved her. That she had Katarina Vyatka’s heart.
In the office, Foltin kept speaking, Juliette grateful her own thoughts distracted her enough that she’d missed whatever poison he was spewing. He must’ve said something vile because Katarina blanched and shook her head even as Foltin banged his fist on the new desk.
“Katya, I won’t stand for this!” His screech was loud, stabbing her ears. “Time to get all the other shows on the road. It’s always been business for you. So get down to business! The Empress takes the Paris crown…or the Empress goes home. So I will make it easy for you. I’m not even asking. I’m waiting on your yes.”
Juliette didn’t think Katarina could go paler than she already was. And yet, she achieved it. Juliette almost smiled. Sky was really the limit for this woman. And acting was in her blood. Or was it the blood that she put in her acting? Her and that of others? Juliette felt the first tear slip and fall down her cheek.
In the office, the silence stretched. Foltin banged both fists on the wooden surface of the innocent though worthless modern monstrosity of a desk that replaced the antique and then, as if in slow motion, Juliette felt her already crumbling castle raise a white flag.
Katarina’s head dropped to her chest in a nod, and Juliette could not hold back her whimper. The vase of yellow roses Juliette had admired earlier was on the floor, the petals covered in shards of broken glass. She must’ve knocked it over in her shock.
Both Foltin and Katarina turned to the door, and for one horrible moment, Juliette could see their faces, their eyes. The utter satisfaction in his and the sheer terror in hers.
