The woman made a sound that reflected her awe, a soft sound almost like a sigh. Her birdlike eyes searched my face and then my body. “Oui. Clearly, they are well suited. She is the light to his dark. A beautiful couple, no?”
After that, Maja Resnik held tight to my arm as I led her to her seat.
* * *
Our seats were one row behind Scarlett’s parents and Maja Resnik. I settled in next to Violet, but I didn’t settle. I couldn’t decide what to do with my hands or my feet, though all four were where they were supposed to be and stationary. Instead of concentrating on the restlessness in my bones, I listened to the low chatter and the classical music floating in the background.
If not, giving in to the urge to storm through the backstage area and seize her might progress from an intense feeling to an action.
Violet continued to chat in a whisper, alternating between Mick and me. “I can’t believe my girl is here. She’s probably in some fancy dressing room, preparing. She adds a zing to the air when she’s close.” She sniffed. “I smell roses. She’s here!”
I turned the other way and honed in on other people’s conversations.
“A prodigy, but so was her grandmother, Maja Resnik. She has become a legend!”
On the flight over I had been seated next to the old ballerina, and I enjoyed listening to her stories about her time as a dancer. At one point, her eyes had seemed far away, her voice even more reflective.
“The art of ballet has no proof,” she had said to me. “It belongs to the moment. But my granddaughter, just as I once was, is the only proof. To preserve the art, we must live on what we do, so that we can serve it to others that come after us. I prepared her meals, but the difference between her and other dancers is that, instead of me having to feed it to her, she picked up the spoon and fed herself. She has quite a rare talent, even coming from my blood. My very own Mnemosyne.” She had called Scarlett the goddess of memory, if my memory served me right.
There was something the old ballerina had been leaving out, on purpose, if I read her correctly.She hasquite a rare talent, even coming from my blood.Scarlett had an interesting bloodline to say the least, and she reflected all of that history. Which made me anxious.
She was too curious for her own good, and something about her drew trouble.
I rubbed the spot over my heart, the thought of her being this close almost torture, and tried to stave off the longing by listening some more.
A low hum seemed to float through the air in anticipation of what was to come.
I caught more conversations that were along the same lines. Most of the technical terms were lost on me, but the gist of the matter was clear enough. Scarlett was charismatic, a symphonic music note, captivating, her actingsuperb!, and just as important, her technical marks were impressive.
“Act II is when she comes out, I think,” Violet said to no one in particular. “When Prince Siegfried mistakes her for a true swan, he goes to kill her, and that’s when she transforms for him.”
A few coughs rang out. A few laughs meandered in the dimness.
“Madame and Monsieur Poésy.” The voice pulled my attention. “I am Olivier Nemours, a close acquaintance of your daughter, the beautiful dancer, Scarlett Rose Poésy.”
The man who had just introduced himself stood next to Scarlett’s parents. He engaged them in polite conversation, going on and on about how talented their daughter was. When Scarlett’s mother, Pnina, introduced the man to Maja Resnik, he bowed, kissing her hand. Afterward, he went on and on about how he should have known.
He had to be in his late thirties, early forties, real French, with a scarf hanging loosely around his neck and a nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two. He was bad news.
Nemours. Nemours. Nemours. The name seemed familiar, though I couldn’t place it.
I caught the tail end of their conversation—Would they be interested in dining at his restaurant later? Scarlett enjoys the fish. Ah, you have plans. Later then. I insist—before he left to take his seat. Before he moved, our eyes met, and a taunting edge to his stare flared. His lips twisted to the side in an arrogant smirk.
Yeah, no wonder his nose was broken a time or two. Fucking arrogant ratto.The word seemed to fit him.Rat.
Finally, the lights dimmed on the balcony seats before darkness closed in and the orchestra down in the pit brightened. The conductor stood, bowing to the round of applause, before he began to move his arms and a whimsical sound floated around the Palais. The curtain retracted and revealed the stage.
The breath in my chest left me in a silent whoosh. My hands held tight to the seats. My heartbeat seemed to pull me forward, and I nearly followed its direction to the stage without a single thought telling me not to. Even the beast was silent, resting in her peace.
I knew she was there before I saw her—and this wasn’t Act II.
Bouquets of white flowers were set in a line along the stage, their petals shining in stark contrast to the darkness, and behind them, Scarlett tiptoed out, following their trail. The white of her dress glowed just as brightly as the petals, the material soft and flowing, the thin straps made of delicate flowers. A crown full of diamonds sparkled atop her head, and a short veil seemed to flow like water behind it. She began to collect the bouquets one by one, stacking them against the crook of her arm.
Unbeknownst to her, a black creature hovered behind her, its wings of silk waving back and forth, blending in with the darkness. Only the silver glint of its claws solidified its presence. All at once, the wings came down on her, covering her from view. She threw them off, but the wings pulled her back in, and she began to fall under the creature’s spell.
“Fate,” Violet whispered in my ear. “That’s her Fate.”
“Shh,” Mick silenced her. “Don’t be that person. Let us watch.”
