He shrugged. “Honestly, I doubt the corps members get paid much. Maybe she works there to get a little extra money.”
I nodded. That was fixable. One little raise and she would never need to work at the cafe again. Besides, she was probably exhausted from doing two jobs. I would have to find a way to increase her salary, even if it meant sneaking money into her bank myself.
The curtains pulled shut as Act One ended, sending the theater into a short intermission. I motioned for our private server to come forward. It was a teenage boy, a nervous one who clearly tried his hardest to comb back his hair and look presentable. "I want flowers sent to that dancer," I said, pointing at Eva's picture in the program.
"But, sir, that's not my job?—"
I shoved a wad of bills into his chest, more than he was probably making that night. "Now, it is. I want them delivered to the dressing room by the end of the show."
He looked as if he were going to argue once more before clutching the cash to his chest and nodding. "Any requests for the flowers, sir?"
"Pink."
"Oh! You should get her those flowers that look like roses mixed with clouds!" Nikolai interjected. "They'd look like her costume in Act Two."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Erm, peonies, sir?" the boy asked.
I waved my hand. "Yes, yes. Something big with lots of pink. Nothing is too much."
He scampered off, and a few minutes later, he came back, red-faced, saying that they'd be on her dresser by the show's end. I tore off a piece of the program, hastily scrawled a note to include with them, and handed it back to the boy with another thing of cash.
The strings rising again while the flutes began to trill were a hint that the intermission was ending. That and Nikolaisquealing like an infant pig, leaning forward and exclaiming, "This is the best act! The Sugar Plum Fairy's pas de deux is stunning."
"Pas de deux?"
"Technically, it's just French for 'a dance of two,'" he explained. "But, really, it's the most intimate part of the entire ballet. The whole stage narrows to two dancers who trust completely and complement each other well. The man might be strong with his legs, while the woman is graceful with arms, or something like that. One leads, one follows, but both are a part of the dance. One dancer is all lightness. She’s ethereal, she’s weightless, she’s unbound by gravity. And then there’s the anchor. He’s the force of nature that keeps her from flying away or falling apart. It requires a whole lot of trust because if that anchor falters, the whole thing collapses. It’s a thing of instinct, ofpassion.It's all very romantic."
"Yes," I murmured as the curtains opened, revealing Eva and the other dancers once more, this time dressed as members of some fairytale world that the main character and Nutcracker passed through. She held her position so still, I briefly worried she wasn't breathing. But then her eyes flicked to the audience, and I relaxed back into my seat.
A pas de deux.
Yes,I thought, smiling to myself as I watched my Eva.A dance of two, indeed.
I realized suddenly that watching wasn't enough. The distance between us—rows of velvet seats, gold railings, a grand stage—felt like an insult to our connection. I didn't like barriers between us, didn't like that I couldn't go to her whenever I wanted to taste her vanilla lip gloss again. And I especially didn't like the idea of her walking off that stage, potentially disappearing into a world I couldn't be present in.
The final notes of a song rang out, and one piece of candy—God, this ballet made no sense to me—was replaced by another. I leaned back, folding my arms across my chest, and said, “I’m buying the ballet.”
The thought settled into me with frightening ease. Right now, when she stepped off that stage, she belonged to the world. Sharing dressing rooms with a dozen other dancers, meandering her way through crowds, visiting with strangers who somehow thought they had a right to her attention. The idea of anyone being able to access her—anyone but me—curdled into something sharp and territorial.
If Eva was going to be surrounded, it would be by walls I built. Doors I could close. People who would bleed and die for her. She would not belong to the world, but to the one I created. Every move, every action, would revolve around mine.
Like a pas de deux.
Nikolai blinked once. Then twice. "You're joking."
"Have I ever joked?"
He studied me for a long moment, something like awe creeping into his expression. "You know," he said slowly, leaning back into his seat, arms crossing his chest, "most men would start with a first date. Flowers and a nice dinner."
"I've already sent her flowers. And we will have several dinners together. This moves much quicker.”
He laughed loudly, drawing the ire of many other patrons near us. "My, my. You are asuckerfor this girl. You know, in an asshole-y way, it’s kind of sweet?—"
I ignored him, too busy pulling my phone from my pocket, dialing a number I had memorized. He answered on the second ring, his thickly accented voice gruff. "Reaper."
"How quickly can you purchase a majority stakeholder position in the City Ballet?"
