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Francesca set down her cup and her expression soured, her words dripping poison. “For Rodion Foltin, dancing is death itself. If you think he will not kill for it, you’re mistaken. He assassinated my career, or damn nearly did.”

Juliette watched as Francesca tried very hard to keep her voice down and to attract as little attention to them as possible. They were being looked at anyway, but it was a valiant attempt, and Juliette appreciated the effort it took.

“And yet, New York.”

Francesca’s smile was sad when she answered. “Yes, provisional position. But New York Ballet nonetheless.”

“You’ll love it, Cesca. And you will turn the entire provisional thing into permanent before I can finish dancingThe Nutcracker.”

Considering thatNutcrackerseason was around the corner, Juliette thought Francesca might not agree with the simile. But no disagreement followed, just a pursing of the lips and a thoughtful look.

“And you?”

Juliette’s brow furrowed.

“Me?”

“Will it be London? The competition is stiff there, but they could use you. Shannon Robbards told me so. And Shannon would be better to you than he ever will be, especially with Katarina as his prima. As his Étoile.”

First the gut punch of Bluebird, now this? Had Foltin really decided to name Katarina his Étoile? Was Francesca speaking from knowledge, or from wishful thinking? She had clearly been angry. Could she be this vindictive? Juliette’s head spun. When had her life become this complicated? When had she lost sight of whom to trust?

The shard of premonition that had been cutting little pieces of her chest since the day she got on this carousel embedded itself deeper, her torn flesh singing with bittersweet pain.

“Is that why Shannon was at theSwan Lakeopening?”

Francesca polished off her espresso and signaled for another before lowering her voice even more.

“She had come to warn me. Foltin had resigned that day. And I knew mine were numbered. Turns out the number was one. One day. That’s how long it took for him to be named Director in Paris. He signed the paperwork while still in London. Lalande letSwan Lakeplay for the weeks it did because the run sold out after our opening night triumph and the Ballet needed the sales, but the plan to oust me was already in place, I just know it. ButShannon was also here recruiting. And while she couldn’t offer me anything I’d bite on, she does have a special admiration for you, Jett.”

“I am the Paris Opera Ballet Étoile, Cesca.”

And this time, the look she received was filled with nothing but pity.

“You might be the company’s one and only Étoile, but you are not his. And when he shows you the door, do call Shannon. Though I imagine she will reach out to you before you become desperate enough to do that yourself. Or smart enough.”

They did not say goodbye when they hugged. They walked down the Champs-Élysées arm in arm, the crowds parting predictably in front of them. The silence between them was not comfortable anymore, the weight of secrets, guilt, and lies filling the spaces they always reserved for honesty. And the seed Francesca had planted was much too painfully shoved into the fearful ground of Juliette’s mind to be ignored.

Yet, when she arrived on Rue de Rivoli, the light in the kitchen was burning pink and the betrayal of the unsaid, of the Bluebird part, of the suspicious meetings and long silences, was somehow palatable. Softer than Juliette expected it to be. And was it really a betrayal? Katarina did not owe her anything. She certainly did not owe her the courtesy of telling her when she had been given a new part. Bluebird wasn’t even the main role inSleeping Beauty.

Juliette let her head fall for a moment before she pushed open the door to the staircase. Why could she not cast aside this sharp little edge of doubt? It had been lodged in her chest since the first day she had seen Katarina. The premonition and the scintilla of distrust. She had swept both under the cover of love and lust. Under the glory of having Katarina in her arms. Of seeing adoration in those bright blue eyes. She could not be bothered about any role Katarina might take without telling her,but the uncertainty that existed now extended to what other trust her lover might be able to break without blinking an eye—and Juliette found that she just didn’t care. Katarina was worth it. She mattered enough.

Her treacherous heart clung to the shadows cast by the pink lamp in her kitchen as she climbed the stairs to the woman whose secrets were so deep that Juliette was afraid she’d drown in them. And what scared her even more was that she didn’t want the truth. She might just never recover from it. Why not choose the safety of familiar waters?

When the door opened, Katarina stood there in Juliette’s bathrobe, hair down and the apartment smelling of cinnamon and apples. And orange blossom. As Juliette fell into her arms, she knew she wouldn’t ask about the Bluebird. Katarina would tell her when the time came. Juliette would have to deal with the fallout then.

They made love that night. Slow. Achingly tender. As if endeavoring to imprint their love on each other’s skin, like ink. An endless tattoo of gentle kisses and silky caresses. Even the climax when it came was a wave, cresting to the sky, filling Juliette with warmth. And despite everything, despite the shadows dancing in the corners of the room, creeping slowly toward the bed, Juliette felt inexplicably safe. Was it her wishful thinking? Or was her heart seeing something nobody else had been able to see? That she was protected in these hands.

The hands that traced patterns in her collarbones, even as Katarina’s head lay in its place on Juliette’s shoulder.

“You are so…” Katarina paused, her voice like honey, sweet and languorous, looking for the word. “Admirable. Steady.”

Juliette pouted, more for show, then kissed the blonde tresses.

“That sounds like a ship. Or a car. Steady is what you want from a ride.”

She could feel Katarina’s lips stretch in a smile against her skin.

“You did give me quite a ride, love.” The mischievous note in Katarina’s voice did wonderfully wicked things to Juliette’s stomach.