Page 86

“Juliette, you did it!”

The exclamation and the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway distracted her from the task of choreographing the next movement, and she lifted her head from the notebook where she had been meticulously drawing out the steps of the pas de deux.

Juliette shifted her now-considerable abdomen and wished the weeks would pass sooner. Hadn’t she suffered enough? It had been eight months. Whoever said pregnancy was magnificent either hadn’t been pregnant or had one of those ridiculously, awfully, horribly, disgustingly easy ones.

Juliette had not had one of those. Getting pregnant had turned out to be the easiest-peasiest piece of cake in the history of cake. Or the making of babies. Turkey basters rocked.

It was the months that followed the joy and the happiness and the euphoria of those first few days that neither rocked, nor rolled. More like waddled.

Katarina was setting up the nursery the moment the doctor told them they were expecting. All yellows and greens, and Juliette vomited the very first time just thinking about everything that would come.

What came were seven months of morning sickness. Again, whoever said nausea was the joy of only the first trimester had been the biggest liar. Juliette had been sick every single day, sometimes twice a day, and nothing had helped. Nothing. Crackers, ginger ale, chanting, praying. Nothing.

She had cursed, she had cried, she’d had Katarina drag her from doctor’s appointment to doctor’s appointment. The consensus was that the symptoms would stop. Eventually. Juliette had cursed some more.

“Of course it will all stop. When I’m dead!”

Katarina had held her hair away and patted her back over the toilet bowl.

“I see the little one is finally bringing out your dramatic side, my love. Ballet couldn’t and yet the baby did. It’s a miracle.”

Juliette had gagged, heaved, then laughed.

All the grumpiness aside, it was a miracle. This baby was a miracle. Juliette and Katarina, together, happy, sappy, in Paris, were a miracle. Katarina still dancing at the age of forty-five and Juliette being named the Director of Paris Opera Ballet after being its chief choreographer for two years, was also a miracle.

As she sat back and ran her fingers up and down her belly, Juliette smiled. Miracles everywhere. Under her palm, the baby kicked.

“So you agree, little one?”

From the doorway, Katarina looked on, her eyes radiating calmness and peace. Another miracle.

“You were saying, sweetheart?” At the customary nickname, Katarina’s lips crooked upward, the half smile sweet and familiar.

“The reviews forDon Quixoteare in. It’s a rave.” Katarina took a few steps into the office and embraced Juliette from behind before settling in the visitors’ chair, holding open what looked like a brand-new copy ofLe Monde.

“‘The newest iteration brings life and magic, whimsy and joy to the old, stale classic. What failed for years has been reborn as a must-see performance. Vyatka is magnificent in Lucian-Sorel’s direction, and the latter is the breath of fresh air Paris had been craving since, well, since she herself walked the floorboards of Garnier. We are all witnessing history. Long Live The Queen.’”

Katarina put down the newspaper and gave Juliette an indulgent, half-smirking glance.

“I shall even overlook that they are perhaps slighting me, insisting that Paris Opera Ballet needed fresh air, considering I have been their prima for years.”

Juliette tsked and extended her hand for the paper. The baby kicked again, harder this time.

“Ugh, sweetheart, these people have no idea what they’re saying. Except for you being magnificent. That one is perfectly true and probably not even good enough, since you were above magnificent. You were superb. Ethereal. All the superlatives.”

Katarina laughed. “You charmer. I already got you pregnant, there’s no need to sweet-talk me. And speaking of, is she being too active?”

“First of all, she? Although, the more you say that it’s a she, the more I feel that you’re right. Only a dame would be this demanding and insistent on having her way, even in the womb. Second, she is your daughter—it’s all grands jetés today. And third, did you see they finally promoted me? Princess forgotten. I'm the Queen of Paris.”

Juliette struck a pose, somewhat inhibited by the belly. The baby chose that very moment to press on her bladder, and she winced.

“Not long now, love.” Katarina got up again and massaged her shoulders gently. “And yes, I shall get you a crown. An impressive one, worthy of the Queen of Paris.”

Juliette relaxed into the tender ministrations. “As long as it doesn’t come with the guillotine. The French and their monarchs…” She rolled her neck, then they were quiet for a moment before Juliette spoke again. “WhatLe Mondefails to mention is that this is not my first successfulDon Quixote. I staged it in New York to similar raves. Gabriel helped me with the choreography then.”

Katarina’s hands stilled on her shoulders, and the silence filled with sadness.

“I miss him every day, love. He was such a light.” Katarina lowered her face to Juliette’s temple and kissed her as she spoke. The movement of the lips tickled. The gentleness and the memory made Juliette tear up.

“He was light.” The evening sun shone into the wide windows of the space that had seen everything begin. Once Francesca’s office, then Foltin’s. Now Juliette’s. Circles. She thought of Gabriel standing there, by the window, hamming it up to make her smile, defending her, supporting her, pushing her to do what was right. He was so real then, in her memory, in this office, the setting sun playing in his blond curls.

“I know what the baby's name will be, sweetheart. Because she is light too.”

Katarina lifted her head and looked into Juliette’s eyes, the happiness and wistfulness of the moment unspooling like cotton candy, sweet, sugary hope between them.

“Gabrielle.” Juliette set the name free like a little bird, and it spread its gentle wings, greeting the world.

“Gabrielle.” Katarina’s voice trembled. It sounded absolutely perfect spoken in her serene tone.

Outside, Paris was settling into an evening of autumn leaves, ballet performances, and tranquility. Inside, Katarina and Juliette embraced, the baby kicking joyfully between them.