"I told you, I have made my decision."
"Indeed, you have."
"Several times."
"I remember."
"Then why are you smiling?"
But it wasn't enough for him to smile. He chuckled.
Odette did her absolute best to keep her lips poised and her eyes firm. A feat harder to perform when Lou looked at her, his eyes almost mischievous.
"Oh, it has nothing to do with you, dear," he teased. "It is simply the fact that two of my students have advanced, oh, one would say, miraculously over the past week."
"Truly, a miracle," she muttered, tightening her hold of the cane and fighting the dreaded blush that fluttered upon her cheeks.
Lou, damn him, missed nothing. She could feel his eyes dancing upon her face, searching for clues and waiting to trap her in his gaze. "One could say you worked one, yes," he said, his voice low and raw and vibrating within her chest.
She took a deep, involuntary breath, trying to clear her mind from his voice and instead breathed in his scent – cloves and nutmeg and coffee – that addled her senses and intoxicated her thoughts –
"Odette?"
A gentle touch on her arm stormed through her Lou induced fog.
She stood on top of the stairs, frozen, her hand grabbing the railing. She could feel his worry in his gaze and in the gentle pressure of his fingers on her wrist, feeling her pulse. She exhaled and looked up, meeting the tender gaze and delicate frown that were sure to be her undoing and breathed, "Fine. I'll do it."
She still didn't think it was a good idea. A part of her regretted her response the moment she uttered her agreement, but the gentle light that sparkled in Lou's eyes was worth it. Worth everything. The light danced upon the sculped cheekbones and erased the frown and the worry lines that began to etch themselves into his skin. When Lou smiled, he looked like the boy she knew, who stopped her, seconds before the curtains rose, to tell her… something.
He said nothing, but the light was the same. It endured the passage of time and years and hardship, never changing. It belonged to her, that light.
I know what you wanted to say, a part of her whispered, that day on the stage.
Perhaps I always knew.
"Perfect," he said, a touch of a smile still gracing his lips. "I'll speak with Auguste. I believe he will be equally pleased."
She cocked her brow, mimicking him, "Equally?" she repeated.
Lou cleared his throat, glancing away and pursing his lips – a gesture he often did when he was embarrassed – before exhaling his defeat. "Very well. Merely pleased, yet not as pleased as I am with your decision," he whispered in her ear.
He pulled away, keeping just an inch apart between them, and suddenly she remembered that they stood in the Opera's entrance hall, where everyone could see them.
Lou, perhaps sensing her embarrassment and mistaking it for self-doubt, placed his hand on hers. "Don't worry about them," he said, his voice low and smooth, "nor about the job. They will accept you once you show them what you know. And there is so much you can teach them."
He knew her fears all too well. It's not going to be easy, a part of her wanted to say, she may fail altogether. But his hand on hers, squeezing gently, and the unwavering promise in his eyes… he believed in her. Perhaps she should believe in herself as well.
She nodded, earning another smile from Lou – the smile that induced her heart to pirouette time and time again – and felt another weight dissolving, unchaining the butterflies in her chest and the burden from her heart.
Lou, unaware of the power of his smile, had decided to scowl instead. "I think I hear Auguste. Let me speak to him about this. Don't go anywhere."
He released her hand and left – not without a final, lingering gaze – to speak with the director, who tried and failed to pretend he wasn't attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. Quite a feat, for a man so large.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Felicie chatting with her genteel friends, her face animated, but she held her hands closer to her form and did not wave them about her like she used to. She is learning, Odette mused, and making connections. Following behind in an arrogant yet graceful manner was Camille Le Haut, who kept aiming short and venomous glances at the redhead ballerina. And enemies.
Auguste led him to his office, which spelled bad news more often than it should have.
"She wants to become a patron," he stated, his voice grave.
Louis scoffed. It wasn't hard to guess to whom the Director was referring. "I thoughts you said she wasn't wealthy enough."
"And still isn't, but she started… making inquiries, and I would put nothing past that devious woman," Auguste muttered, hitting his desk with his fist.
Louis frowned. It was not like Auguste to betray his emotions like that.
Auguste continued, steepling his fingers. "She is going after you, I'm sure of it. It is easy to tell you favor Felicie over her daughter. Regardless of her reasons," he continued, stopping Louis before he could protest, "you can be certain she will stop at nothing to prevent Odette from teaching at the Opera."
"So you are just going to give up? After all those years you begged her to teach?" Louis hissed, hitting the floor with his cane. "I did not take you for a coward! I-"
"Then do not accuse me of cowardice!" Auguste rose from his chair, planting his palms on the table. He sighed, then straightened and rubbed his face. "I am saying, my dear friend, that we need a plan. It will not do to ask Odette to teach, only to take away the position the moment she agrees to do it. It would be too cruel for my heart to stomach."
And I cannot fail her more than I already have. She will never trust me again. The thought of losing her, after she finally began to warm up to him, after she finally allowed him to hold her hand…
"She needs a patron," he said, his voice almost foreign to him.
Auguste waved his hand in dismissal. "Easy to say, but I doubt that there is anyone wealthy enough that still remembers her – "
But the idea had a feverish hold of him, so bright and baffling that any explanation would cure it of its existence. "Let me write a letter using your stationary. And borrow the Opera's messenger."
"Louis? What's gotten into you?" Nonetheless, he stepped away from his desk and waved his hand in uncertain permission. "Whom did you have in mind?"
"Nathalie-Victurnienne-Delphine de Rochechouart de Mortemart."
Louis was, for lack of a better word, nervous. It was unlike him to feel so agitated and event less unlike him to show it, but it was difficult to hide from Odette's watchful eyes.
Eyes that had watched him throughout the ride home and had slowly grown more suspicious with each passing moment.
But he could not tell her. How could he tell her? How could he deliver news of both a decade old mistreatment and a hope so fragile, it might turn false with the stoke of a quill?
Just give me time, he begged silently. Allow me to protect you.
They sat for dinner – he was seated at the head, Felicie at his right, and Odette – across. He stifled a sigh and did his best to sit – and not sink – unto his seat. That was Josephine's doing, no doubt, ignoring yesterday's order, but how could he tell Odette that without sounding like a spoiled brat?
Odette sat gracefully and did not comment, but she pursed her lips and averted her gaze.
Felicie's eyes raced between them as she told a very entertaining story about… something, certainly. Still, Louis could not hear a word of it, nor notice the flavor of the soup he was, for the sake of appearances, eating.
A small yet pointed boot sank into his sheen, nearly causing him to empty the content of the spoon on his favorite necktie.
He aimed a glare at Felicie, but Odette's eyes found him first. "You are distracted."
He nearly wished he had stained his clothes, then. It would have given him an excuse to leave the table. "I apologize," he said instead. "Long day."
"Not longer than usual, surely?" she said, folding her arms across her chest.
Her eyes were cold.
Edgar chose that moment to enter the dining room. "Monsieur, forgive my interruption, but Monsieur Vaucorbeil has come to see you. He said it is urgent."
Louis rose, hiding his relief, and bowed. "Forgive me, ladies. I must excuse myself."
Now he had to pray that Auguste brought good tidings with him, because Odette's eyes had turned to ice.
Auguste, still flamboyantly dressed, rose when he saw him. "This just came in," he said, offering him a heavy parchment, scented with expensive perfume. "I dared not open it, though my curiosity is killing me! Ah, a letter from the Marquise de Rougé herself!"
Louis was less inclined to pursue ceremonial acts. He took the letter knife Edgar was quick to bring and opened the envelope with a swift cut. He read the letter once, then once again, then a third time, before he allowed himself to breathe. He offered the parchment to Auguste before the man all but tore the paper from his hands.
"Oh, the drama!" cried the Director, cheeks flushed. "A gladiators' battle! A trial of art and intellect! A-"
"A contest," Louis surmised, heart hammering. "A teacher should be measured by her students."
"The poetry! The extravagance! The penmanship!"
"We can't tell them about this," Louis reminded him, "she demanded secrecy."
"So she did! A woman after my own heart!" Auguste, however, continued singing. "Ah! I cannot wait for Tomorrow! Though tomorrow is another day awaaaaay!"
Louis rolled his eyes. "Quite, and I will see you then, and not a moment earlier. Good night!" he waved, directing his still singing friend toward the door, then pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate his growing headache. Tomorrow. So much depends on Felicie, and yet –
As if thinking about her sharpened his senses, Louis suddenly noticed the sofa had grown an orange tail. His headache immediately grew worse.
"We talked about eavesdropping, did we not?"
"Well, yes," the sofa answered, "but I figured – "
"I will not waste my time chiding a sofa. Come here, now." He clapped, imitating the sound of his cane.
Slowly, the tail became a braid, and a child appeared before him, hesitant and remorseful and yet, still curious.
"Eavesdropping is an awful habit. This is the last time you attempt to listen to conversations that are not meant for you. Am I clear?"
Felicie opened her mouth to say something that probably was not an obedient response.
Louis cocked his brow. "Am. I. Clear?"
The child sighed, "Yes," she mumbled.
"Good." Louis rubbed his temples, trying to will the pain away. He sat on the armchair behind him and sighed. "How much did you hear?"
"Nothing! I swear! I only just got here!" Felicie declared, sweet innocence written into her features – all but one. Her nose, he noticed, twitched.
"Liar," he dismissed her. "And it is a bad thing, to swear on a lie. The truth, Felicie."
Felicie pouted. "Fine. I only heard the last sentence – " And there it was again, the nose twitch.
"Liar." He interrupted, and his gaze held hers. "I will not ask you again."
She blinked and averted her gaze, glancing at her hands. "I snuck in when the Director began singing," she mumbled, then looked up at him, her expression pinched and worried. "But I only did it because I thought something terrible happened! I mean, you were so quiet during the ride home and during dinner, and even rehearsals, actually –"
He lifted his hand in an attempt to stop her rampage. "Felicie – "
"I thought someone died! Or worse! I mean, not sure what, but probably something really bad because you and Odette were acting really strange and the Director sang something about pens and gladiators – "
"Felicie!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, an act that finally managed to quiet the child. He sighed. "Felicie, it's all going to be all right. I promise you. But now, you must go to sleep and rest."
She looked troubled again. "Because of tomorrow? Because he said something will happen tomorrow."
"Yes," Louis agreed, "but it must be a surprise. So you must go and rest." He exhaled, trying to ignore his own exhaustion, and caressed the child's flaming hair. "Promise me you will go to sleep now. No midnight adventures or secret talks with Victor."
"Hmm…" Felicie considered his request. "Not even math?"
Louis feigned a frown. "You did not finish your homework?"
Despite her attempts to look innocent, Felicie still could not erase the guilt from her green eyes. "I have one more page, but I did everything else!"
He pretended to consider her request. "Fine. No more math. But you will have to finish your homework tomorrow."
"Promise!" the girl declared, offering a toothy grin that almost caused him to smile in return, which would almost definitely be unthinkable. "By the way, how did you know I lied to you before?"
This time, she remembered to look guilty only when he glared. Finally, he could not help himself. He smiled. "Your nose twitched."
Felicie looked affronted. "It did not!" She crossed her eyes, trying to glare at the offending organ.
"It did. Now, to bed. And do not let me find you with the light on."
He tried to sound threatening, but he must have failed entirely for Felicie smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Dad!" and ran upstairs.
Louis sighed, watching the child dancing her way up the stairs, and almost wished he could allow himself to be carefree enough to be the same. But he could not; Odette's cold, guarded eyes haunted him whenever he closed his.
He rose and entered the dining room but found neither Odette nor her cane. Instead, Ada greeted him with a bowed head. "Madame retired early, Monsieur."
"I see," he exhaled, as new pain than had nothing to do with his headache swelled within him. "Thank you, Ada." He turned to leave, then remembered. "From this Day onward, Madame Odette is to be seated at my side," he added. "Do pass it on to Josephine."
He went to his room, trying and failing to stop himself from lingering next to Felicie's door, where Odette was certain to keep her company.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Everything will be cleared up tomorrow. She will forgive me then. Surely, she will forgive when she understands that everything I did, I did for her.
He entered his room and closed the door. Yet though he was tired, sleep did not come, and his thoughts did not leave him.
She dances. The routine is familiar, though her body feels tired.
The music and the faces from the crowd are familiar too but try as she might, she cannot recognize them. Only a chair, an empty chair, where she expected to see soft, brown eyes lit with freckled gold –
The music is twisted, the notes wailing, as if the violins playing are melting. The piano is melting – the keys turn to rivers of white and black, and the audience fades – turns into smoke –
She continues to dance as her white dress elongated and grows heavy, then wrapped in a dark blue cloth, and her broken toy grows and sprouts straw hair – a broom! She cannot dance with a broom! She cannot dance -
"Fire!" a woman runs in, screaming, "Fire!"
She cannot dance at all.
The smell suddenly hits her – smoke and charred wood that bite her throat – she is choking –
"Odette!"
She cannot dance. She cannot move. The ropes that held the tapestry spanned and burned, then turned into mice with flaming tails than ran over her, plastering her to the floor as heavy as the grandfather clock –
"Odette!"
Odette's eyes snapped open.
She lay in Felicie's bed. The room was quiet and warm, and the child was sleeping peacefully beside her. Nothing disturbed the peace except her trembling heart and shaky breaths.
She sat up and wiped her face from sweat and tears. That voice… calling her name. That was Lou's voice. All these years, she heard his voice waking her up from her nightmares yet failed to recognize it. All this time, his voice never left her.
I need to know. The thought burned through her mind. I need to know what happened that night. I need to know. I have to.
She rose and donned the nightgown the maid had laid out for her, took her cane, and then limped quietly out of the room. Lou's room was just on the other end of the hall. It wasn't far, and she needed those answers.
Only after she knocked on his door, she realized the foolishness of her actions. It was the middle of the night, the entire household was asleep, and there she was, disturbing the peace because of a decade-old nightmare.
Immediately, she turned around and fled, willing her legs to carry her faster and faster, before her actions were found out –
"Odette?"
She froze, almost wishing the shadows to swallow her whole. Her ankle spasmed, protesting the exercise, and she had to lean against the rich tapestry, gritting her teeth and wishing the light and shadow behind her would just disappear.
"Odette!"
But of course, they did not. Lou rushed to her side, a lamp in hand, the other offered as help.
"Are you all right?" he whispered, his gaze soft and worried.
"I'm fine," she muttered and did not take his hand. She looked away. "I apologize for waking you, I don't know what has come over me –"
"You didn't. I could not sleep." His eyes focused on her ankle. The treacherous thing had a habit of flaring whenever she felt miserable, as if it rejoiced in her pain.
"Would you sit with me? In the library?" he added, trying to peer into the eyes that refused to meet his. "It's the second door to the right."
What he means to say, it's on the same floor and it isn't far, her mind protested, but she knew sleep would be difficult to achieve with the memories of the nightmare clawing at the corners of her mind, and besides, he was already awake...
She nodded yet still refused his hand. "Lead the way," she whispered.
Lou dropped his hand. He waited, looking at her for a long moment in silence, before finally turning around and showing her the way. She followed, unsure still if that was a good decision, yet spurred by her desire to know. She had to know what truly happened that night, and what truly happened today.
Lou opened the door and rushed to light the fireplace, then the candlesticks around the room, leaving her stranded and nervous in the middle of it.
"Sit," he said, gesturing at the chaise in the center of the room. "I'll call for drinks."
"Lou-"
"There are blankets – " he rose again, his movements as agitated as she had felt, and walked toward a neatly folded pile of fabrics –
"Lou! Would you stop that? All of… of this?" she cried, desperation leaking into her voice.
Lou looked lost. "The room is cold – "
"Did I say I want it warmed?"
"Would you say if you did?" he challenged.
"Would you listen?" she scoffed, then regretted her outburst. "I know you want to help me, but you never stop to think about what I want. You just… decide."
Lou ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. He wore cream-colored pants and a loose, ruffled white shirt, covered in a red robe. He looked tired and pained and, in the fire's golden light, defeated. "I just wanted to protect you," he whispered.
Odette shook her head. "You hid the truth from me today. That's not protection, that's… no different from a lie. I don't like lies."
"I did not lie," Lou hissed. He matched toward her, his eyes aflame. "I cannot tell you what transpired today nor what will happen tomorrow because I promised not to."
She rose, answering his challenge. "So you admit you are keeping things hidden from me?"
"I am not trying to betray you!" he fumed, then sighed. "Why do you not trust me?" His eyes were pained when they held hers, yet tender still. She could almost believe the promise they held. For a moment, all she wanted to do was rest in the safety of his arms and forget all that had transpired today.
"I want to," she whispered, "but It's very difficult to believe one thing for ten years and then suddenly… believe another."
Lou stepped closer. She could see the songbird pattern on his robe and breathe in the scent of fire and clove and feel the warmth he emanated, caressing her frozen fingers and aching chest. His hand gently cupped her cheek and tilted her face so he could peer into her eyes. His gaze was as gentle as his touch. "Odette, what are you talking about? What did you believe?"
Her throat tightened as treacherous tears stained her cheeks. She broke free from his touch, trying to dry her face and hide her shame, only to find herself caught in his embrace.
Lou caressed her hair and soothed her shaking shoulders. "You thought I left you," he whispered.
Her hands clutched his robe and held unto him almost as much as she tried to hold on to his presence. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and tried to convince herself that this moment was real, Lou was real, and so were all his promises to her.
"Odette, I'm here," he whispered to her hair, his voice dancing and echoing within her chest. "Please, don't cry."
And he was, wasn't he? The arms that embraced her were strong and tender, their touch soothing. She was surrounded by him and supported by him and she knew he would never let her fall.
As if his words gave her courage, she managed to steady her voice and dry her tears. Breathing in his scent, she lifted her head so she could look at him. "I need to know what happened on the night of the fire."
Lou's eyes widened as the soft brown darkened in disbelief. "Odette, why…?"
"I keep having nightmares about that performance. About the fire. Each time, they are slightly different, but the only thing consistent is… you. Your voice always wakes me up." Her eyes searched his. "I need to know what happened."
Lou's face, dark and troubled at first, grayed in surrender. He nodded slowly, taking his time, then guided her to sit on the chaise. He sat next to her, his posture heavy, and though his hand held hers, his eyes focused on the fire dancing in the hearth.
"I had dinner that night with the ballet master of the Bolshoi theatre on the other side of Paris. The dinner took… longer than I expected. I left before giving him an answer, promising him I'd reply him in the morning, and rushed to see your performance." He paused, swallowing with difficulty. "I was late."
Memories she had no desire to remember suddenly took her mind by force. Memories of the mumbling of the audience, the red curtain rising, the start of the music –
She must have held his hand too firmly, for Lou ceased talking and caressed her hair with his free hand. "Would you like me to stop?" he whispered, bowing his head against her brow.
She closed her eyes and calmed her breaths, holding on to sensations that rooted her in the presence – the scent of clove, the touch of Lou's beard tickling her forehead, the warmth of his hand, holding hers.
"No," she mumbled, squeezing his hand in reassurance, and looked up into his eyes. "I need to know."
Lou nodded and breathed deeply, as if to steel himself from his own memories and their content. "When I arrived, nothing looked out of the ordinary. It looked…. Like every other performance." He chuckled. "I was even held at the door by a young usher who did not recognize me. Then the door opened from inside."
He paused again, hesitating, but Odette's fingers caressed his knuckles in reassurance. He continued, "The first thing that struck me was confusion. People ran toward the doors, screaming and coughing because of the smoke, pushing each other almost senselessly. Then I heard Auguste call you name and I knew I had to get to the stage, even if it meant pushing all of Paris out of my way. I… I don't remember how I got there, but I remember you." He paused again, bowing his head and breathing deeply.
Odette hid her face in the crook of his neck, seeking him and supporting him with her touch. Lou released her hand and instead caressed her hair, cradling her against him, and held her hand again with his opposite arm, his thumb drawing circles on her skin.
"You did not move," he whispered. "I thought I lost you."
"No," she murmured, "I was trapped. The grandfather clock… I couldn't move it."
"It was too heavy. To this day, I do not know how I lifted it myself. But I did, and then I… I carried you out. At the time I… I just hoped I wasn't too late."
His hand held hers almost too strongly, but she did not protest. That, too, was an affirmation that she was there and so was he, sitting in his library, of all places, and that he loved her still.
Lou cleared his throat, his voice thick. "Auguste's carriage took us to the hospital. He arranged and paid for everything, which was good, for I was not of sound mind that night. I waited outside your room all night, praying. There was nothing else I could do, just pray and wait. In the morning –" he paused and took a steadying breath, "in the morning, they told us that you would survive, but your leg… I'm sorry," he stopped again, unable to continue.
Odette raised her head slightly and peered into his eyes. "You need to tell me, Lou. I need to know what happened." She lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, easing the worry lines with her touch. "You promised," she whispered.
Lou closed his eyes in resignation, and slowly, he nodded. "They said the damage was permanent, but they offered a treatment to ease the pain. It was too – they wanted more than we could afford. I wanted to stay until you opened your eyes, but it was already – it was already morning. I asked Auguste to stay with you in my stead and… and I left to join the Russian ballet. But Odette, I swear to you, it was only for you, I only ever thought – "
"I know," she reassured him, her hand still caressing his face. "I know now. But I feel better still, knowing that you were with me that night."
Lou's thumb stroked her fingers. "If I could, I would have stayed with you until you had opened your eyes. Or better yet, if –"
Oh, Lou and his dramatics, she thought, her heart clenching. "It wasn't your fault, what happened that night." She held his gaze and offered a small smile. "I just… needed to know." She squeezed his hand. "Don't keep secrets from me."
"I promise," he whispered. "After tomorrow."
She scoffed, but his hand held hers too tenderly. "It better be worth it."
He offered her a small smile and cocked his brow. "Oh, it will be. Trust me."
And she did, didn't she? She couldn't choose differently. His brown eyes, lit by the gentle candlelight, held a promise of home.
The only thing Odette regretted about her late-night talk with Lou was how tired it left her. She could barely keep her eyes open, let alone bother with sweeping the floor. She huffed when she looked at Felicie, as exuberant and energetic as ever, and remembered a time when a few hours of lost sleep held no effect on the day to follow.
Ah, to be young, she mused with a smile, noting the improvement in Felicie's pirouette.
"Got into trouble again, I see."
The Janitor joined their training session, climbing onto the stage with a crooked smile.
"What?" Felicie cried, running to Odette. "I didn't do anything! I swear!"
The Janitor rolled his eyes. "Not you, her." He pointed at Odette. "The Director wants to see you in his office. Got there a lady whose been doing a lot of complaining. And a patron," he added, a guttural chuckle at his throat.
Felicie was quick to hold her hand. "I'll get Dad," she declared, green eyes shining with determination, and jumped off the stage with the grace of a ballerina.
"Oi! You! Get to class!" the Janitor yelled. He glanced in her direction and rumbled, "You know where the Director's office is, don't you?" and rushed after Felicie.
Odette took a deep breath. Her hands shook, but she promised him she'd trust him. For some reason, she thought, almost desperately, I hoped the surprise would be different.
She limped up the stairs, taking her time. She had no reason to hurry, after all.
When she reached the door, she paused, almost allowing herself to hesitate.
No. she reminded herself. I will not cower before her. Not anymore.
She opened the door and entered the room.
"Tardy, as usual, I see," sneered Madame Le Haut. "See? I told you she was useless. A stain on this beautiful Opera that celebrates perfection, not… damaged goods."
The man she spoke to, an impeccably dressed gentleman with a top hat, a cane, and a bowtie almost large enough to put the one worn by Auguste to shame, was not quick to join his companion's glee. "Oh," he muttered, tapping his cane nervously. "You did not mention she had a limp."
Auguste's face reddened. "Madame Milliner is a prized member of the Opera. You may not speak to her in this manner," he thundered.
While the gentleman shrank away from Auguste's obvious anger, Madame Le Haut rose to the challenge. "Really? A cleaner is a prized member? The Opera has clearly lost its way!" She turned to face the gentleman, who had yet to introduce himself. "This vile woman is jealous of my daughter and her talent! She tried to sabotage her more than once and push her filthy orphan to dance here instead! Can you imagine? An orphan instead of my genteel daughter, dancing in the Opera?"
The gentleman did not meet Odette's eye. "Well, that does seem unlikely – "
"I did not sabotage her daughter, Monsieur," Odette said, cold anger sharpening her words. "Her daughter is debuting this week, after all."
Madame Le Haut's face twisted, her rage evident. "Did not! Did you not steal her letter of acceptance, had the orphan pose in her name, and then trained said orphan only so she could humiliate my daughter? Do not lie, thief!"
"Every student trains in hopes of earning a spot on stage. Why should Felicie be any different?"
"Because she is an orphan!" the woman shrieked. She placed her hand on her heaving chest, trying to calm herself, and turned to face the alarmed gentleman beside her. "As you can see," she said, clearly trying to control her temper, "I am the victim of a most villainous assault by this, this vicious woman and that awful orphan-"
Odette's knuckles turned white. "Say what you like about me, but leave Felicie out of this. She earned her place in the Opera through hard work and passion, something your daughter could only dream of."
"Passion?" screeched Madame Le Haut. "She would have been sacked on the first day if you had not… worked your womanly charms on Monsieur Mérante –"
Auguste rose from his seat, unable to contain himself. "Remember yourself, Madame! My office will not be sullied by wild speculations!"
Odette closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. Where are you, Lou? What's taking so long?
"Well," said the gentleman, now unable to meet the eye of any other person in the room. "I… I am less troubled by matters of talent, since I am not qualified to judge, but the matter of identity theft seems a bit more, more problematic, by nature. Is Madame's Le Haut's account of the events correct in that particular matter, Madame Milliner?" he asked, finally managing to hold her gaze.
Odette pursed her lips, suddenly wishing she had chosen to act differently when she discovered Felicie's lie. "It is," she said instead.
Madame Le Haut smirked. "At last, a moment of truth! Indeed, Monsieur Somptueux, you truly are a man of virtue! I-"
"Madame, please, this is… ah… uncomfortable for everyone involved, I'm certain," Monsieur Somptueux interrupted, looking even more discomfited by her presence. "Monsieur Auguste, I am simply troubled by your decision to hire and speak so highly of someone with a… a questionable moral character. And unless, unless you have another idea, I see no other option but to highly suggest that –"
"Oh my, what an audience," articulated a feminine voice, as aged and haughty as it's the owner.
The door opened and – the air Odette held locked in her lung escaped her lips in a shuddered breath – Lou walked in, all flair and grace, and aimed a short glance of derision at Madame Le Haut before introducing his companion to the company present.
"My Lady, may I introduce you to Auguste Emmanuel Vaucorbeil, the Director of the Opera. Monsieur Vaucorbeil, may I introduce you to the most honorable, the Marquise de Rougé," he stated, his voice deep and commanding, and he moved to the Marquise's side with a bow of his head, so he ended up standing by Odette's side.
She took a deep breath, tinged with relief.
He came. He stood by his promise.
Auguste quickly performed his most flamboyant bow and took his hand in his. "At your service, your Ladyship," he declared as he kissed her hand.
"Hmm, thank you," the Marquise said drily. "It is a most impressive building, Monsieur Vaucorbeil. You seem to have recovered quite well from the fire."
Auguste blushed. "Why, a compliment from her ladyship is like a blessing from the heavens! I-"
"Yes, quite," she dismissed him and pointedly glared at Monsieur Somptueux and Madame Le Haut.
Auguste cleared his throat. "And may I introduce Monsieur Somptueux, a patron of the Opera, and Madame Le Haut, a mother of one of the students here."
Monsieur Somptueux, still fumbling with his cane and hat, rushed to kiss the Marquise's hand. "Honored to make your acquaintance, your Ladyship."
Madame Le Haut curtsied. "Indeed, it is a delight to stand in your presence, your Ladyship. Would your Ladyship be attending –"
"And Madame Milliner," the Marquise interrupted, turning to face Odette. "How do you do."
Odette curtsied. "Quite well, your Ladyship, thank you."
"Oh, I would not bother getting acquainted with her, your Ladyship," drawled Madame Le Haut, "the cleaner was sacked but a moment before you entered."
The Marquise glared, annoyed, but it was Monsieur Somptueux who appeared affected. "Forgive me for the implication, your Ladyship, but her moral character was brought into question, and as a patron of the establishment, I saw fit to-"
"What moral character?" Lou snapped. "If anyone should stand for trial, it is Madame Le Haut. Do you deny it, Madame, that you kidnapped a child from the Opera, and later bribed a police officer so as to have her imprisoned, despite committing no crime?"
"No crime?" Cried the Madame, "She is an orphan!"
"She is my daughter," Lou thundered, "And still just a child. You have no excuse for your actions."
Monsieur Somptueux dropped his cane. "Oh, excuse me, what a mess…" he muttered, blushing.
Madame Le Haut, on the other hand, paled. "This is an outrage! I will not be spoken to like some-"
"Madame, control yourself," the Marquise ordered, her voice curt. "It seems, Monsieur Vaucorbeil, that your letter has reached me in time. This is an awful mess, wouldn't you say."
Auguste opened his mouth. However, the Marquise did not care for what he actually had to say.
"To state my business, I have come to offer my patronage to the Opera, which appears to be in dire need of it. This is a dance academy, not a church, and while all members of the academy should be held to higher behavior, this is not the place to debate the many faces of morality. Children should be encouraged to pursue the arts in an honest manner. Is that clear?"
The room was silent, as the members learned the Marquise did not like interruptions.
"Good. As per that demand, students must have access to teachers who earned their position based on talent, not connections. As such, I demand that Madame Milliner be offered a teaching position, starting immediately."
"This is absurd!" cried Madame Le Haut, astounding the room. "Your Ladyship, forgive me, but you were clearly lied to! This vile, treacherous woman has no place teaching anybody! She – she is but a sweeper's daughter who had done nothing but clean for the past decade! She has no right to –"
"Yes, so you say," the Marquise noted, impatient. She turned to face Odette, and so did, Odette felt, every person in the room. "Madame Milliner, have you a student that can demonstrate your teaching skills?"
"Yes." Her voice came clear and confident, almost surprisingly so. "Felicie Mérante." It was surprisingly easy, almost natural, to use Lou's last name. She wanted to see his expression, but she did not dare glance at his face.
"Lies!" hissed Madame Le Haut. "That child is a student at the Opera. She was trained by Monsieur Mérante! Are you truly taking credit for his achievements?"
Lou rolled his eyes, exasperated. "As much as I'd like to claim otherwise, most of the child's improvement had nothing to do with me. I would have sacked her on the very first day due to her awful dancing performance, and yet the only thing that saved her was Madame Milliner's teaching and her belief in the child."
Madame Le Haut opened her mouth in protest, but the Marquise, again, had no patience. "Enough. There is a simple way to test Madame Milliner's claims. Madame Le Haut, have you a student that trained under Monsieur Mérante for as long as Madame Milliner's student and could serve as a test to her skills?"
Madame Le Haut smiled viciously as she pretended to consider the matter. "Why, yes, your Ladyship. My daughter. She is to debut in a week as Clara in the Nutcracker."
"Perfect." The Marquise turned to face Odette, who could have sworn she saw a spark of victory in her eyes. "Does your student know the choreography?"
The Madame scoffed, "How could she possibly-"
Oh, this has 'Lou' written all over it. "Yes, your Ladyship."
"Very well." The Marquise turned with a magnificent swirl of her dress to face Auguste, who could barely contain his excitement. "I consider myself to have an excellent taste in the arts. Therefore, I demand the two students would demonstrate their skills before me to judge. Monsieur Somptueux and Monsieur Mérante may offer their opinion, but the final call belongs to me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your Ladyship. I will summon the two girls to the stage immediately," Auguste said in the gravest tone he could muster.
Madame Le Haut had yet to notice the scheme forming against her and quickly offered to show the Marquise the way to the stage. As a noble lady herself, she claimed the two of them had much in common.
Monsieur Somptueux, however, paused by the door and glanced in Odette's direction, looking slightly suspicious. He offered his hand to Lou, who accepted it, and a confused bow to Odette. For a moment, it seemed he was going to speak, but Madame Le Haut's shrill summoning interrupted him, and he fled.
"What a strange turn of events, wouldn't you say," commented Auguste, who paused to wink at Odette. "I'll get the girls. Don't start without me!"
The moment they all left, Odette could not help but cock her brow. "A dance-off."
"Seems most appropriate."
"Let us only hope that she had not tired herself out, running around the Opera looking for you."
Lou frowned. "Now, why would she do that?"
"Dad!" As if summoned by some spell, Felicie landed next to them, almost stumbling into Lou's arms. "Finally! Where'd you go?"
"I'll explain later," Lou muttered, examining the child. "Go drink and calm your breaths. Now."
"Why? What's going on? Hey!" Felicie protested as Lou stirred her to the chair, and Odette poured her a glass of water.
"You will be competing against Camille in oh… I think we can delay for ten minutes." He looked at Odette.
Odette shrugged. "Some children are difficult to find."
"What – this is the surprise?" Felicie exclaimed. "I thought we were going to the zoo!"
Lou rolled his eyes and retied Felicie's shoes. "If you win, I will consider it," he promised.
Felicie scoffed. "I am not making the same mistake twice." Her eyes burned with fire. "I will show her what a real dancer looks like."
"Good." Lou examined her, then nodded and rose his cane held behind his back. "You will be dancing Clara's part. Are you ready?"
Felicie's glint matched his. "Let's do it!"
The scene felt all too familiar. The Marquise, Louis, Auguste, and Monsieur Somptueux sat in the fifth row while Odette sat near the stage. Madame Le Haut also sat in the fifth row with as grand a gesture as she could, no doubt attempting to sway the Marquise's opinion.
The two girls held the opening position as gracefully as expected from the top students in his class. Louis tapped his cane, and the pianist began to play.
The girls complete the moves, each gesture precise and elegant and delicate. But as they proceeded, one could already notice the obvious difference between the girls – Felicie was dancing with the music. Each move was guided by the piano's notes; Camille danced to defeat Felicie.
Her precise gestures turned sharper and sharper, each point of a toe or a stretch of an arm turned militaristic and furious. Even though the music was melodic and happy, Camille was dancing to the tune of her own heart.
Louis, despite himself, smiled. Finally, the girl found an emotion to resonate through her movements.
Felicie, on the hand, had retained the jolly holiday mood of the scene. Her turns were charming, and her steps had the bounce expected from a child on Christmas eve. The determined fire in her eyes had not disappeared – it was redirected. Felicie had not taken her eyes off Odette, whose guiding and loving expression she could see so vividly.
Camille noticed that too. Her eyes wandered from Felicie to Odette, and the rage that has previously given her strength and direction had misguided her.
She missed a step.
And the rage was replaced by fear. She quickly picked up the steps, but the perfect unison was lost. She was but a half a note behind Felicie, but the difference was notable.
"Faster!" ordered Madame Le Haut.
Camille danced faster. The precise touch was gone as the steps were performed in a hurry, almost a blizzard of swirls and twirls and jumps.
"This is not what we practiced! We must start again! The orphan is at fault! She is distracting her!" cried Madame Le Haut. "I will not tolerate this failure!"
Her order was too much for Camille. The child, lost, pushed Felicie onto the stage, stopping her dance.
The loud thud echoed in the room. Even the pianist stopped to play, looking at the stage in confusion.
Louis rose, anger tightening his jaw, but Odette was faster. "Rise, Felicie," she said. "You can do it."
Felicie, still sprawled on the floor, glanced at Odette, then looked at him for reassurance. He cocked his brow and inclined his head, but the gesture was enough to return the light to Felicie's eyes. Her hands closed as fists, and she rose, ready to challenge Camille yet again.
She performed a perfect pirouette, then, instead of picking up the choreography, she improvised a series of moves, aimed directly at Camille. However, despite the new fire in her steps, Louis could tell Felicie was beginning to tire. He would have to stop the battle soon before the girl had injured herself. And before Madame Le Haut would use that as an excuse to claim victory.
Camille, stunned for a brief moment, rose up to the challenge. The moment Felicie paused, cocking a brow at her, Camille was ready with her reply.
"Oh, magnificent!" exclaimed Monsieur Somptueux, apparently unintentionally for he blushed bright red not a second after.
The pianist, too, joined the improvised fight and played an upbeat, energetic tune that Louis could have sworn was his own creation.
The back and forth, Louis had to admit, was beautiful to watch. The girls appeared to feed off the other's energy as each turn was answered with a turn, a jump with a jump, and slowly the improvisation evolved into… for lack of a better word, a dance.
Both girls were tired, it was clear to see, but while Camille fought because it was demanded of her, Felicie fought to prove herself. Still, even passion had limits, and Louis knew Felicie was near hers
Louis glanced at the Marquise, who offered the most indiscernible nod, rose, and tapped his cane. There was no reason to watch them dance to exhaustion.
The pianist finished the music with a solemn note, ever so dramatic, and the two girls were finally allowed to breathe.
Louis walked toward the stage. He signaled the girls to stand together, facing him. "Impressive, ladies. You had both shown spirit, skill, and talent. But let me ask you both an important question. Why do you dance?"
The girls did not answer immediately, glancing at the other with uncertainty.
Felicie, still out of breath, managed a wide smile. "Because it's always been a part of my life. It was there with my mom when I was a baby, and it's here now, thanks to Odette. It allows me to live, to be myself." She beamed at him and at Odette, still seated behind him.
Camille looked at the floor. Her hand held her elbow, knuckles white. She looked ashamed.
Looking at her, Louis regretted his impatience and his anger with the child. Odette was right; it truly wasn't the child's fault.
"Camille?" he asked gently.
Camille still looked down at her feet. "Because my mother makes me," she whispered.
Louis nodded. "That was very honest, Camille, and brave. You have a future at the Opera, if you wish it," he added, almost as an afterthought. "You had improved tremendously. You finally danced with emotion."
Camille shook her head. "I wasn't good enough. She should dance," she blurted, glancing at Felicie and then again at the floor.
Louis frowned. "That was not why we asked you to perform today," he said slowly, turning to glare at the child's obsessed mother. What on earth did the woman tell her?
Camille finally looked up. Her eyes were shining. "It's not?"
"No," Louis answered, then turned around to address the people in the audience. "Your Ladyship, I believe this demonstration was enough. Have you reached your decision?"
The Marquise rose with all due ceremony. "Indeed. Madame Milliner would be an excellent addition to year teaching staff. Also, I would love to see both Mademoiselles dance the part of young Clara. It seems a shame to waste such talent by letting only one of them perform. That is, if Mademoiselle Le Haut can learn to control her temper. Pushing others is unacceptable."
"Yes, your Ladyship," Camille mumbled with a curtsey, then turned to face Felicie. "Great job," she said and offered her hand for a shake with a hesitant smile.
Felicie looked suspicious at first but was quick to reciprocate the gesture. With a smile a tad wider, she hugged Camille, surprising the other girl. They held hands briefly before they parted, and Louis wondered how much Camille could improve under the guidance of a loving teacher instead of her demanding mother.
Auguste rose and clapped wildly. "Well done, my sweetness! Oh, bravo!" he gushed. "Bravo!"
Monsieur Somptueux was quick to join him. "Yes! Bravo! Excellent performance!"
With an excited smile, Felicie jumped from the stage and rushed to hug Odette, who managed to catch her and spin her without relying on her cane.
Camille did not move, and Louis quickly understood why. Her mother, quite dramatically, left the theater.
The patrons and Auguste left the theater as well, as the dance was finished, and their purpose was achieved.
Louis turned around, watching the child sink into herself as she saw the obvious happiness with which Odette greeted Felicie and the absolute trust between them. He kneeled and spoke with all the gentleness he could muster, "It truly was a good performance. Remember those emotions, the fear, the anger, and the joy. You will need all of them for opening night."
Camille nodded but did not look convinced. "I wasn't good enough. You always said that I wasn't good enough and I wasn't."
"Fear and force and rarely the right teachers." Louis nodded in Odette's direction. "You have talent, Camille, and with the right guidance, you can improve tremendously. You simply need to find your own motivation. You own reason to dance."
"Let's go to the zoo!" cried Felicie.
Louis frowned and rose back to his feet. "I said I'd consider it. I did not promise anything else."
"But I want to see if elephants are green!" Felicie protested, pouting.
Louis sighed, which apparently was enough of an answer because Felicie's pout turned into the widest grin, which, for some reason, faltered.
Louis frowned, then noticed Camille slowly walking off the stage as quietly as she could.
"Hey!" Felicie yelled and ran up the stage, stopping two steps in front of her.
Camille turned to face her, which caused Felicie to hesitate, but only for a short moment. "Hey, do you… so you want to join us?"
Louis, for a tiny moment, wanted to protest. As far as he remembered, he was not running an orphanage for talented yet unhappy ballet dancers. However, he could feel Odette joining him on stage, and her calm, amused presence appeased him. He glanced down at her, rueful expression hiding a smile, and noted a spark of pure and unadulterated happiness barely tempered by her cocked brow.
So be it. It's not like either of them asked him.
Camille's eyes turned as big as dinner plates. "With…" her voice turned to a scandalized whisper. "with a teacher?!"
Louis cleared his throat, glaring.
"Teachers," Camille quickly corrected herself.
"Yeah!" Felicie nodded excitedly, then whispered as if plotting a conspiracy. "Monsieur Mérante adopted me!"
"What?!" Camille cried, then blushed and, holding Felicie's hands, dragged her aside. "The teacher is your… your father?" she whispered.
"Yep!" Felicie confirmed. "So, wanna come?"
When Camille hesitated, Felicie's smile widened, and, still holding hands, she led her outside.
Louis, once again, sighed.
Odette, chuckling, reached and held his hand. "Quite a surprise."
Louis scoffed. "And all went according to plan, but this – how –"
Suddenly, he felt a quick and gentle kiss pressed unto his cheek. His arm, out of habit, reached to support Odette and hold her waist. They stood so close, he could hear her heart racing and lose himself in the pale blue of her eyes. Instinctively, he pulled her closer, relishing the gentle blush and the tender gaze her eyes held when she glanced up at him.
"She is a lonely child. Which isn't surprising, with that monster for a mother," Odette muttered, then smiled playfully and poked his chest. "I saw you trying to comfort her, so don't pretend to be heartless, and don't you dare to be anything but proud that your daughter follows in your footsteps."
"Hmm," Louis conceded. "I am proud of her. And of you."
She scoffed, but something about the way he looked at her made her blush prettily and look away, then glance up as her hand rose to caress his cheek –
"Dad! Come on! Camille and I wanna see elephants!"
Louis bowed his head in defeat. "And now there are two of them."
But perhaps it was not all bad, he thought, because Odette, still looking up at him, finally allowed herself to laugh.
Author's notes:
One more to go! The last one will probably be pretty short (at least, shorter than this one). What'd you think about the ending? I didn't think it was fair to take away the role from Camille, but I also thought it kinda sucked not to reward Felicie, so I just gave them both a shot haha also, I read that on broadway, child actors often split the role to lower the pressure, so I figured, why not ballet?
Anyways, I would love to hear your thoughts!