Chapter Two
Stage fright was nothing new to Mina. She’d accepted it for what it was and willed the nervous energy to go where it was needed…in her muscles and in her soul. And all the while, the ghost of a beautiful dancer with blue eyes and black hair kept her company, entertaining her with one of her favorite conversations from when they were nineteen. His thick French accent and boyish face gave his words a poetic quality, and she adored everything he had to say.
“You’re so reserved and shy, bichette. Like a lotus flower, always opening and closing your petals,” Étienne teased.
Mina smiled at the memory, vaguely aware of Sophie pecking her cheek before hurrying off to finish dressing.
“I like that you open them for me, but why the hell does an introvert become a ballerina?” he asked.
“Passion, I think.”
“Ooh, something romantic!” He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “So beautiful. If I was a choreographer, I’d cast you only in romance-none of this tragedy you like so much.” He dropped his hand. “Alors, what does passion mean to a romantic?”
She sighed wistfully. Talking about herself always made her feel naked. But she was safe with Étienne, had always been since they were fourteen.
“Need,” she finally answered. “A need to be seen. I… can do things on stage that I wouldn’t dare try in life.”
“Bullshit! You don’t leave yourself backstage when you dance. In some ways, being up there is the greatest truth.” He took her chin in his hand. “Never be dishonest.”
The orchestral introduction heated up quickly, snatching Étienne away and making Mina’s heart hammer from her place in the wings. Every dancer not already on stage stood in silence, mentally counting, conserving their breaths.
The curtain went up and Anton swept across the stage on feet as light as a hare’s. He was skilled in the art of seducing audiences, and this audience was no different. In fact, the air hummed with more energy than usual because this was the final night to see these ballet stars play their iconic roles.
And star Anton was, boyish and beautiful. Every movement of his muscles was visible as he led the pantomime about a nobleman, already betrothed, who fell in love with a beautiful peasant girl.
Mina was given her signal, but she didn’t need it. She looked out and down at the stage floor, battered and scarred from the feet of the hundreds of dancers who had come before. “Entrée de Giselle” began to play.
Never be dishonest…
When she looked up again, she was Giselle.
Alex was right.
Something happened when Mina took to the stage—some kind of surreal phenomenon where she sucked the energy from the air in the opera house and stowed it deep within her.
It built as Giselle blew kisses to Albrecht with artful movements of her hands…and as they skimmed sideways arm-in-arm in a series of gliding steps…and as they sat on a bench center stage for a game of “He loves me, he loves me not” with the petals of daisies. Only minutes passed, but there was no question that they were hopelessly in love.
Zack knew this ballet well. He’d been Albrecht himself, years ago, and he knew exactly how the first act would end. Leaning forward in his orchestra seat, his body was unconsciously primed for the moment when all that energy would ignite.
Giselle learned the truth of Albrecht’s identity, and the tone darkened, a hush falling over the space. The audience was still, as if holding their breaths en masse. Giselle’s despair only magnified her beauty. It flushed her skin, widened her eyes and deepened their depths for several heartbreaking seconds…
And then, finally, the energy combusted, burning away at all that beauty and naiveté. Innocence was lost.
The woman next to Zack wept, and if he’d had the capacity to be aware of anyone else in the room, he would have understood. Because he was caught up himself. Suddenly the aura about Mina that had made her seem so out of reach dissipated. She touched him when she danced, and it felt like he could touch her. His fingers flexed then, and without even thinking, he reached out his hand to trace the outline of her silhouette.
The theater in all its gilded grandeur was nothing more than a red velvet music box for her to dance in. A light sheen of sweat collected on her skin, making her glow beneath the light of the stunning chandelier. Just as Zack lowered his hand again, her body went limp, and Giselle was no more.
He nursed his drink during intermission in the grand foyer. Enchanted tourists walked about with their heads tilted back to marvel at the expansive hallways and towering pillars, marble balconies and ornate ceilings. Not a single square inch was left untouched by nineteenth century splendor, but Zack only glanced at it, still the willing captive of a most compelling ballerina.
“Zacharyyy! Darling!”
A voice that sounded like it’d been smoking unfiltered Camels and slinging drinks in casinos for thirty years echoed in the great hall. Zack didn’t need to look for the owner of the voice, because the lady always made an entrance.
She stood on the landing of the solid marble grand staircase, where it split into four directions that seemed to lead into heaven. Her silvering hair was piled high, and the deep lines of her face were made more pronounced by the heavy-handed makeup on her cheeks. She was preposterously overdressed for the occasion, with two young attendants scrambling to gather the long train of her ball gown as she descended the stairs. When she finally swept her way to Zack, she raised a veiny hand for a kiss.
A few tourists gawked at her, but most people familiar with fine performing arts knew she was a fixture at theaters around the world-and she was loaded.
“Vera,” Zack said with a charming smile. He pressed a kiss to her bony knuckles and released her hand. “Not surprised to see you at all, but it’s a pleasure just the same.”
She thwacked him in the arm with her folding silk fan. “Had I known you were coming, I would have reserved your seat next to mine.”
He grinned. “Had I known I was coming, I’d have sought you out first.”
“Rogue!” She narrowed her heavily-lined eyes at him in curiosity. “Walk with me.”
He quickly set his glass on a passing server’s tray and offered her his arm.
“French noblemen brought their wives to the Opera on Monday nights, their daughters on Wednesday nights, to be shown off up there.” She pointed to the marble balconies above them. “On Friday nights, they brought their mistresses!”
Zack looked up, as if truly seeing his surroundings for the first time. He envisioned The Phantom of the Opera stalking the halls, easily imagined Parisian high society on display in style here, and Vera keeping them all on their toes. She wasn’t pretentious at all, just trapped in an era long gone. “And on Saturday nights?”
“On Saturday…” She released his arm to meet him face-to-face. “…they come alone. To think. Or not to think. Perhaps, to fall in love.”
He saw the quick flash in her eyes, and then he knew. “Alex got to you.”
“Oh poo,” she snapped, taking his arm again. “There are only two reasons a man like you flies halfway around the world at a moment’s notice. Money or a woman. And since I’m already backing your production, I can only assume that you have the lovely Mina tapped for your Lady in Red.”
The title of his life’s blood rolled easily off her tongue, making him smile. He was re-imagining La Dame aux Camélias, one of his favorite love stories, for a more contemporary audience. The importance of casting the right woman to be the most desirable courtesan in Paris weighed heavily on his shoulders, and in his heart. He was as much a part of the piece as the words and music.
“Some coincidence, you being in Paris this weekend when Anastasia is playing in Moscow,” he teased.
“Fine,” she spat. “Alex may have called me. But it was a hell of a first act, Zachary. She has charisma, that one. If she can sing, I think we may have a hit on our hands.”
He nodded. “I expected her to be technically flawless, but I’ll admit…she has a command of the audience I haven’t seen a dancer achieve single-handedly in some time.”
The warning was given for patrons to return to their seats. Vera stopped again, openly studying Zack’s face. “I haven’t seen that kind of stage presence since you were Albrecht. You brought the male principal out of the shadow of the ballerina, and then you retired.”
“I didn’t retire. I can make an impact as a choreographer, make dance—all of theater-exciting for everyone.”
“Yes, yes.” She waved away his impassioned speech. “I’m not oblivious to the success of Hamilton, darling. I see the potential in seducing a younger—and more colorful—audience. But I selfishly look forward to seeing you come out of the shadows again.”
He nodded once in gratitude, kissing her hand again.
“Ta-ta, Zachary,” she threw over her shoulder, and swished away.
“Vera.”
There was more passion in Mina’s pas de deux with Sophie that night than any other, Giselle’s forgiving nature a stunning contrast to Myrtha’s bitterness. When, at last, Giselle’s ghost saved Albrecht from the sinister snare of the Willis, a faith in love was restored that, if they’d danced it well (and Mina knew they had), the audience had not even realized they’d lost.
The curtain fell at the end of the second act, and the corps gathered in the wings. Mina patted her face with a clean towel just before Sophie tugged at her arm and dragged her to center stage. She stood between Sophie and Anton as the curtain rose again. It remained so for fifteen minutes, the audience applauding and cheering, and Madame Durand leading the parade of dancers to the stage with hundreds of flowers.
The cocktail party after the show was held in the magnificent foyer, where a small orchestra played on the landing of the grand staircase. Zack knew it was as much a spectator sport as a celebration, the dancers wearing provocative evening attire so guests could admire their impressive physiques as they mingled about the space.
He tracked Mina’s movements with his eyes, even as he was engaged by old acquaintances and fans. Dutifully, he thanked them for their congratulations on his recent Emmy award for his choreography on a popular televised dance competition. Fielding probing questions about what he was up to now, his eyes kept searching for her. He couldn’t help it, really. It was impossible not to look at her.
Her white lamé gown shimmered when the light hit her a certain way, intensifying the alluring contrast with her smooth brown skin. The halter neck was high, held up by thin straps that went over her defined collar bone and disappeared behind her. It was fitted to her lean form so thoroughly that he could see her abs move when she laughed, the outline of two small, pert breasts. And her legs…
He hadn’t thought to mourn the absence of the traditional tutu during the performance. It was one of Zack’s favorite things, seeing the well-formed legs of ballerinas as they moved. But Giselle had been so pure, so innocent in her flowing garments that his mind hadn’t even gone there.
But Mina was not Giselle.
Her legs went on forever, like they disappeared right into her waist. Even her feet were interesting—slim, arched impossibly high, and long for her height, and wrapped in satiny blue heels that clicked to their own beat. She walked like she had all the time in the world to get where she was going, like time slowed down for her, while everyone else hurried for fear of losing it. Yet, she arrived the same time they did. When she joined Madame Durand for a toast, he got a peek of her perfectly round, gorgeous ass. Her eyes were striking, wide and smoky and full of sincerity when she spoke.
“I feel very content tonight. I thought I’d feel sad, or nostalgic, but I woke up with such a sense of…fulfillment. Because I danced with the greatest company in the world, dancers I adore,” she said, and kisses were blown to her from dancers throughout the space.
Someone near Zack groaned, and he grinned sympathetically. As if the gods were not satisfied with Mina’s tempting body and beautiful face, they saw fit to torture her fellow mortals with a subtle French accent that belied her composure with sexiness that sizzled.
“I cherished every second.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “We watched each other grow up and achieve our dreams. For eleven years, I lived this with you, and I’ll never forget it. I hope it has given you as much joy as it has given to me. I love you. Merci.”
There were cheers and whistles, more kisses and laughter, and he watched her make her way around the room, until her expression started to betray its fatigue from her constant smiling, and she graciously excused herself.
The loggia outside the opera house was less crowded. Some tourists posed for photos before moving along, and enamored party-goers kissed between pillars. Mina took a deep breath, relieved for some relative solitude. The humid air wrapped its arms around her as she gazed out into the night lit by street lamps and passing cars.
What now? her mind tortured her on a constant loop. The Royal Ballet? New York? Could I live in Russia?
She’d received offers for contracts with them all, and even spots in American short series, but more options just made the decision more difficult. She buried her face in her hands.
Dieu, I wish you were here, ma moitié.
As soon as the thought left her, she sensed a presence that comforted her immediately. It was so familiar and yet…so eerily strange. Her body shivered like a whisper had run through it. Her pulse picked up. Her heart slammed once, then sank to her toes.
“Étienne?” she whispered into the night.
“Not quite,” a deep, gentle voice answered instead.
It filtered into her dreamlike state, beckoning her back to the world of the living.
She looked spooked when she whipped her head around, and Zack hurried to set her at ease. “Whoa, it’s okay. I’m-”
“Zachary Coen.” Her eyes were sharp now, clear of whatever haze had just gripped her. “I know who you are. I’m so honored that you came.”
It took him a moment to recover from the sound of his name on her lips. Her English was softly accented, naturally husky, making it sound as if she’d uttered his name in passion after a few glasses of wine. He blinked away the tempting imagery to study her face, marveling at her transformation.
In a single evening, he’d seen her embody so many personalities. She was a slip of a girl as Giselle on stage…a charismatic celebrity who moved like a lynx in her white dress in the foyer…a skittish, vulnerable woman just seconds ago…and now…
She was regal, out of reach once again to the likes of common men. A sneaking suspicion he was the cause of her latest character quick-change ate at him.
“The honor is mine. You’re an incredible performer.” He stared at her openly, knowing she was accustomed to people sizing her up, gaping at her body. “Even now, you’re performing.”
Her smile evaporated. “Excuse me?”
There was something about her eyes, an intensity that made her instantly mysterious and compelling—like one of the Willis, luring unassuming men to their untimely deaths. It was thrilling, being so close, recognizing the danger at the last second when it was too late.
His heart pumped ferociously, but he didn’t back away. “There was a chink in your armor back there. Figured you needed some air.”
“I-don’t know what you mean.” She looked at him less politely then, as if her subconscious was picking up on the energy he emitted, telling her to put her guard up.
Interesting.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know what it’s like, all those eyes. It’s one thing when you’re on stage, but it gets a little overwhelming when you’re trying to be yourself.”
A myriad of expressions flitted across her face, letting him know he’d read her right, seen through her pretty shell to her rich, yolky soul. Her body visibly tensed, poised to flee.
“Enchanté.” She moved quickly to go around him and back into the building.
But he was faster, and he reached for her hand without thinking. “Zack.”
“I-What?”
Her hand was warm, heating his fingers until they curled tighter around her hand like a reflex. She was so close, he could make out the complexity of color in her eyes, like shades of earth and gold on a painter’s palette, expertly coaxed to the richest brown with the swirl of a brush. The longer he stared at her in silence, the farther the heat from her body traveled through his.
It made his palms itch.
It made his heart constrict.
The prospect of controlling so much passion excited him to the point of sweating, and his voice was gruff when he spoke again. “I didn’t get to introduce myself before. It’s Zack. Just Zack.”
“Zack,” she whispered.
The sound was like a shock, and he didn’t even realize it the moment he released her hand. He stared after her for several minutes, then turned and walked away from the grand monument and disappeared into a taxi.