8. Katya
Katya
Three weeks pass like a dream I don't want to wake up from.
Somehow, Artem becomes a staple in my life after that first date, and I find myself looking forward to seeing him, even after my most grueling rehearsal days.
He's not a man who likes to stay home. I actually don't think I've ever been out as much, but Artem likes to explore.
He takes me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a Tuesday afternoon when I have a rare break between rehearsals, and we spend hours wandering through the European paintings while he tells me stories about artists I've never heard of before.
He knows things—not just the basics you read on placards, but intimate details about their lives, their techniques, and the way light falls differently in Russian paintings than Italian ones.
I learn very quickly that he's well versed in art.
Not that I should be surprised. There's an old-world aristocratic air about him that leads me to believe he comes from a family that likely owns several pieces of rare art, though whenever I ask, he gives me surface-level answers.
I know he went to boarding school, and his mother was very into manners.
He tells me this when he takes me to the opera. Apparently, La Bohème was her favorite.
He gets us box seats, and I wear a black dress Lacey lends me.
When Artem sees me, something shifts in his expression that makes my stomach flutter.
During intermission, he brings me non-alcoholic champagne and asks what I think of the soprano's interpretation of Mimi's death scene.
We talk about tragedy and beauty and whether suffering makes art more meaningful, and I find myself saying things I didn't know I thought, ideas forming as I speak them.
The dinners blur together in the best possible way.
There are intimate restaurants where he orders wine in French.
Conversation flows from Russian literature to American politics to whether I think Balanchine understood women better than Petipa.
He listens when I talk, asks follow-up questions, and remembers details from previous conversations to build on them.
I tell him about my favorite role to dance, and two days later he brings me a vintage program from a 1960s production of Giselle at the Mariinsky.
I'm falling for him. Hard, fast, and completely.
The thought terrifies me, but I can't seem to stop it.
How could I?
And though I know I should be more cautious, I can't help but float through things like I'm dreaming.
Tonight is my final performance as Juliet for this run, and as I prepare in the dressing room, applying the last touches of stage makeup, I feel the bittersweetness of ending something beautiful.
This was my most prominent principal role, and one of my favorites to watch.
Performing it has always been a dream, and tonight, after a run of rave reviews, I feel a fullness in my chest.
Plus, I'll always associate this performance with meeting Artem. No matter what happens with us in the future, these weeks together have been swoon-worthy and romantic.
I smile as I think about it. He's coming tonight, and the knowledge of him out in the audience makes my stomach clench in anticipation.
"You're glowing tonight," Nico says, appearing behind me in the mirror. "New skincare routine, or are you actually getting laid?"
"Nico!" I laugh, swatting at him with my makeup sponge. "Stop that."
"I'm just saying, you look like a woman who's been fucked, frequently, and by a wealthy benefactor." He draws his eyebrows up. "I'm incredibly jealous. I wish I was getting diamonds and fucked."
I scoff. "It's not like that."
He purses his lips, clearly not believing me.
"I'm serious."
It's not. Artem and I haven't done much more than kiss. I shiver slightly as I think about the way he kisses me—like he's devouring me. He's sinfully slow and decadent.
I blush, recalling how I'd moaned into his mouth when he'd wrapped his large hands around my thighs, bringing me closer to his erection. I want him. Badly.
Just thinking about his hands on my skin makes me flush with pleasure.
"That's a shame," Nico jokes, and I ignore him slightly as I press powder to my cheeks. "At least if you were getting dicked down, I could forgive you for blowing me off."
My mouth drops, but before I can scold him, the stage manager gives us our warning.
"Places in five minutes!"
I take a deep breath, center myself, and transform into Juliet.
All thoughts of Artem are compartmentalized as I become a tragic heroine.
The performance is magic. Everything clicks—the music, the movement, the connection with my Romeo. I feel the audience with me from the first arabesque to the final death scene, and when I take my bow, the applause washes over me like warmth.
I close my eyes, savoring the moment. This feels like a pinnacle, and as I take my final bow, I try to swallow back the intensity of the emotions that wash over me.
With a final wave, I move back toward the wings, still catching my breath.
I spot a familiar figure near the stage door—Artem, in a dark suit, holding white roses.
They've become a staple in our relationship, and I love how he's found different ways to make them stunning.
Tonight, he's added soft pink peonies. No idea where he found them in winter, but the sight of them makes me smile.
"Artem!" I exhale loudly, breathless from a combination of dancing for hours and seeing him standing in the wings.
He hands me the bouquet, a wide smile on his face. "You were extraordinary."
"You've seen this production before," I blush, pressing the roses to my nose. I ignore the tittering around us as my fellow dancers speculate on Artem. I can't blame them. He's handsome and mysterious standing here with his pale hair and dark suit.
"There's something different about the way you dance Juliet. Like you understand her completely." His eyes soften as he looks at me.
"Maybe I do." The words slip out before I can stop them, and something flickers in his eyes that I can't quite read.
"Come," he reaches for my hand, squeezing my fingers in his. "Let me take you to dinner. We can celebrate."
"I need to change first, and I should?—"
"Katya!"
I turn to see Luc pushing through the crowd of dancers and staff, his face flushed, his hair disheveled. He's holding flowers too—a massive bouquet of mixed blooms that looks expensive and fragrant. The colors pop. You couldn't miss them from miles away.
I drop Artem's hand as my stomach sinks.
Shit.
This is not going to go well.
"Luc," my tone is careful. "What are you doing here?" He attended my first run, which is our tradition, so this is out of the ordinary for him.
"Congratulations on tonight." He thrusts the flowers at me, barely glancing at Artem. "You were incredible. You always are."
I take the bouquet because I don't know what else to do, very aware that Artem is watching this interaction with sharp attention. I can feel his stiffness next to me.
"Thank you." The smell of the lilies in the bouquet is cloying. "That was very thoughtful of you."
"Let's go to dinner," he says, not even asking. "There's something I need to talk to you about."
"Actually," I try not to look away, "I already have plans."
Luc's eyes flick to Artem for the first time, taking in the suit, the roses, and the way Artem stands close enough to me to suggest ownership.
There's a flicker of something in his eyes, but I can't place it. Annoyance, maybe. He's definitely not happy. I can tell from the sternness of his lips and the way his jaw has tightened.
Next to me, Artem stands as still as a marble statue, barely even breathing.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Luc moves forward. "Luc Nero," he holds out his hand. "And you are?"
Artem's posture shifts slightly, and I step forward, heading off any issues before they arise.
"He's my friend," I swallow, "and we actually have plans."
Luc's eyes narrow. "Your friend?"
I turn to Artem. "Luc is my friend from school."
"Best friend," he supplies, his tone full of a jealousy I ignore.
"Pleasure," Artem says smoothly.
Luc looks at Artem, and I know he's immediately suspicious. He can hear the accent. He's putting the pieces together, and I can see the moment things snap into place for him.
"Can I speak to you privately?" Luc asks, his voice terse.
"Luc, now isn't really?—"
"Now, Kat," he snaps.
Artem takes a step forward, and I wince. Artem isn't going to understand the dynamic here, and I don't want this to turn into a bloodbath.
Nico and Lacey catch my eye from across the stage, and I see the moment they come to my rescue.
"Hey there," Lacey says, her thousand-watt smile in place, as she sidles up to Artem. "You must be Katya's new friend."
Artem ignores her, and I sigh, placing a hand on his bicep. "Just give me a moment?"
Artem relaxes slightly. "I'll wait."
Luc doesn't wait. He takes my hand, pulling me aside near the costume storage room, and suddenly we're alone. He looks at me with an intensity that makes me want to step backward.
"Who is he?" Luc demands.
"I told you. He's a donor?—"
"I know what you told me. I'm asking who he really is."
"What do you mean?"
Luc runs his hands through his hair. "Katya, you can't just start dating random men. Do you have any idea how dangerous?—"
"He's not random," I interrupt. "He's a donor to the company. He's in finance. He's perfectly respectable. And we've been seeing each other for weeks?—"
That was the wrong thing to say, and I know it the moment the words leave my mouth.
"You've seen him for weeks?"
"Three weeks."
"Three weeks, and you're what—sleeping with him?"
Heat floods my face. "That's none of your business."
"It is my business," Luc says, stepping closer. "You're my business. You matter to me."
"And I appreciate you looking out for me," I say, taking a step back to put space between us. "You're a good friend."
"God, Katya, you're being incredibly naive."
The world tilts sideways. This is it. This is the unspoken thing between us that has always existed, but I've tried to ignore.
"Luc, don't?—"
"I've waited for you to see me," he continues, the words pouring out like he has been holding them back for years. "I've been patient, I've been supportive, I've been whatever you needed me to be. And now some stranger shows up with flowers and you're just going to—what? Fall into bed with him?"
"Luc, please," I say, but my voice sounds weak even to me.
"No, Kat. You can't expect me to sit back and watch you do this."
I scoff. "I'm not doing anything, Luc."
"You know exactly what you are doing," he snaps. "And it's reckless."
My eyes narrow. "You aren't my father, Luc."
"Yeah, your father's dead, and no one but me seems to be worrying about you."
I feel like he has snapped a whip at me, and I can see the moment he feels regret.
He reaches for me, but it's too late. The damage is done.
"Shit, Kat," he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
I brush him off.
"You need to go, Luc."
His guilt is short-lived, and the anger returns. "You're choosing him."
I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm going to dinner. And you're being unfair, so if you want to see it that way, I suppose there's nothing I can do about it."
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can see him processing this, accepting it, hating it.
"He's going to hurt you," he says quietly.
"You don't know that."
"I know men like him. Rich, powerful, used to getting what they want. You're a novelty to him, Katya. A beautiful dancer he can show off. When he gets bored?—"
"Stop."
"—he'll move on to the next pretty thing, and you'll be left with nothing."
"I said stop." Anger flares in my chest, hot and protective. "You're being cruel, Luc."
"I'm being honest."
"You're trying to hurt me because I'm not giving you what you want."
His nostrils flare, and for a moment I worry I've gone too far. "I can't even look at you right now," he says, turning to leave. He makes it to the door before he stops, turning slowly.
"But when this falls apart, when he shows you who he really is, don't come crying to me. I'm done being your safety net."
He walks away, leaving me standing alone with his expensive flowers and the taste of regret in my mouth.