Chapter 3
* * *
Josephine stood at the front of the studio, one hand resting lightly on the barre, while a dozen dancers moved through the combination she’d demonstrated moments earlier.
Music filled the rented space, mixing with shoes against the floor and the occasional correction she called out.
The studio wasn’t hers yet, but the process had been underway for nearly a year — papers signed, meetings attended, months of preparation, because she refused to let ballet disappear from her life just because her career had changed shape.
“Again from the beginning,” she said, clapping once to pull everyone’s attention as the dancers reset in front of the mirrors.
“Use the full count this time, and don’t rush the turn.
” She stepped back from the barre and watched them take their places.
Teaching demanded a different focus than performing, but she liked the precision of it — liked watching technique sharpen in real time, liked having a reason to stay close to the work.
Class continued another twenty minutes before a knock sounded at the studio door.
One of the younger dancers near the entrance glanced toward her; Josephine nodded, and the student opened the door to accept a large arrangement from a delivery driver.
Several dancers noticed immediately, a low hum of interest moving through the room as the flowers were carried inside.
“Those are beautiful,” one woman said as the arrangement landed on a nearby table.
Josephine walked over and looked down, keeping her face composed while her pulse reacted before she did.
The flowers were arranged exactly the way she liked them — right colors, right balance.
Not close to her favorite arrangement. Her favorite arrangement, exactly.
A small card rested among the stems. She picked it up carefully.
No long message inside — just her name, written cleanly across the card.
She stared at it while the class moved around her, dancers drinking water and talking near the mirrors, the studio bright and busy around a card and a table of flowers that had narrowed her whole attention.
She knew who’d sent them. No one else would have remembered the arrangement — she barely remembered mentioning it herself. The memory surfaced in pieces: a passing comment months ago, Viktor standing close enough to hear it. Not a meaningful conversation. Not a request. He’d listened anyway.
“Are they from someone special?” one of the dancers asked, leaning against the barre with a grin. Josephine slid the card back into the arrangement. “That is a dangerous question,” she said, dry enough to earn a few laughs. She stepped back and clapped once. “Water break’s over. Back to work.”
The dancers returned to their places, and she started the music again — corrected a shoulder, adjusted a count, ran the combination from the top.
Her voice stayed steady, her attention mostly where it belonged.
Still, every few minutes, her eyes drifted back to the flowers before she caught herself and looked away.
* * *
Avery sat across from her at lunch the next afternoon, stirring her tea while Josephine pushed a barely-touched salad around her plate.
The restaurant was quiet enough for Avery to notice everything without trying.
She watched a tomato circle the plate for several seconds before setting her spoon down.
“You’ve been distracted since we sat down,” she said, folding her hands near her cup.
“Do I need to guess why, or are we pretending this is about lettuce?”
Josephine looked up with a flat expression. “You invited me to lunch to interrogate me over mixed greens. I should have known there was a trap when you picked a place with good lighting.”
Avery smiled and leaned back. “I picked a place with good tea.” Her smile widened. “But since you mentioned traps — let’s save time. Viktor.”
Josephine reached for her water. “You always sound so pleased with yourself when you say his name. It’s becoming unattractive.”
“Julian seems fine with it. And you still haven’t denied that he’s why you’ve been staring through me for twenty minutes.”
“I have not been staring through you. I’ve been listening to you talk about errands, Julian, and whatever else you arranged into a casual lunch before springing his name on me.”
Avery laughed softly. “The flowers were from him, weren’t they?” She watched Josephine’s fork pause. “You don’t have to answer. Your face already did.”
Josephine set the fork down. “They were flowers. Very nice flowers. People send them all the time.”
“People do. Do people usually send your exact favorite arrangement to a studio you’re renting, mid-master-class?”
“You are making it sound more dramatic than it was.” She adjusted her napkin. “It was thoughtful. Irritatingly thoughtful — but thoughtful.”
Avery’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Irritatingly thoughtful,” she repeated. “That is a very Josephine way to admit you liked something.”
“I did not say that. Do not edit me in real time.”
“I don’t have to edit you. You do enough damage on your own.” Avery took another sip of tea. “You’re rattled because he remembered.”
Josephine looked down at her plate, hating how easily her sister had found the center of it. “I barely remembered telling him. It was one comment, months ago. I don’t even know why he was listening.”
Avery’s smile softened, though her eyes stayed sharp. “Because he was paying attention. That’s usually how remembering works.”
“Thank you for that very basic explanation.” Josephine picked up her glass without drinking. “It doesn’t mean anything beyond the fact that he has an alarming memory.”
“It means he listens when you talk. You’re acting like that’s a criminal offense.”
“Viktor is too controlled to be dangerous.” She said it firmly, because the words felt safer that way. “Men like that don’t lose their heads over flowers and passing comments.”
Avery laughed before she could stop herself, and Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry,” Avery said, not sounding it. “That might be the least reassuring thing you’ve said all week.”
“Why?”
“Because controlled men are the ones who become obsessed. The loud ones announce everything. The controlled ones remember your flowers and sit across from you like they already know where you’re going before you do.”
Josephine looked away, heat climbing her neck. “You read too much into everything. This is why I don’t tell you things.”
“You tell me plenty. You just pretend you don’t.”
Josephine forced down a bite of salad, refusing to look at Avery while she chewed — her sister would enjoy that too much.
The flowers had been beautiful, and Viktor’s attention had trailed her through the rest of class, which was the most annoying part.
She’d enjoyed it. Admitting that out loud would only make Avery impossible.
Avery waited until she swallowed. “You’re allowed to like attention, you know. Especially when it comes with good flowers.”
Josephine pointed her fork at her without fully lifting her gaze. “I am allowed to finish lunch without being psychoanalyzed.” She stabbed another piece of lettuce, ignoring Avery’s grin. “And for the record, I still think Viktor is too controlled to be as dangerous as you keep implying.”
Avery’s grin only widened, her eyes flicking to the untouched water glass and the flush Josephine was trying to ignore.
“Sure. That’s exactly why you’ve spent this whole lunch arguing about him.
” Josephine didn’t answer — any answer would only hand her sister more to work with — and focused on her salad instead, letting Avery enjoy being annoying in silence.
* * *
Viktor sat across from Julian in the private club’s corner lounge while low conversation moved around them.
The room was quiet enough for business, dim enough for privacy, staffed by people who knew not to interrupt without reason.
Julian had picked the table near the back, but Viktor had arrived first and taken the seat facing the entrance.
He always preferred to see who came and went.
Julian studied him over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been quiet tonight. That usually means someone’s about to lose money, or you already got what you wanted.”
Viktor leaned back and adjusted his cuff. “Neither, tonight. If you wanted a social dinner, you’d have brought Avery.”
Julian gave a short laugh, glancing toward the bar before returning his attention. “Fair. I wanted to ask you something without my wife listening in from three rooms away while pretending she isn’t.”
“That sounds like Avery.” Viktor picked up his drink, eyes still on Julian. “Ask.”
Julian didn’t ease into it. “How serious are you about Josephine? Because you don’t rearrange schedules, join committees, show up at dinners, and send flowers unless this is more than you amusing yourself.”
Viktor set his glass down with controlled care. The question didn’t offend him — he understood why Julian asked. Josephine was Avery’s sister, and Julian wouldn’t sit quietly if he thought Viktor was careless with her. That, at least, Viktor respected.
“I’m not amusing myself. Josephine is not entertainment.”
Julian watched him a moment, then nodded once. “Good. That doesn’t answer the question.”
Viktor glanced toward the entrance, then back. “I intend to marry her.” Even, no raised voice, no pause for effect. “That’s how serious I am.”
Julian lifted his glass at exactly the wrong moment, coughed, and pulled it away before losing half of it across the table. A waiter glanced over; Julian waved him off and set the glass down harder than necessary. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You intend to what?”
“Marry her.” Viktor wasn’t repeating himself because Julian hadn’t heard — he was repeating himself because Julian clearly needed another moment with the words. “I thought that was clear.”