She walked toward the door and placed her hand on the handle, barely holding back her tears. Staring at her feet, she managed to get out, “I’m sorry, Yves. I’m really, truly sorry.”

  “Lily…”

  She spun to face him, her heart full of hope.

  He walked toward her and held out his hand. “You forgot your coat.”

  * * *

  Lily sat up in bed with Natalie’s diaries balanced on her lap, her back against the plush pillows. Try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on the diaries because Yves’s words kept bashing around her brain. It hurt like hell that he’d called her selfish and, as much as she wanted to deny it, he had a point. All she’d been worried about was protecting her feelings by not having to talk about her past, and not once did she consider her actions as selfish. She really needed to get her act together.

  The dull buzz of her phone made her jump. Yves? Had he forgiven her already? She’d thought he was the forgiving type, but even this was quite fast… She picked up the phone and answered it.

  “Hey, Lily,” Penny said.

  Hope smashed into pieces on the wooden floor.

  “Hi,” Lily rasped. “Is she back?”

  “No. I thought you might want to know that she did contact me, though. She sent a text.”

  Lily shuffled forward. “And?”

  “And she said ‘I’m with my mystery man in Lille but not leaving just yet. I’ll fill you in when I get back to Paris—not sure when that will be. Cover for me? XO Nat.’”

  What had Natalie got herself into? “How does she expect you to cover for her?”

  “I have absolutely no idea, but that’s so typical of Nat. She gets into a mess and expects everyone else to bail her out.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Lily smoothed down the blankets across her legs.

  “Look, she’s a couple of mistakes away from losing the role of Viktoriya. If she stays away too long, she’ll be booted out of the company.”

  “You’ve told her this?”

  “Of course! But she’s hell-bent on doing whatever it is she’s doing and won’t listen to reason.” A long sigh traveled down the phone line. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  Even though Natalie had behaved despicably toward her, Lily didn’t want her sister to throw away everything based on some idiotic theory about Viktoriya Budian.

  Sitting up straight, Lily said, “Leave it to me. I think I know where to find her.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paris, 1917

  Back in her modest apartment once again, Viktoriya sat on the wooden chair and put her weary feet up on the bed. A small sigh escaped her lips. The trip back to Paris had been uncomfortable and the air thick with tension. Centuries old villages and lush forests had blurred outside the window as Alexei brooded, no doubt worried about the misstep; Diaghilev clenched and unclenched his fists, anxious about the baron’s impending decision; and Viktoriya had stressed about both these issues as well as concern about the recent changes in Alexei.

  Upon arriving in Paris, Viktoriya had contemplated spending time in one of the theater’s rehearsal rooms to work on some steps and stretch her body, but the cast was busy with last minute preparations on Parade. The last thing she wanted was to be confronted with reminders about the role that had been pulled away from her, even though she should have been honored to have been asked to perform for the baron. She loved that the baron could recognize talent and was appreciative, but the strange way he’d looked at her when he spoke about love unnerved her. It had caused nothing but angst between her and Alexei, his jealousy now a wall between them. Diaghilev appeared oblivious. Then again he had no reason to think there would be any drama between two of his now prized dancers. Or even if he did, Diaghilev would expect her, a dancer without much, to embrace an opportunity to be with someone like the baron. How wrong he would be.

  She missed Alexei but she knew him well enough to know he needed space. Even though she was artistic herself, her scholarly father had always warned her about getting involved with other artists, citing the emotional highs were matched just as equally with the lows. Paris had altered Alexei in small ways, but they added up and it made her wonder who she was now involved with. As much as she lamented the changes in him, Alexei had to figure out what he wanted for himself—it wasn’t her job to guide him through the emotional mountains and valleys.

  With the small apartment closing in on her, Viktoriya leaned over and held her head in her hands. “Oh, Alexei.”

  The door clicked open and in walked Yana. Since meeting the girl a couple of weeks ago, Viktoriya had noticed a change in Yana’s demeanor. She walked a little taller, her cheeks now had a rosy glow, and the skin and bones now had a small amount of padding. Yana still kept to herself but the uncomfortable silences had now been replaced by something almost companionable. There was, however, the question always hovering like a gray cloud above them—what did Yana’s future hold? Viktoriya suspected this conversation would need to be held soon, but she was too afraid as to what the outcome would be.

  “Are you all right?” Yana knelt in front of Viktoriya.

  “It’s been a long day,” she said.

  Yana’s large eyes held immense concern, and not for the first time, Viktoriya felt like she was the child and Yana the guardian.

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. Viktoriya stood, trying to appear more brave and confident than she felt. “I was going to do some stretches. Do you want to join in?”

  Yana shook her head. “No, thank you. Ballet is yours, not mine.”

  “Don’t think of it as ballet. Think of it as controlling your body, moving it, stretching it, feeling alive.” Viktoriya placed her feet in first position and nodded to Yana. “Just give it a try.”

  Yana reluctantly got up. The pleasure that ran through Viktoriya surprised her. It was lovely to share something with Yana, to introduce her to the world of ballet, to…oh no. A painful realization stabbed her chest. Yana was not Dina.

  “Actually,” said Viktoriya, her voice faltering, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want.”

  Yana placed her small fists on her narrow hips. “You convince me to join you and now you’re changing your mind? No,” she jutted out her jaw, “teach me something about why you have no life other than ballet.”

  Viktoriya didn’t take offense with Yana’s statement because she was absolutely right. She lived and breathed ballet—had done so for most of her life—and she should take heart that Yana wanted to understand this dance that consumed Viktoriya’s every waking minute.

  “Maybe it’s not a good idea. Maybe—”

  “I want to learn something new. Please. Just something small?”

  “Maybe a little,” Viktoriya said, trying not to let the fear of Dina’s downfall muscle in on her. Yana and Dina were very different people, and she’d teach Yana only a handful of steps. No more after today.

  “Put your feet like this.” Viktoriya placed her heels together, her feet turned out. Yana did the same and Viktoriya tried to hide the surprise at the girl’s perfect alignment. “Now, follow me, and we’ll move through the positions of the feet, then arms.”

  Viktoriya demonstrated while Yana followed, her tall, thin body mirroring beautifully.

  “How does it feel?” asked Viktoriya.

  “It feels…happy.” Yana grinned.

  Who was Viktoriya to deny the young girl some joy, especially after the traumatic events she’d endured over these past few months? If doing a few simple ballet moves meant Yana found some peace, then so be it.

  Yana followed the steps perfectly and Viktoriya studied the young girl’s lines, her long, graceful neck, the perfect curve of her arms, and the natural grace with which she moved. Most dancers spent years trying to master these poses yet they came natural to Yana—and it scared the heck out of Viktoriya.

  “I’m beginning to understand why you like this,” said Yana. Her voice sounded more confident than ever. “Show me something else.”

  Viktoriya demonstrated a few steps she remembered from her early days, and Yana followed with perfect precision. Never in her life had Viktoriya seen someone made for ballet like Yana. Confusion mixed with guilt spun in Viktoriya’s mind.

  A knock at the door sent her scurrying to open it, her heart beating rapidly in case it was Alexei, although she’d heard nothing since their return the day before. She wrenched open the door and found Vadim, one of Diaghilev’s assistants, wringing a hat in his hands.

  “Sergei wishes to speak with you. Now.” His large eyes pleaded with her to go with him without hesitation. She knew better than to argue with Diaghilev and his demands.

  Grabbing her coat, hat, and bag, Viktoriya told Yana she’d be back soon, then locked the door behind her. Following Vadim, Viktoriya exited the building and walked the three blocks to the theater, weaving between the crowds hurrying along the pavement—men in suits, women with young babies in their arms, shopkeepers closing for the evening—all with a look of determination to get home and settle in for the evening.

  Turning down the alleyway, Viktoriya’s nerves were on edge, like she was being lead to the gallows. They entered the large door that lead to the complicated network of passages, past rehearsal and dressing rooms, and toward Diaghilev’s office.

  Viktoriya strained to keep up with his pace. “Why does he want to see me? Is Mariya sick?” Her pulse quickened with the thought that Mariya, the current lead for Parade, might have taken ill and Viktoriya may get her chance.

  “No, she is fine.” He glanced over at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m not wishing for her to be ill just so I can dance.” She couldn’t quash the defensive tone.

  “I know.” Vadim’s voice softened. “You don’t have that cutthroat edge the others possess. I have no idea how you’ve come as far as you have without leaving a trail of knives in other people’s backs.”

  “That’s not how I play,” she said indignantly.

  “Which is why you need to see Diaghilev now.”

  They halted in front of his office, and Vadim gave three raps before he opened the door and entered. Viktoriya stood in the hallway, not sure if she should follow or wait to be asked to enter.

  “Come in,” boomed Diaghilev.

  Viktoriya hesitated a moment before entering, realizing this was the first time she’d ever set foot in his space since starting with the ballet a few months earlier. Had it only been months? Russia felt like a lifetime ago. Oh, how she longed to hear from her family. She’d sent letters, but with the war in Europe and the revolution in Russia, she suspected her missive had fallen by the wayside, her heartfelt words never to be read by the ones she loved with all her heart.

  “Come.” Diaghilev nodded toward a chair. “That will be all, Vadim.”

  His assistant hastily exited the room while Viktoriya sat on the small wicker chair. He’d summoned her with urgency, yet he seemed happy to shuffle paperwork around and paused to cough every so often.

  Eventually he scratched his head and said, “I’m about to change your life.”

  Clasping her hands on her lap, she looked him directly in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Tomorrow night you will sit in the VIP box of the theater and watch Parade.”

  Her heart sank and a slight ringing in her ears made her wonder if she’d heard correctly. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Why?”

  “Because the baron wishes to have the pleasure of your company.”

  “But I’m a dancer, not a socialite!” She didn’t even want to go into the personal trauma of watching someone else perform in the role she’d coveted.

  “Tomorrow night you will be a woman who accompanies the baron to the ballet.” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to say no.

  “Why me? Surely the baron has a huge range of women to choose from. Countesses, baronesses, actresses… Why a dancer who has never had a lead role?” A lump formed in her throat as thoughts of telling Alexei about this latest development swam in her mind. She had to weasel out of this somehow.

  “I do not need to remind you that Baron Erik Cheverin is very influential, so if he chooses to take a ballet dancer to the theater, then his wish will be honored.” Diaghilev placed his beefy hands firmly on the desk as he leaned forward. “After your Scheherazade performance, he has taken a shine to you and wishes to know you better. As long as you keep him happy, he will pour funds into our coffers.”

  “I will not prostitute myself.” She crossed her arms.

  “I am not asking you to sleep with the man. All you need to do is look beautiful, be charming, and make him think you only have eyes for him.”

  Desperation mixed with confusion washed over her in a heavy wave. “But I don’t feel that way with him, and I refuse to string someone along, baron or no.”

  “I don’t care if you want to marry the doorman. You are going to this premiere with the baron and that is final!” Diaghilev’s knuckles turned white and his face took on a deep shade of red.

  “I will not do it.” She gritted her teeth.

  Standing, Diaghilev towered above her, fury filling the room. “You have to and you will.”

  “Then I quit!” she yelled, then instantly regretted her outburst. If she didn’t dance, she’d have no money and would be out on the streets with Yana. The poor girl had faith in her so Viktoriya couldn’t let her down. Besides, how could she possibly live without dance filling her heart?

  “You cannot quit,” Diaghilev said evenly.

  “I know,” she muttered and stared at the clasped hands on her lap.

  “All he wants is for you to be by his side this evening while he makes his final decision about whether he’ll give us money. Be your charming self and get us out of this goddamn financial hole we’ve found ourselves in.”

  Even in Russia, Diaghilev’s reputation as an astute businessman was common knowledge, but the ups and downs he’d suffered since he first took Russian art to Paris often had him teetering between affluence and poverty. No one could doubt his genius but his financial abilities often came into question and, unfortunately, it appeared now was one of those times.

  She refrained from pointing out his use of “we” and “ours” and “us” when he spoke about the financial mess, so instead, Viktoriya asked, “It’s only for one night, right?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “The baron has a reputation for losing interest in women quickly, so for tomorrow night you are his one and only and the next day it will be some actress or countess or whatever. Just get the result we need and you can forget all about him.”

  She liked his confidence but something deep within told her it wouldn’t be so easy. Being a dancer meant she had her fair share of suitors with stars in their eyes, but the only other man who had looked at her like the baron had been Alexei. The baron’s attention made her uncomfortable but also gave her a secret thrill. Mentally shaking her head, she stood and adjusted the belt on her coat. “I’m not happy about this.”

  “You don’t have to be. Do your job and the rewards will come our way.” Fixing his eyes on hers, he said, “Now go, see Olga and she’ll get you sorted. I’ve already told her you’re coming.”

  Viktoriya headed toward the door, annoyed with his assumption that she’d say yes but what else could she say?

  * * *

  Olga threw her hands up in the air, her eyes alive with excitement. “Oh, my dear girl, what an honor!”

  Viktoriya forced a smile as she removed her coat and scarf and placed them with her handbag on a nearby chair.

  Olga tilted her head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

  How to explain without sounding like she was ungrateful? “I know the baron is influential and Diaghilev trusts me but…” She bit her lip, trying to find the right words.

  “You’re with Alexei again, aren’t you?” Olga’s tone held disapproval. “You need to be careful. Diaghilev is on the warpath and if he finds out—”

  “We’re not together.” Olga’s eyes bore into hers and Viktoriya hung her head. “To be honest I have no idea whether we’re on or off.”

  The seamstress pushed a rebellious chunk of curly hair out of her eye. “If you are with each other, then you’re playing with fire.”

  “I know.” Although the conversation made her uncomfortable, Viktoriya trusted Olga implicitly. She’d always been Viktoriya’s go-to person back in Petrograd, and there was no reason why she couldn’t be the same in Paris.

  “Child, you’ll have to forget about Alexei this evening. If he’s smart, he’ll realize you’re doing this for the company and it’s not a slight against him.” Olga picked out a dusky pink dress from the clothes rack. She held it against Viktoriya, then sighed. “With your dark hair this is perfect.”

  Olga motioned for Viktoriya to remove her clothes, and she did so without hesitation. The seamstress knew the exact measurements and curves of Viktoriya’s body and any tendency for prudishness had fallen by the wayside years ago. She held up her arms and let the delicate fabric fall around her body. The cool silk felt magnificent against her skin, and she delighted in examining the intricate beading around the incredibly risqué neckline.

  “Did you make this?”

  Olga clicked her tongue and shook her head. “No, although I am entirely capable of making such a piece—actually, I could do better. I don’t see why Sergei needed to get in the likes of that Coco Chanel. She’s nothing more than a professional girlfriend to the rich and famous and artistes.” The way she accentuated artiste made it sound like a despicable profession.

  Rumor had it the infamous Coco Chanel had made her mark in society because of who she knew, not what she made. Although, if Viktoriya were entirely honest, this dress was one of the most magnificent designs she had ever laid eyes on. Maybe one day Mademoiselle Chanel would dispel those vicious rumors and become a well-respected designer in her own right.

  “I understand it’s hard to dress me in someone else’s creation. If it’s any consolation, though, I’ll be feeling similar to you when I have to watch Mariya perform the role that should have been mine. I was the understudy, not her.”