by Nora Roberts
Nadine acknowledged this with a nod. “Of course.” She paused a moment, looking at Lindsay again as she sipped her wine. “Can you imagine how many Juliets I’ve watched in my lifetime, Lindsay?”
“Is that a loaded question?” she countered and grinned at Seth. “If I say too many, she’ll complain that I’m aging her. Too few, and I’m insulting her.”
“Try ‘a considerable number,’” he suggested, adding champagne to his wife’s glass.
“Good idea.” Lindsay shifted her attention back to Nadine. “A considerable number.”
“Quite correct.” Nadine set down her glass and laid her hands on Lindsay’s. Her eyes were suddenly intense. “You were the best. The very best. I wept when you left us.”
Lindsay opened her mouth, then shut it again on words that wouldn’t come. She swallowed and shook her head.
“Excuse me, please,” she murmured. Rising, she hurried across the room.
There were wide glass doors leading to a circling balcony. Lindsay opened them and stepped outside. Leaning on the rail, she took a deep breath. It was a clear night, with stars and moonlight shedding silver over Manhattan’s skyline. She looked out blindly.
After all the years, she thought, and all the distance. I’d have cut off an arm to have heard her say that ten years ago. She felt a tear run down her cheek and closed her eyes. Oh, God, how badly I once needed to know what she just told me. And now . . .
At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, she started. Lindsay turned into Nick’s arms. For a moment she said nothing, letting herself lean on him and remember. She had been his Juliet in that other life, that world she had once been a part of.
“Oh, Nick,” she murmured. “How fragile we are, and how foolish.”
“Foolish?” he repeated and kissed the top of her head. “Speak for yourself, ptichka. Davidov is never foolish.”
She laughed and looked up at him. “I forgot.”
“Foolish of you.” He pulled her back into his arms, and she rose on her toes so that her cheek brushed his. “Nick. You know, no matter how long you’re away, no matter how far you go, all of this is still with you. It’s more than in your blood, it’s in the flesh and muscle.” With a sigh, she drew out of his arms and again leaned on the rail. “Whenever I come back, part of me expects to walk into class again or rush to make company calls. It’s ingrained.”
Nick rested a hip on the rail and studied her profile. There was a breeze blowing her hair back, and he thought again that she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. Yet she had always seemed unaware of her physical appeal.
“Do you miss it?” he asked her, and she turned to look at him directly.
“It’s not a matter of missing it.” Lindsay’s brows drew together as she tried to translate emotions into words. “It’s more like putting part of yourself in storage. To be honest, I don’t think about the company much at home. I’m so busy with the children and my students. And Seth is . . .” She stopped, and he watched the smile illuminate her face. “Seth is everything.” Lindsay turned back to the skyline. “Sometimes, when I come back here to watch Ruth dance, the memories are so vivid, it’s almost unreal.”
“It makes you sad?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But it’s a nice feeling all the same. When I look back, I don’t think there’s anything in my life I’d change. I’m very lucky. And Ruth . . .” She smiled again, gazing out at New York. “I’m proud of her, thrilled for her. She’s so good. She’s so incredibly good. Somehow I feel like a part of it all over again.”
“You’re always a part of it, Lindsay.” He caught at the ends of her hair. “Talent like yours is never forgotten.”
“Oh, no, no more compliments tonight.” She gave a shaky laugh and shook her head. “That’s what got me started.” Taking a deep breath, she faced him again. “I know I was a good dancer, Nick. I worked hard to be. I treasure the years I was with the company—the ballets I danced with you. My mother still has her scrapbook, and one day my children will look through it.” She gave him a puzzled smile. “Imagine that.”
“Do you know, I’m always amazed to think of you with two growing children.”
“Why?”
He smiled and took her hand. “Because it’s so easy to remember you the first time I saw you. You were still a soloist when I came to the company. I watched you rehearsing for Sleeping Beauty. You were the flower fairy, and you were dissatisfied with your fouettés.”
“How do you remember that?”
Nick lifted a brow. “Because my first thought was how I would get you into my bed. I couldn’t ask you—my English was not so good in those days.”
Lindsay gave a choked laugh. “You learned quickly enough, as I remember. Though as I recall, you never, in any language, suggested I come into your bed.”
“Would you have?” He tilted his head as he studied her. “I’ve wondered for more than ten years.”
Lindsay searched her heart even as she searched his face. She could hear laughter through the windows and the muffled drone of traffic far below. She tried to think of the Lindsay Dunne who had existed ten years before. Ultimately, she smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s better that way.”
Nick slipped an arm around her, and she leaned against his shoulder. “You’re right. I’m not sure it would be good to know one way or the other.”
They fell silent as their thoughts drifted.
“Donald Keyser seems like a nice man,” Lindsay murmured. She felt the fractional stiffening of Nick’s arm.
“Yes.”
“Ruth’s not in love with him, of course, but he isn’t in love with her, either. I imagine they’re good company for each other.” When he said nothing, Lindsay tilted her head and looked at him. “Nick?”
He glanced down and read her unspoken thoughts clearly. “You see too much,” he muttered.
“I know you—I know Ruth.”
He frowned back out at the skyline. “You’re afraid I’ll hurt her.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Lindsay admitted. “As it crossed my mind that she might hurt you.” Nick looked back at her, and she continued. “It’s difficult when I love you both.”
After a shrug, he thrust his hands into his pockets and turned to take a few steps away. “We dance together, that’s all.”
“That’s hardly all,” Lindsay countered, but as he turned back, annoyed, she continued. “Oh, I don’t mean you’re lovers, nor is it any of my business if you are. But Nick.” She sighed, recognizing the anger in his eyes. “It’s impossible to look at the two of you and not see.”
“What do you want?” he demanded. “A promise I won’t take her to bed?”
“No.” Calmly, Lindsay walked to him. “I’m not asking for promises or giving advice. I only hope to give you support if you want it.”
She watched the anger die as he turned away again. “She’s a child,” he murmured.
“She’s a woman,” Lindsay corrected. “Ruth was barely ever a child. She was grown up in a number of ways when I first met her.”
“Perhaps it is safer if I consider her a child.”
“You’ve argued with her.”
Nick laughed and faced Lindsay again. “Ptichka, I always argue with my partners, yes?”
“Yes,” Lindsay agreed and decided to leave it at that. Instead of pressing him, she held out her hand. “We had some great arguments, Davidov.”
“The best.” Nick took the offered hand in both of his. “Come, let me take you back in. We should be celebrating.”
“Did I tell you how wonderful you were tonight or how brilliant your ballet is?”
“Only once.” He gave her his charming smile. “And that was hardly enough. I have a very big ego.” The creases in his cheeks deepened. “How wonderful was I?”
“Oh, Ni
ck.” Lindsay laughed and threw her arms around him. “As wonderful as Davidov can possibly be.”
“A suitable compliment,” he decided, “as that is a great deal more brilliant than anyone else.”
Lindsay kissed him. “I’m so glad you don’t change.”
They both turned as the door opened. Seth stepped out on the balcony.
“Ah, we’re caught,” Nick stated, grinning as he kept Lindsay in his arms. “Now your architect will break both my legs.”
“Perhaps if you beg for mercy,” Lindsay told him, smiling over at Seth.
“Davidov beg for mercy?” Nick rolled his eyes and released her. “The woman is mad.”
“Often,” Seth agreed. “But I make allowances for it.” Lindsay’s hand slipped into his. “People are asking for you,” he told Nick.
Nick nodded, casting a quick glance toward the dining room. “How long are you staying?”
“Just overnight,” Seth answered.
“Then I will say good-bye now.” He held out a hand to Seth. “Do svidanya, priyatel.” He used the Russian term for friend. “You’re a man to be envied. Do svidanya, ptichka.”
“Good-bye, Nick.” Lindsay watched him slip back into the dining room. She sighed.
“Feeling better?” Seth asked her.
“How well you know me,” she murmured.
“How much I love you,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms.
“Seth. It’s been a lovely evening.”
“No regrets?”
Lindsay knew he spoke of her career, the choices she had made. “No. No regrets.” She lifted her face and met his mouth with hers.
The kiss grew long and deep with a hint of hunger. She heard his quiet sound of pleasure as he drew her closer. Her arms slipped up around his back until her hands gripped his shoulders. It’s always like the first time, she thought. Each time he kisses me, it’s like the first.
“Seth,” she murmured against his mouth as they changed the angle of the kiss. “I’m much, much too tired for a party tonight.”
“Hmm.” His lips moved to her ear. “It’s been a long day. We should just slip up to our room and get some rest.”
Lindsay gave a low laugh. “Good idea.” She brought her lips teasingly back to his. “Maybe we could order a bottle of champagne—to toast the ballet.”
“A magnum of champagne,” Seth decided, drawing her back far enough to smile down into her face. “It was an excellent ballet, after all.”
“Oh, yes.” Lindsay cast an eye toward the doors that separated them from the crowd of people. She smiled back at her husband. “I don’t think we should disturb the party, do you?”
“What party?” Seth asked. Taking her arm, he walked past the doors. “There’s another set of doors on the east side.”
Lindsay laughed. “Architects always know the most important things,” she murmured.
Chapter Six
By the end of the first week, The Red Rose was an established success. The company played to a full house at every performance. Ruth read the reviews and knew it was the turning point of her career. She gave interviews and focused on promoting the ballet, the company and herself. It was a simple matter to engage herself in her work and in her success. It was not so simple to deal with her feelings when she danced, night after night, with Nick.
Ruth told herself they were Carlotta’s feelings; that it was merely her own empathy with the role she played. To fall in love with Davidov was impossible.
He was absorbed with ballet. So was she. He was only interested in brief physical relationships. Should she decide to involve herself with a man, she wanted emotions—deep, lasting emotions. The example of her own parents and Lindsay and Seth had spoiled her for anything less. Nick was demanding and selfish and unreasonable—not qualities she looked for in a lover. He found her foolish and romantic.
She needed to remember that after each performance when her blood was pumping and the need for him was churning inside her. She needed to remind herself of it when she lay awake at night with her mind far too wide awake.
They met on stage almost exclusively, so that when they came together face to face, the temptation was strong to take on the roles of the characters they portrayed. Whenever Ruth found herself too close to losing Carlotta’s identity or her distance from Nick, she reviewed his faults. She had plans for her life, both professionally and personally. She was aware that Nick was the one man who could interfere with them.
She considered herself both self-sufficient and independent. She had had to be, growing up without an established home and normal childhood routines. There had been no lasting playmates in her young years, and she had taught herself not to form sentimental attachments to the homes her parents had rented, for they had never been homes for long. Ruth’s apartment in New York was the first place she had allowed herself to grow attached to. It was hers—paid for with money she earned, filled with the things that were important to her. In the year she had lived there, she had learned that she could make it on her own. She had confidence in herself as a woman and as a dancer. It infuriated her that Nick was the only person on earth who could make her feel insecure in either respect.
Professionally, he could either challenge or intimidate her by a choice of words or with a facial expression. And Ruth was well aware of the confusion he aroused in her as a woman.
The girlhood crush was long over. For years, her passions had been centered on dancing. The men she had dated had been companions, friends. Nick had been the premier danseur, a mentor, a professional partner. It seemed strange to her that her feelings for him could have changed and intensified so quickly.
Perhaps, she thought, it would be easier to fall in love with a stranger rather than be in the embarrassing position of being suddenly attracted to a man she had known and worked with for years. There was no escape from the constant daily contact.
If it had been just a matter of physical attraction, Ruth felt she could have handled it. But it was the emotional involvement that worried her. Her feelings for Nick were complex and deep. She admired him, was fascinated by him, enraged by him, and trusted him without reservation—professionally. Personally, she knew he could, by the sheer force of his personality, overwhelm and devour. She wasn’t willing to be the victim. Love, she feared, meant dependence, and that meant a lack of control.
“How far away are you?”
Ruth spun around to see Francie standing in her dressing room doorway. “Oh, miles,” she admitted. “Come on in and sit down.”
“You seem to have been thinking deep thoughts,” Francie commented.
Ruth began to brush her hair back into a ponytail. “Mmm,” she said noncommittally. “Wednesdays are the longest. Just the thought of doing two shows makes my toes cramp.”
“Seven curtain calls for a matinee isn’t anything to sneeze at.” Francie sank down on a handy chair. “Poor Nick is at this moment giving another interview to a reporter from New Trends.”
Ruth gave a half-laugh as she tied her hair back with a leather strap. “He’ll be absolutely charming, and his accent will get more and more incomprehensible.”
“Spasibo,” Thank you, Francie said. “One of my few Russian words.”
“Where did you learn that?” Ruth turned to face her.
“Oh, I did a bit of Russian cramming a couple of years ago when I thought I might enchant Nick.” Grinning, Francie reached in her pocket for a stick of gum. “It didn’t work. He’d laugh and pat me on the head now and again. I had delusions of gypsy violins and wild passion.” She lifted her shoulders and sighed. “Nick always seems to be occupied, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes.” Ruth looked at her searchingly. “I never knew you were—interested in Nick that way.”
“Honey.” Francie gave her a pitying smile. “What female over twelve wouldn’t be? And we all know my track
record.” She laughed and stretched her arms to the ceiling. “I like men; I don’t fight it.” She dropped her arms into her lap. “I just ended my meaningful relationship with the dermatologist.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. We had fun. I’m considering a new meaningful relationship with the actor I met last week. He’s Price Reynolds on A New Breed.” At Ruth’s blank look, she elaborated. “The soap opera.”
Ruth shook her head while a smile tugged at her mouth. “I haven’t caught it.”
“He’s tall, with broad shoulders and dark, sleepy eyes. He might just be the one.”
Ruth bit her bottom lip in thought. “How do you know when he is?” She met Francie’s eyes again. “What makes you think he might be?”
“My palms sweat.” She laughed at Ruth’s incredulous face. “No, really, they do. Every time. It wouldn’t work for you.” Francie stopped smiling and leaned forward as she did when she became serious. “It wouldn’t be enough for you to think a man might be the one. You’d have to know he was. I’ve been in love twice already this year. I was in love at least four or five times last year. How many times have you been in love?”
Ruth looked at her blankly. “Well, I . . .” Never, she realized. There had been no one.
“Don’t look devastated.” Francie popped back out of the chair with all the exuberance she showed on stage. “You’ve never been in love because there’s only one meaning of the word for you. You’ll know it when it happens.” She laid a friendly hand on Ruth’s shoulders. “That’s going to be it. You’re not insecure, like me. You know what you want, what you need. You’re not willing to settle for anything less.”
“Insecure?” Ruth gave her friend a puzzled smile. “I’ve never imagined you as insecure.”
“I need someone to tell me I’m pretty, I’m clever, I’m loved. You don’t.” She took a breath. “When we were in the corps, you knew you weren’t going to stay there. You never had any doubt.” She smiled again. “And neither did anyone else. If you found a man who meant as much to you as dancing does, you’d have it all.”