CHAPTER ONE
Lucien Marchetti ended his class fifteen minutes early, an indulgence he rarely allowed, but the dancers had earned it. Their technique was nearly flawless, their musicality on par and, for once, nobody had needed to be reminded to engage their core.
"Control your landing," Lucien said, pointing toward one of the dancers. "You're collapsing through the hips. Again." The young woman immediately reset her position. "Finish your line before the foot touches the floor. Don't rush the ending just because the difficult part is over."
"Yes, Mister Lucien."
"Again." She repeated the combination and Lucien nodded once.
"Much better." The dancer smiled, already looking exhausted. He allowed himself the smallest smile in return. "Now go rest your legs before you start dancing like a newborn deer." Laughter broke through the studio at the remark.
"Thank you, Mister Lucien!"
"You're welcome. Out."
The students gathered their things, still laughing and talking over one another as they filed out of the rehearsal studio. Their voices gradually faded down the hallway until silence settled over the room. Lucien remained where he was for a moment, watching the afternoon sunlight spill through the tall windows and stretch across the Marley floor, the faint scent of sweat, rosin and warm wood lingered in the air. This was his favorite part, the quiet after everyone had gone. The applause, the galas, the premieres, the rush of watching his dancers step onto a stage beneath hundreds of lights, he still loved all of it. He understood the pull of an audience better than most. He had spent years performing on some of Europe's most prestigious stages, living through the pressure of opening nights, the ache in his muscles after endless rehearsals, and the particular terror of missing a step in front of an audience that had paid to watch perfection.
Then came the injury. It hadn't ended his relationship with ballet, but it had forced him to reconsider what he wanted from it. Eventually, Lucien traded the spotlight for something else. Marchetti Ballet. What had started as a way to remain close to the world he loved had grown into something far bigger: a multimillion-dollar company, a legacy, and a responsibility that belonged entirely to him and his brother.
He could no longer command a stage the way he once had but he had learned how to command a room and, in some ways, he preferred it. He stripped off his teaching jacket and draped it neatly over the barre before rolling his shoulders, he rubbed the tension from the back of his neck and glanced toward the clock.
Sunday, he had promised himself he would leave the building before noon. It was already twelve-thirty, apparently, even his days off required supervision. His phone buzzed on the nearby bench and Lucien glanced at the screen. Alistair his brother, he declined the call and three seconds later it rang again. Lucien sighed and declined a second time. A third call followed almost immediately "Persistent bastard."
He finally answered. "What is it, Alistair?"
"Where are you?" Lucien looked around the empty studio.
"At work."
"It's Sunday."
"I am aware of the day."
"You said you'd leave early."
"I also said I'd take the morning off, and technically I did."
"Lucien."
"What?"
"I need to see you."
Lucien closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That sentence has never preceded anything good."
"I know. Come over for breakfast tomorrow."
The line went dead before Lucien could ask why. "Wonderful."
He slipped his phone into his pocket just as footsteps sounded in the hallway.
"Lord tutu" Lucien froze because he remembered that voice anywhere and that awful nickname, he turned to see Reed. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, wearing the same infuriating smirk Lucien remembered from years ago.
"Reed."
"That's my name."
Lucien crossed the studio, smiling despite himself. They embraced briefly, when they separated, Lucien looked him over. "You've gotten worse."
Reed glanced down at himself. "Good to see you too."
"You look tired."
"You look judgmental."
"I am judgmental."
"At least you're consistent."
Lucien laughed quietly and it felt good, too good perhaps. He hadn't realized how much he had missed having someone around who didn't want something from him.
"Bad news?" Reed asked, "your voice had a rather irritated edge to it"
"My brother."
"Ah."
"Exactly."
Reed nodded sympathetically. "My condolences."
"Thank you." Reed stepped farther into the studio, looking around at the empty room.
"Still terrifying children?"
"They're adults."
"That makes it worse."
Lucien rolled his eyes and asked "How long have you been back?"
"A few days."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I was going to."
"When?"
"Eventually."
"Excellent plan."
Reed grinned. "I knew you'd understand."
Lucien shook his head, but his smile remained. They moved toward the center of the studio, falling into conversation naturally. Reed told him about his latest painting, complaining about a commission that had taken twice as long as expected, and some very vague details about his worklife in the military. Lucien listened, occasionally offering an opinion Reed hadn't asked for.
"You changed the composition."
"I did."
"I liked the original."
"You haven't seen the finished version."
"I don't need to."
"You've become unbearable."
"I've always been unbearable."
"Fair. Seriously, though. How have you been?" Reed asked,
Lucien glanced at him. "Fine."
"That's not an answer."
"It is an answer."
"It's your default answer."
Lucien adjusted the cuff of his shirt and said "I've been busy."
"That is also not an answer, Reed."
"Lucien."
Lucien sighed. "I haven't taken a proper day off in weeks."
"There we go."
"I've had performances, rehearsals, meetings..."
"And you're teaching today."
"Yes."
"On Sunday."
"Yes."
Reed stared at him, "You know most people rest on Sundays."
"Most people don't own ballet companies."
"Most people who own ballet companies probably also know what a weekend is."
Lucien gave him a look. "Are you finished?"
"Not remotely."
Before Lucien could answer, the studio door opened. An elegant man stepped inside, dressed in a way that made it obvious he cared about how he presented himself. He was striking, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and expressive eyes that swept across the room before settling on Reed.
"Babe." Lucien's eyebrows lifted and Reed's face immediately softened.
"Nicholas." He crossed the room, and Nicholas met him halfway, the familiarity between them was effortless. Reed slipped an arm around his waist, earning a brief smile from Nicholas before he glanced toward Lucien. So this was Nicholas, Lucien thought, Reed had talked about him enough that Lucien felt as though they had already met. He'd heard about Nicholas's work, his habits, the arguments they apparently had over the most ridiculous things, and the fact that Nicholas was one of the few people capable of telling Reed when he was being an idiot and yet, this was their first actual meeting.
"Lucien," Reed said, stepping back beside Nicholas. "This is my husband, Nicholas."
Nicholas extended his hand and Lucien took it, a faint smile touching his mouth. "I was beginning to think you were fictional."
Nicholas laughed. "I've heard the same about you."
Lucien glanced at Reed and asked "Have you been telling him things about me?"
"Only the embarrassing ones."
"Then I hope you've been equally honest about yourself."
Nicholas's smile widened."Unfortunately, he has."
Lucien looked between them and they were an attractive couple, though in very different ways. Nicholas had an elegant, polished presence, his sharp features softened by the easy warmth in his expression. Reed, with his induction buzz cut, piercing blue eyes, and intense, steady gaze, carried a harder edge together, they made an unexpectedly striking pair.
"Well. It's nice to finally meet you, Nicholas."
"You too."
Miravale sat at the corner of the district behind a discreet black-and-gold entrance. Inside the restaurant, warm lighting softened the dark wood, elegant slatted installations stretched across the ceiling, and plush seating divided the dining room into intimate pockets of conversation. A fluted bar occupied one side of the room beneath rows of suspended glassware, while the far wall opened into a brighter decorative space that gave the restaurant just enough contrast. It was expensive, very expensive. No one who could afford it seemed particularly interested in discussing the price.
Miravale was a favorite among celebrities, executives, politicians, athletes, and the sort of people whose names appeared in newspapers often enough to make privacy a commodity. Lucien had been coming here for years. The staff knew him, the better tables were usually available to him, and he had long since stopped noticing the quiet attention that followed him through places like this. Reed, however, still looked around occasionally.
"Try not to look impressed," Lucien murmured.
Reed glanced at him. "I'm looking for the exit."
Nicholas laughed at that. "He's lying."
"I'm not."
"You stared at the bar for ten seconds."
"It has a nice bar."
Lucien shook his head. "You're both embarrassing."
"And yet you invited us," Reed said.
"I'm beginning to question that decision."
They reached the entrance to the dining room, where the hostess immediately straightened with a welcoming smile. "Mr. Marchetti. Welcome back."
Lucien returned the smile. "Good afternoon."
"Your usual table?"
"Please."
"Of course."
She led them through the dining room, greeting several familiar faces along the way while Reed leaned closer.
"You have a usual table?"
"I'm allowed to eat lunch more than once."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." Nicholas laughed under his breath as they followed Lucien toward their table.
"You two haven't changed at all."
"Unfortunately," Reed said.
"Speak for yourself," Lucien replied. "You're wearing the same expression you had ten years ago."
"And you're still annoying."
"See?"
Nicholas shook his head. "I understand why you two are friends." Nicholas had barely pulled out his chair when his attention shifted toward the entrance. "Excuse me for a minute."
Reed glanced over his shoulder. "Who?"
"Business."
Lucien waved him off. "Go."
A tall man in a dark suit had just stepped in. He carried himself with an ease that made people move around him without being asked. His expression was composed, his clothes immaculate, and there was something about him that made Lucien look twice. Nicholas stopped in front of him. The two men exchanged a brief handshake before Nicholas said something Lucien couldn't hear.
Lucien watched for a moment, then reached for his glass. Apparently, business had arrived. Reed barely glanced up from the menu.
"That's Mikhail."
Lucien looked at him. "You know him?"
"Know of him."
"Helpful."
Reed shrugged. "Nicholas does business with him."
Lucien's gaze returned to the two men. "What kind of business?"
"The kind Nicholas doesn't discuss over lunch."
Lucien gave him a look. "You could have just said you don't know."
"I could have."
Across the room, Nicholas stepped aside whilst Mikhail's gaze moved over the restaurant. It passed over several tables before settling on Lucien and Lucien noticed. The man's expression changed almost imperceptibly, as though he'd recognized something. Then Mikhail said something to Nicholas and started toward them.