The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,92

these are things unfit for ladies.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and tipped her head up.

Her cheeks flared at the thought of his lips against hers, but she shook her head regardless of it and would not allow it.

“Nina, Nina—”

“No! You can’t kiss me and make everything better anytime I am upset,” she said, freeing herself from his grasp.

“But it is a ridiculous thing to be upset about!”

“This is me, Luc Lémy. Like my eye color and my hair, like the mole on my wrist, this is me. Why is it so difficult for everyone to see that?” she asked him.

“You have lovely hair and lovely eyes. We should not fight,” he said.

He meant to take her in his arms once more, but then came the voices of her great-aunts as they returned home, and Nina was grateful for the interruption. She was both flustered and annoyed. The old ladies were pleased to see Luc Lémy, and he diligently greeted them, tossing them many choice compliments.

When he bade all of them good-bye, he held Nina’s hand tight and she blushed, but she was upset.

During dinner she considered the matter more evenly. He meant well and his comment was not uncommon. Her family had said similar things to her, her mother fretting over the ability. She knew that they’d sent her to the city because the youths nearby, like the Meinard boy, viewed her with suspicion.

And yet!

She stood in her room, by the window, contemplating the canal as she twirled a card in the air.

CHAPTER 12

Nina Beaulieu stood admiring the great papier-mâché horse’s head resting in his dressing room. It reached above her waist and had been damaged a bit during a recent performance: an ear had fallen off. Hector had plenty of people who could repair it for him, but he liked to do these things himself when he had the chance. He’d handled all his props and costumes by necessity when he was starting in the business, and could quickly mend trousers and shirts.

“How do you like the reality behind the spectacle?” he asked.

She’d insisted in taking a look inside the theater, although he had meant to meet her outside of it and head for a walk. He’d offered her a tour of the whole building, Dufren walking with them as a sort of impromptu chaperone, and Hector showed her the inner workings of his show. She seemed pleased looking at the backdrops and ropes, but he saw no harm in asking.

“It’s wonderful,” she said. “Did you always know you wanted to do this?”

“I didn’t have a choice, seeing as both my parents performed—but, yes. I enjoy it.”

“You could have done something else, I’m sure.”

“Possibly. But why waste my talent?” he asked.

“True enough. It’s not as if every man you pass on the street can lift an elephant with his mind.”

She patted the horse’s head. She was guarded. He did not ask what was wrong, feeling no need to rush the conversation. She’d asked to see him, and they were both slowly stumbling along a path, trying to determine whether they could become friends again. He was glad to be silent and let her speak her mind when she felt like it.

“Did you ever wish you could be normal?” she asked. “Did you ever wish your talent away?”

“And miss the chance to lift those pesky elephants?”

She smiled at that and turned around to look at him. “No doubts, then?”

“Maybe when I was young. I suppose you’ve considered it. I didn’t realize that.”

“At times. I … I want to control it, but sometimes I want it gone.”

“You or others?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It’s an important distinction.”

Nina sighed. “Certain days I believe that it might be easier to be like any other, ordinary lady.”

Hector held both her hands between his and smiled down at her. “Nina, you can never be ordinary.”

The warmth of his gesture was both genuine and unexpected, and it startled them both. There was a distance, a bracketing of their emotions, that held them at bay. When either of them breached the line that separated them, it was uncomfortable.

They could speak now, they could even smile at each other, but the wounds were there. These were not old battle scars, but fresh lines upon the flesh. They might mend, one day.

“It seems I also can’t be a lady,” she said, sounding nervous. She turned away from him, and her eyes alighted on the boxes of insects he’d left strewn across his desk. She drifted toward