Remi licked her lips, and Ben surged forward, capturing her mouth with his own. The air left her lungs. His kiss was unlike anything she had ever imagined.
His petal-soft lips moved against hers, teeth nipping at her lips until she parted them enough to feel his tongue. The quietest sigh escaped her, and he moved against her, one hand grabbing the fabric at her waist and bunching it in his fist at her side. His other hand slid to her back, starting a fire across the skin of her shoulders where he tugged at the neckline of her nightdress. At the same time, his leg moved between her knees, the heat at her center building to an unfamiliar ache.
I want more, she thought in ecstasy. More, more, more.
Just as Remi pressed her hips into his thigh, Ben stilled, pulling away. The suddenness of his retreat left her spinning, and she drew in a steadying breath.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, out of breath as he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have… I should have asked.”
Remi felt her heart in her throat. “Don’t apologize.”
“It wasn’t right,” he stammered. “You’re a widow now.”
“I didn’t want to marry your father,” she said abruptly. “But I did. I thought it was my responsibility to my family, and I didn’t want to disappoint them.”
Ben raised his head. She couldn’t make sense of his expression, but she also couldn’t stop herself once the words started forming.
“But I…I also wrote you that letter. That was my choice, too.”
“Did you mean any of it?”
Remi grasped his arm. “Yes. Every word.”
Ben was silent, a thoughtful look on his face.
“I married your father—out of duty and respect for my family,” Remi breathed and lifted her chin a fraction in defiance. “I regret it with every day that goes by, but I won’t have you condemn me for my actions, not when I tried so hard to bring you back.”
“Duty and respect,” he scoffed. “How noble of you.”
“Yes,” she insisted, hating the way he spoke to her but wishing he would kiss her again. “I owe a debt to my family, and marrying Edgar was part of that reparation.”
“And you paid for it with your body.”
Remi shoved Ben, though he did not budge. “I paid for it with my life!”
“Whores do the same,” Ben said.
“Stop it,” Remi spat, full of indignation. “No one has ever touched me without my consent, least of all your father.”
Ben’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“I won’t be your villain,” she paused. “Not when I want to be your friend.”
“And how do you expect to be my friend? You have no idea what it was like for me to be…exiled... I’m but a stranger in the home I grew up in.”
“We talk. However painful that might be, however, it might hurt us, we talk and we try to understand each other.” And maybe kiss again, she wanted to add because she desperately wanted to. She wanted that and more.
The wrinkle between Ben’s brows deepened. “Is that so?”
She took his hand and held it, palm up. When his fingers finally curled around hers, she spoke. “You’ve been so honest and I’ve hurt you. I can see that now.”
“I don’t like secrets.” He sounded exasperated, as if burdened by too many already.
“And I have none.” She reached for his chin and held his eyes with her own. “Except this, and that is the reason why I am here. It’s why I cannot deny anything asked of me.”
He blinked, waiting for what came next.
“I am not my father’s daughter.”
REMI, 1879
On her seventh birthday, Remi’s papa bought her a pair of custom silk ballet shoes. They weren’t anything like what the ballerinas wore at the opera house, though, for she was too small to dance pointe. Still, they were pink and perfect. Above all other things, Remi considered them her most prized possession. The day she found the box on her bed was the day she condemned her beautiful dolls to a lonesome corner in the playroom, clearing the floor for her to imitate the dances she saw on stage.
“Beautiful.” Her father praised her at breakfast. “Ma petite, you will put all other ballerinas to shame.”
It was the highest compliment he could have paid her.
Her father always doted on her, humored her at the best of times, and spoiled her endlessly. He could never bring himself to say ‘no’ to her, though he tried.
“The girls will be delighted,” her mother announced. They would be visiting the opera house for an early rehearsal, and Remi intended to wear her new ballet shoes.
The other performers, particularly the ballerinas, enjoyed Remi’s loveliness and childlike wonder as she ‘ooed’ and ‘ahhed’ from the audience. Sometimes, they even taught her the steps, despite how difficult the footwork could be at times. With her new shoes, it would be easier than ever.
“A lark!” They said when they saw her.
“What pretty shoes for a jolie fille.”
Remi drank up their compliments with great aplomb. The visits to the opera house were the highlights of her youth. She loved to watch the performances and the practices that led up to them. That morning, while her father attended to business and her mother worked on scales and final fittings, Remi was left in the care of the corps de ballet.
