Together in Paris

11.

Hundreds of chaotic voices mingled around him, scents, noises and laughter dazed him as dozens of sparkling colors blinded him beneath the lights of ancient candelabras. Leaning against the small column at the end of the right handrail of the main staircase of the Opéra Garnier Theatre, Gleb watched people chatter and laugh as they waited to get to their seats, astonished by the glittering splendour that each of them boasted. There wasn't a woman who didn't wear a parure, there wasn't a man who didn't bask in their small pocket-bouquets they wore on their tailcoat's jacket, and none of them seemed uncomfortable in that richness that flowed through the lobby.

Neither did he, in truth, feel out of place. He felt ashamed to find everything so extremely beautiful and harmonious in his eyes, unused to that human spectacle, but still he couldn't help but feel relaxed. No strict rules, no bad guys ready to shoot at him the moment he turned his back.

It was ... nice.

It had been complicated to get a ticket for the ballet at the Opera House, especially with his lack of knowledge of French -- which was a little improving, since he could now understand some sentences -- but it had been even more difficult to find a box near the Empress and Lily's one. But he had been lucky: he had bought the last ticket, which was for a place in a box right above them.
The Swan Lake certainly had a lot of expectation from the public, considered the crowd gathered into the atrium in front of the wide staircase that led to the auditorium.

His black eyes glanced at the crowd around him and wandered for a long time on every blond-haired woman in the room -- and they were many -- hoping to see Anya's innocent face again.

But would he have been able to recognize her, in a crowd of thousands?

"Nice place, isn't it?" a familiar voice suddenly said, making him jerk. He turned his head quickly, just to meet the elegant and irritating figure of Vassilisa Gorlinskaya, wrapped in a long, shimmering black dress that was way too tight in his opinion, and perhaps in everyone's, considered how they watched her.

"What do you want?!" Gleb snapped, his voice hoarse.

"Ah, yes, I'm happy to see you too, Gleb, how's life going?" the woman sarcastically said "Always a pleasure to speak with you."
Gleb rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Why are you here, Vassilisa?" he asked. She snorted.

"My husband sent me." she spoke "Was it for me, I would already have been back in Russia, rather than being here with a man who hasn't even the gallantry to decline an invitation."
He shook his head and crossed his arms on his chest.

"You know, I'm not really into staying with my friends' wives and betraying their trust."
Gorlinskaya chuckled.

"Oh, really? So what do you call this escape to France?" she giggled "A trip?"

"I didn't escape."

"Nah, you just suddenly disappeared concomitantly with those three traitors without telling anyone. Definitely not escaping."

"Get to your point." Gleb interrupted her "Why did Gorlinsky send you here?"
Vassilisa drew a yellowish wrap out of her small, black purse and then reached out to him, holding out the envelope. He snatched it from her fingers, nervous. She smirked at his gesture, visibly amused. She then patted his shoulder lightly, giggling as she dusted his jacket.

"I told you you wouldn't go through this alone, lover boy." she whispered into his ear. Then, she stepped back and, not before of having thrown him a mocking glance, walked away in a sinuous way. Gleb clenched his fists.

That witch! She had ... she had ...

Great style!

Gleb!!!