Lucien Marchetti ended class fifteen minutes early, it was an indulgence he rarely allowed but the dancers had earned it. Their technique was perfect today, their lines cleaner and their musicality more alive. With time and discipline, and with a little of his brutal honesty, they might even reach the level he'd once held on prestigious stages across Europe.
Once before he traded the spotlight for power. Owning Marchetti Ballet, a multimillion-dollar ballet company housed in the heart of the city, came with its own choreography of responsibility: casting decisions, rehearsals, donors, galas, talent scouting. But teaching… teaching was the one thing that still felt pure.
"Control your landing," he said, "You're collapsing in the hips. Finish your line before the foot touches down."
"Yes, Mister Lucien," the student replied, their Russian accent rich and warm.
Lucien's expression softened. "Better. Now go rest your legs before you start dancing like a newborn deer."
A laugh echoed as the student left.
Silence settled across the studio. The afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows, painting the marley floor in gold. Sweat still hung in the air and Lucien inhaled it like a meditation.
Weekends were his sanctuary especially Sundays. For him Sundays meant quiet mornings, no board meetings and no rehearsals. It was just the soft hum of the company building and the comfort of knowing he didn't have to be needed every second.
Well… except for one person, his brother.
Who had a talent, no, a gift for finding the exact moment Lucien began to relax before showing up to ruin it.
Lucien stripped off his teaching jacket, draping it neatly over the barre. He rubbed the tension out of the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders. He loved his job and loved ballet more than anything.
He just wished it came without family theatrics. Footsteps echoed in the hall making lucien close his eyes. Of course, Perfect timing.
"What is it now, Alaister?" Lucien called out, irritation already threading through his voice. He didn't bother turning at first; his brother had a talent for showing up precisely when Lucien wanted peace.
But when he finally pivoted toward the doorway, he froze because It wasn't Alaister.
Reed stood there instead his long-time friend, a man he'd known so long it felt like several lifetimes stitched together. Reed's shoulders filled the frame, and that familiar, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Expecting someone else?" Reed asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Lucien's annoyance dissolved in an instant, replaced by surprise and a warmth he would never admit to feeling. He crossed the studio with that effortless ballet precision, and Reed stepped forward at the same moment. Their embrace was firm, brief, and deeply familiar between two men who hadn't seen each other in far too long.
"No," Lucien said as he let go, though his hands lingered on Reed's arms for a second longer than necessary. "Not someone else. Just my annoying brother, Alaister."
Reed's laugh echoed through the empty studio, "Well, I can be annoying too, if it makes you feel better."
Lucien rolled his eyes, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.
"Trust me," he said dryly, "you're already halfway there."
Lucien and Reed were mid-conversation, standing near the center of the studio, their voices warm with genuine familiarity. They had slipped easily into old rhythms, asking about each other's welfare, Reed updating Lucien on his latest painting, Lucien admitting (with reluctance) that he hadn't taken a real day off in weeks.
Their laughter echoed in the empty room, soft and rare. Then the studio door pushed open with abrupt force.
Alaister stepped inside, sweat clinging to his skin and a small towel draped loosely around his neck. His hair was damp, his breathing uneven, as if he'd jogged the entire length of the building. He had that unmistakable edge to him a bad-boy sharpness blended with a trace of classic charm, like someone who didn't belong in a ballet studio but somehow fit anyway.
Lucien's shoulders tensed the moment he saw him. Reed glanced over, eyebrows lifting as he took in the sight.
"Well," he said under his breath, "that explains who you thought was coming."
Alaister's gaze flicked from Lucien to Reed, a silent question in his narrowed eyes. He didn't bother hiding his mild annoyance at finding someone else there.
He ignored Reed entirely when he finally spoke. "Lucien," he said, still catching his breath. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Lucien let out a slow exhale. "Yes, I noticed. You arrived like an entire storm system."
Reed cleared his throat lightly, breaking the silence.
"Reed," Lucien said, stepping slightly forward "meet my brother, Alaister."
Alaister's chin lifted a fraction as his gaze skimmed over Reed, slow, and not entirely welcoming. There was no outright hostility, but the protectiveness was unmistakable.
Lucien knew it well; it was the same look Alaister had been giving strangers since they were kids.
Reed offered a polite nod and Alaister didn't return it. His focus snapped back to Lucien, his eyes dropping to the coat draped over Lucien's arm. "You heading out?" he asked, voice deceptively casual.
"Yes," Lucien replied. "Reed and I have lunch reservations at Miravale. We need to leave soon."
Alaister's expression barely shifted, but Lucien caught the tiny flicker the tightness that came and went too fast for Reed to notice. It was not jealousy ratjer possessiveness. The protective kind that had shadowed Lucien his whole life.
"Before you go," Alaister said, stepping closer, "I need to talk to you about the upcoming dances. The board wants a final decision on the winter showcase, and donors are already asking questions."
Lucien exhaled, a controlled release of frustration. "Alaister, we can handle that tonight. The deadline isn't until next week."
Alaister's jaw flexed. "Lucien," he said quietly and firmly, "it's important."
That was all it took. The unspoken weight between them settled like a loaded history years of surviving, rebuilding, running a company together. Lucien felt Reed watching but didn't break eye contact with his brother.
Finally, Lucien nodded. "Five minutes," he said. "No more."
Alaister accepted that with a short nod, already turning as if Lucien would naturally fall into step behind him.
Lucien hesitated only a moment before following, casting a brief glance over his shoulder at Reed an unspoken apology for the delay.
Reed stepped aside, giving them room, though Lucien barely registered him now. After that brief, low-voiced exchange between Lucien and Alaister one that left Alaister's jaw tight and Lucien's expression carefully unreadable Lucien finally made it out of the studio with Reed in tow.
Miravale sat gleaming at the corner of the district like a polished jewel. A Polish, high-class restaurant with an immaculate reputation, it offered everything one expected from a top-tier establishment: glass chandeliers dripping light like crystals, dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, and a quiet sophistication that whispered wealth rather than shouted it.
Lucien fit into the atmosphere effortlessly, he always had. Enjoying the finer things came to him as naturally as breathing an art, a habit. Reed, meanwhile, took in the surroundings with a subtle widening of his eyes, trying to absorb the elegance without looking too impressed.
A hostess greeted them the moment they stepped inside,her posture perfect, smile serene.
"Welcome to Miravale. Reservation name?"
"Lucien," he answered, offering a gentle, practiced smile that made the hostess' cheeks warm.
She guided them through the softly lit dining room toward a table by the window, the kind reserved for people Miravale considered worth impressing.
Reed leaned toward him slightly. "You make this place look like part of your natural habitat."
Lucien only hummed, smoothing the cuff of his shirt as he sat. "Well," he said lightly, "if one must suffer through lunch, one might as well do it beautifully."
Reed snorted under his breath, but there was something warm in his gaze as he looked at Lucien something curious, something quietly fascinated.