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she - harry styles 1:23 ——•—————— 4:29
"He is not good, poupée. Pick someone else." Isadore said from his seat on the bar stool. Ilyanna sipped on her Cabernet, sparing Isadore with a mere glance. "You only say this because you two fucked and he left the country. Jalousie is not a good look on you, cher frère." She says, throwing her hair behind her shoulder.
This was just a little hiccup that she knew she would face whenever her step-brother/ ballet instructor/ neighbour found out. He was very hardheaded but she did learn from him afterall, if anyone knew how to win an argument against Isadore it would be her.
"It's not jalousie. It's critique I make from watching him. Not good enough for you, he will drop you and I will kill him." He says, his cognac long forgotten now. He did not want the pest, Nicolas, dancing with his sister. It was not going to happen and he would make sure of it.
Sure, maybe he was still angry with the dancer for leaving so abruptly after what had gone down between them but this decision was not based on that. Nicolas was mediocre at best, not up to his sisters standards and Dieu knows if he's even been practicing ballet since he left a year ago. A year is a long time. Time enough for him to forget the basic ballet skills and be even less than mediocre.
"And he is American, you can find a French partner. Better for you and for me. You will ruin our image with an American partner, poupée." He said, finishing his glass of cognac and standing up. "Too bad. He is going to be my partner and we will dance together. And now you care he is American? You did not care when you fucked him." She hissed and Isadore shot her a glare.
She was treading very thin waters and if she wasn't careful this whole thing would blow up in her face. She had a plan to execute after all and pissing him off would not help her case.
Her eyes softened in the way Isadore knew all too well. She was about to fuck with his head and he couldn't even do anything to stop it. He never could. He was sure she was a witch and she learned this trick from her other witch friends. "Désolée, mon amour. I came on too hard. Nicolas is not bad, you know it and I know it. He did not get into Lyon because of luck." She said and ran her hand up his arm as he watched her cautiously. Maybe he could figure out how to crack the curse this time.
"He has been gone a year, I am sure he is bad now." He said and she smiled slyly. She knew something, he could tell. "What is it? Why are you looking like that. Crache le morceau." He said, rolling his eyes and she smiled wider. "He was in the Royal Ballet. He is not bad now, he is even better." She said smudgly, an award winning smile on her lips. "Royal Ballet? With the English?" He asked bewildered and she nodded.
He seemed to be stuck in his thoughts, so Nicolas didn't leave because of what happened between them. He left for the Royal ballet. But why didn't he tell him? It's not like Isadore would've stopped him, wait actually, he might've. He's not very fond of the English. They are very... English. But they have kind of good ballet.
