Chapter 62 Camilla

• “Camillia.”
• All around the studio, reflections of me jerk in the mirror. Madame Ophelia stands at my elbow, watching me run through the warm-up exercises with her mouth pursed.
• “Yes, Madame?” I murmur, trying not to move my lips. Monsieur Paris watches us from the front of the room, his arms folded over his broad chest. Even under his long-sleeved black t-shirt, the shift and rise of his sculpted muscles is clear.