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Before I can respond, the orchestra launches into the overture inside the theater and Willow’s eyes go wide.
“Oh, we should hurry. I don’t want to miss a second of it,” she says, grinning up at me. “I’m so excited I seriously don’t know what to do with myself.”
I grant myself the luxury of returning her grin and say, “You tell me what you want to drink. I’ll place our order and Pierre will deliver them to our box when they’re ready. And it’s just the opening music. We still have plenty of time.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her lips pressing together as she nods. “That sounds great.”
And it does, damn it.
Chapter 11
Willow
It was just a smile.
People smile all the time, even Alphas like Maxim Thorn.
But the voice of logic is no match for the butterflies still fluttering wild wings inside me a good fifteen minutes later. I suffer the effects of Maxim’s smile long after we’re settled in our seats and the overture is drawing to a close.
He’s a beautiful man no matter what expression is currently animating his features. But Maxim when he smiles…
God, he’s…an angel.
Or a devil.
Surely, if the devil were real and in the business of wooing souls from mortal women, he would send a man like Maxim to do his dirty work.
I value my soul. A lot. But I would seriously consider mortgaging a teensy-tiny bit of it for the chance to bask in Maxim’s smile for a night. Maybe even more than a teensy-tiny bit.
The woman who wins that smile for keeps is going to be very lucky indeed. I’m starting to think the rest of the man isn’t all bad, either. He’s been almost…charming this evening.
Of course, that might just be because he thinks I was brutally attacked last night.
And I was.
I wasn’t lying about that part.
But still…I’m starting to feel guilty, and I’m not sure for what. I absolutely deserve compassion after what I’ve been through—whether Pax succeeded or not. If another woman were in my place, I would emphatically insist as much and encourage her to tell as many lies as it took to get Maxim and his people to show her the mercy she deserves.
But it’s so much easier to show others mercy.
Like so many women I know, I’m far harder on myself than I would ever be on a girlfriend.
Still, the icky feeling is bad enough that I find myself brainstorming ways I might be able to break the news of what really happened to Maxim in a way that wouldn’t end in getting back on his bad side.
Permanently.
But then, the curtain rises and Tevye takes the stage for the opening number, and I forget everything outside the world the performers are creating. They are so talented and perfectly cast. In minutes, I’m swept away in the magic. I loved every second I spent watching movie musicals with my mom and sister as a kid, but this is so much better.
The energy flowing from the stage, the shared laughter and waves of emotion that pass through the audience, the way Maxim discreetly presses his linen handkerchief into my hand when the Russians rush in and ruin the wedding at the end of Act I, and I can’t help tearing up—it’s all so much more intense than anything you get from a screen.
By the time the lights come up for intermission, I’m a wreck, but in the best way.
“So good,” I tell Maxim, sniffing and smiling and doing my best to wipe my eyes without smearing my mascara. “I can’t believe how good. It’s a completely different experience than the movie. And the actors are amazing. They’re all North Star pack members?”
“The actor playing Tevye is from the Orlando Crescent pack, but yes, the others are all ours,” Maxim says, studying my face with an almost mystified expression.
I sniff again, doing my best to put myself back together. “What? Am I ridiculous?”
