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“You look beautiful,” he said quietly. He pulled me against him and kissed me gently. “And you smell wonderful.”
“I was hoping you might say that.”
“It’s becoming increasingly difficult to think about anything else.”
He stepped back and offered me his arm. I took it and together, we started walking.
The night felt cool against my skin as we crossed the grounds. Light shone through the opera house windows, warm against the night sky. There were people gathered outside, the hum of excitement in the air as they waited to go inside and take their seats. Alexander and I walked through the doors.
The corridors were filled with quiet conversation, people greeting Alexander as we passed. I watched the way he moved through his building, entirely at ease. There was something thrilling in knowing that a man this composed had said my name like it was the only word he had left.
We ascended the stairs toward the Blackwood Box. It wasn’t until we stepped inside that I recognized it as the illuminated box I had noticed on movie night.
“Were you here on movie night?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “Yes.”
So it had been him. The faint unease I remembered from that night suddenly seemed almost funny.
Below us, I spotted Charlotte. She was seated on the aisle, the seat beside her empty, in one of the best areas of the house. I couldn’t help but smile. Apparently, whoever kept leaving recital tickets in Charlotte’s mailbox had exceptionally good taste in acoustics.
Alexander followed my gaze. “What is it?”
“I’m just happy she made it.”
The lights dimmed before he could ask anything further. The orchestra took the stage precisely on time. The first notes rose, and the audience fell silent.
The selections from Verdi’s Otello carried an intensity I hadn’t expected. The tenor Charlotte had spoken so highly of was extraordinary, his voice filling every corner of the opera house with effortless precision. When the first half concluded, I understood exactly why Georg had tried relentlessly for three years to bring him to Blackwood Hall.
Somewhere in the second aria, my attention drifted from the stage. Alexander sat beside me, his gaze forward, apparently absorbed. His hand had come to rest over mine on the armrest at some point I hadn’t noticed, and now that I had, I couldn’t notice anything else. The warmth of his palm. His thumb moving along the side of my finger, so light I doubted he knew he was doing it. I turned my eyes back to the stage, wondering how something so small could make me this happy.
We made our way down to the foyer during intermission. We had stopped to speak with the Director of Research when Marcus approached.
“Alexander, may I have a word?”
I wandered only a few steps away, content to admire the portraits lining the walls while I waited. When I glanced back, there was a tension in Alexander’s shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
Someone stopped beside me.
A woman in a ruby-red gown stood there, the dress clearly tailored for her. Blonde hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder. Gold earrings caught the light beside her face, a champagne flute held loosely in one hand. She studied me for a heartbeat. Something almost like a smile crossed her face, though there was something about it I couldn’t quite read.
“You seem very happy here.”
“I am,” I said.
“I’m glad.” She inclined her head politely before disappearing into the crowd as naturally as she had appeared.
Alexander returned. “Ready?”
“Always.”
We returned to the box and the music began again.
* * *
The performance ended at half past nine to resounding applause.
It seemed everyone was reluctant to let the evening end. Conversations continued on the grand staircase and in the corridors. I saw Charlotte in a discussion about the tenor, and it looked as though she might be there until morning. Marcus was standing at the main opera doors, watchful as guests passed him.
