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They were no match for this predator. If he was hunting for her, which he wasn’t, she would not be easy prey. Even with that assertion, the fluttering didn’t stop. It increased.
"Can I ask where we’re going?”
“Via del Corso.”
Lark’s feet tripped over themselves, but Omar caught her and brought her to rights.
“The Corso?” she breathed. “That’s the Rodeo Drive of Rome.”
“Well, you're not properly attired for our plans.”
"Are you trying to Pretty Woman me?"
He laughed. "I'll be Richard Gere-ing myself as well. I need a tux for where we're going. A simple suit and tie won’t cut it at Teatro Sistina.”
“The Sistina? Isn't the Balletto di Roma in residence there?"
"Oh, good. I don't have to twist your arm."
Lark tried to swallow down her incredulity. It wouldn’t pass her throat. So, she let it out. “I can’t believe I get to go. I’ve always wanted to see them."
"It's opening night, and I have tickets." Omar held up a golden envelope.
"Are you trying to impress me?"
"Honestly, no. I’m trying to relax, and I’d like to do that with you. Because I don’t have to work hard with you.”
Lark stopped arguing. Instead of fighting or trying to find a reason to flee, she climbed the steps to the private plane. She strapped in and settled in for the adventure.
Two hours later she walked out of a couture shop in an exquisite ball gown of midnight blue with silver sparkles. She looked and felt like magic.
Stepping over the threshold of the shop, she heard a purring sound off to the side. She turned to find Omar in a tux. The next low rumble of appreciation came from her throat.
Lark was playing with fire and not the fake flames from a magic shop. She’d felt the spark between them. At some point while crossing the sea, that spark had caught.
Inside the private box of the theater, the blaze grew cozy as they both leaned forward when the dancers leaped and twirled onto the stage. At some point during the second act, their hands found their way to each other. She wasn't sure who'd reached for whose first. It may have been mutual.
In any case, the flame had ignited to something she could no longer control. It was so bright that Lark was sure everyone in the theater could see it. But no one turned to them as the house lights came on announcing the end of the performance.
"You're right," he said, as they sat in the emptying theater.
“Of course, I am," she said. "About what?"
"If we dated it would reflect badly on both our careers."
"Oh."
Lark’s chin lowered to her chest. His fingers went limp. But he didn’t loosen his grip. His palm tightened around her hand.
"I'd be labeled a predator and would never get another true talent. Bad press and tabloids would outshine your talent."
"Yeah." Her breath caught in the uncertainty of where he was going with this.
"So, we both know what has to be done."
Omar turned to her. Those broad shoulders boxed her into the private alcove of their seats. His dark gaze was as sharp as throwing daggers. His eyes pinned her to the back of her chair.
“We lie about us,” he said.
