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As they walked down the corridor toward the elevators, Marc looked outside through the plated glass window. It was pretty dark in the lot. “Maybe I should walk you outside to your car,” he said as they stepped into the elevator.
Charlotte seemed pleased at the suggestion. A little smile graced her lips. “It’s a sweet offer, but I’m parked right by the door. Plus, there’s a twenty-four-hour security guard keeping watch.”
“After the other night I just want to make sure you’re safe.” Marc felt a protectiveness rise up inside him toward Charlotte. It had been such a long time since a woman had inspired him to feel this way.
The elevator doors opened and they walked out, stopping as their paths were about to diverge. Charlotte reached up and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for being so kind, Marc. And I want you to know I’ve been praying for your father. Give me a call when you get a chance.” With a wave and a smile, Charlotte was gone, disappearing into the onyx night and leaving a void in her wake. He shook his head, amazed at how quickly Charlotte had nestled her way into his heart.
Slow down. Put the brakes on. He reminded himself. Last time he had fallen for Fancy while grieving his fiancé Gretchen’s passing. At the time it had felt like love. Now, he knew for certain it had been loneliness and the strong bonds of friendship on a collision course. He had felt so lost after Gretchen died. And angry. Fancy had been going through her own issues with Case, and when she’d extended friendship to him, he’d fallen fast.
This time was different. It was almost against all common sense. He knew the reasons why it made no sense. He could just imagine the reaction from all sides. It wouldn’t be pretty, he imagined. He’d been dodging the mean-spirited talk about him for years. But a funny thing had happened during his self-imposed exile from Savannah. He’d learned how to tap into his strength. Never again would he allow others to dictate his actions. Life had taught him—and it continued to teach him—that tomorrows were not promised. Gretchen. His father. Even hearing about Charlotte’s cousin, Rachel.
There was no way in the world Marc was going to allow others to stop him from reaching for the brass ring. If Charlotte was meant to be his, then with every ounce of strength he possessed, Marc would fight for their love.
Marc walked down the hall and quickly located his father’s room. When he walked inside everything was quiet, with the exception of the machines monitoring his father’s vital signs. His father continued to sleep peacefully. Marc stood and watched him for a moment, his heart swelling as he studied this proud, good man. If he could he would keep him in this world for years and years to come. But Marc knew it wasn’t possible. With every day, he knew time was robbing the world of his father. His body was failing him. And he knew when that moment came—that brutal, surreal moment when his father drew his last breath—the pain would be almost unbearable.
Marc sat down in the chair at the foot of his father’s hospital bed. With slumped shoulders, he put his head in his hands and quietly sobbed.
“We don’t know what tomorrow brings. So for today, I’m going to live every day with joy and hope and a mighty love for God.”
Lucien Cabron
Chapter Seven
Marc stood in front of the theater nervously walking back and forth in front of the ticket booth. A quick glance at his watch told him Charlotte was fifteen minutes late. The performance was going to start in five minutes. Perhaps Charlotte had changed her mind about going out with him this evening. Maybe she was going to stand him up.
A wave of vast disappointment passed over him. He had been looking forward to getting together with Charlotte all week. Several phone calls had finally led them to make a date that fit both their schedules. After all their coordinating it would be such a shame if she blew him off. Suddenly, his pride kicked in and he found himself getting slightly annoyed. Had he misread Charlotte? She didn’t seem like the type of woman to do such a thing.
He reached for his cell phone inside his jacket, fully prepared to give Charlotte a call.
“Marc!” At the sound of his name being called, Marc whirled around. Charlotte was briskly walking toward him with a distressed look on her face. Relief washed over him. She was here! When she reached his side she immediately began offering apologies. “I’m so sorry to be late. I must have hit every red light in Savannah. And then I couldn’t find a parking spot. The lot was full, no doubt due to this performance tonight. I should have planned my time better.”
“No worries. You’re here. That’s the most important thing,” Marc said, taking Charlotte by the arm and leading her toward the ticket collector. He pulled two tickets from the inside of his coat, then ushered Charlotte in front of him.
“I just love coming here,” Charlotte gushed. “Everything is so grand.”
She looked up at the fancy chandelier and pointed. “When I was a kid my family used to take us here to see Swan Lake every year. And without fail I would go home and ask for a chandelier for my birthday.”
Marc laughed and shook his head. “I have to be honest. I never noticed the chandelier, but I did think this red velvet carpeting was incredible.”
The usher pointed them toward their orchestra seats. Marc looked around at their plush surroundings. He loved the majesty and opulence of going to the opera. Tonight they were seeing La Boheme, an opera in four acts. Set in Paris, it told the tragic love story of Mimi and Rodolfo. This production starred two fabulous opera stars—Chiarra Lovell and Franco Burletto.
Once the production started, the room fell into a hush. The audience was mesmerized by the brilliant scenes unfolding before their eyes. Several times Marc saw Charlotte wipe a tear from her face. La Boheme was his favorite opera. No matter how many times he saw it, the opera blew him away due to the storyline and the music. This time was no exception.
At intermission, Marc led Charlotte to the concession area. He ordered two glasses of red wine for them and a snack of pretzels and chocolate for them to munch on.
“So, what do you think? Are you enjoying it?” Marc asked, taking a sip of his wine.
Charlotte sighed. “It’s beautiful. And haunting. And I’m not sure if my makeup is smeared or not, but I shed a few tears. You probably heard me sniffling.”
“Your makeup looks beautiful. And so do you, Charlotte. That dress is amazing.” Charlotte was wearing a red dress that came down to her knees. It was cinched in at the waist with a little black belt. She was wearing black high-heeled shoes. They showed off her shapely legs. In homage to the opera, she was wearing black gloves that came up to her elbows. He didn’t know a lot about fashion, but he knew she looked like one of the models who made their living on a runway.
“Thanks. I like dressing up to go out, although I never really know if I’m a hit or a miss. For all I know people could be citing me as a fashion don’t.” Although Charlotte’s tone was joking, Marc had the feeling she was serious. A few times now she had made comments about herself that indicated low self-esteem. Not for the first time Marc wondered where it came from. What was it all about? Charlotte was lovely in every way. Had someone in her life caused her to believe otherwise?
“You’re lovely. You need to start believing that. And when someone compliments you on looking wonderful, just say thank you.” Marc reached for her hand and twined it through his own. He felt Charlotte squeezing his hand. She didn’t say a word, but she nodded her head. The lights began to flicker on and off, signaling the end of intermission. He escorted her back to their seats, never letting go of her hand along the way. Charlotte’s hand felt so right joined with his own.
As the lights went out and act three began, Marc cast a glance over at Charlotte. In profile she was gorgeous. Her nose had a regal shape and the way she held her head reminded him of marble statues in museums. She had a look of wonder etched on her face. He couldn’t help but grin. La Boheme tugged at his heart strings each and every time, and from the looks of it, Charlotte had been deeply transported into the world of the eighteen hundreds in Paris, France.
