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Soon.
After the second act is over, we blend into the well-dressed crowd and make a slow exit from the opera house. I hold her hand as we take the steps, the length of her dress gripped in her other hand.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to witness a character die since season four ofGame of Thrones.” She shakes her head. “I mean, what a tool!”
The comment earns her a snooty look from an older woman draped in diamonds who walks slightly ahead of us. But Ava is undeterred.
“A moral to the story, indeed! I mean, he treated those women like a game. They were nothing but objects to him.” She tilts her face up to me and I can’t help but smirk at the angry glitter in her eyes. “Don’t you think? Getting dragged to hell by a statue of your murder victim hardly seems enough. I want a sequel.”
“A sequel?” I chuckle.
“Yes,Don Giovanni Suffers in Hell for All Eternity. It’s got quite a ring to it, I think.”
Another woman turns around and nods. “Hear, hear.”
I slip an arm around her waist and run my fingers over the beading of her dress. It feels disarmingly easy, being with her. And it’s one thing I never expected at all: fun. Ava has a sense of humour that calls to me, she’s unafraid to speak her mind and she holds her own against me...something I don’t encounter very often.
The crowd moves slowly, and eventually we make it down the last few steps to where ushers hold open the doors. We’re among the last to leave. A warm, balmy breeze skates over us. It’s easy for a fraction of a second to think this is a night out between lovers.
But a set of flashes goes off right in our faces, and I hit the hard ground of reality with a spine-jolting thud. I knew the PR team was going to have something planned, some kind of media presence. After all, the point of being with Ava is to be seen, even if I prefer everything we do when no one’s watching.
“Who’s this lovely lady?” A man with a British accent holds his phone out, and another man beside him has a camera pointed in our faces. There are a few others, with cameras and smartphones pointed in our direction. The other theatre guests are looking at us to see what the commotion is. This isn’t real news, just a bunch of tabloids and gossip websites looking for clickbait opportunities.
“Is she your fiancée?”
A stone settles in the pit of my gut and I wonder if this whole thing is a giant mistake. I feel Ava seize up beside me, drawing closer—which might make it look like we’re a team, but I feel how uncomfortable she is.
You dragged her into this.
“Yes, Ava and I are engaged.” I sound stiff. Like a robot doing a poor imitation of a human.
After everything I went through with my parents, I’m an intensely private man. That’s why I’ve resisted Ava’s questions and why I’ve always resented having to court the media. It makes me feel like a piece of meat. Like nothing is truly mine.
And worse, now I’m spreading that awful experience to a sweet, joyful woman who did nothing worse than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Does this mean you’ve broken things off with your brother’s wife?” A burly man with a French accent steps forward, his phone in one hand.
“I’ve never been in a relationship with Lily Moretti.” The words come out through clenched teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
“How do you feel about getting married to a man who’s sleeping with his brother’s wife?” The British guy steps toward Ava, blocking her path.
Ava’s eyes flick to me and for a moment I’m worried that she might be intimidated by all this. But instead her gaze is hard and glittering. She’s furious and it radiates off her in glorious waves.
“No comment,” she says, meeting the man’s intense stare.
“Do you need his permission to speak, love?” The guy chortles, egging her on. “Are you his puppet?”
Now even more people are watching. Passersby pause on the street to watch the sordid affair. Heat blooms in Ava’s cheeks.
“How dare you.” She balls her hands by her sides. “All we wanted was a romantic evening out, and you’re trying to ruin that by perpetuating false rumours so you can sell advertising. It’s despicable.”
No,I’mthe despicable one. My team set this up. I knew what we’d face, and I allowed her to walk straight into shark-infested waters. None of the men before us look even remotely admonished. Why would they? They’re soulless creatures. Relentless vultures.
I need to get her away from this.
I’ve made a terrible mistake. Marc will never believe me, and the press won’t let go of the affair because it’s more salacious than anything else I can offer them. Maybe I’ve reached the point of no return... I’ll never live this down. And all I’ve done is make Ava suffer.
My hand tightens around hers, and I attempt to lead her down the steps. But she digs her heels in. Literally.
