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The opulence inside is overwhelming. The photos I’ve seen don’t do it justice. I can’t help but stare at the golden pillars and detailed ceiling paintings. Maxime steers me to the Royal Box, the best seats in the house. We’re barely seated before the first curtain call sounds.
I gasp when the curtains rise to reveal the set of a scene in Egypt. The life-size sphinx and pyramid look so real I’m transported to a different place and time. When the opera starts, I forget about Maxime for a moment. It’s Nabucco, goosebumps-worthy and incredibly sad. I loathe to admit I love every minute. When I dare to turn my head in Maxime’s direction, I catch him watching me with undisguised fascination, as if my reaction is the real attraction. It makes me feel like a monkey in a zoo.
During intermission, he gets me a glass of freshly squeezed lemon juice with mint. I eye the glass of wine he sips. I could do with more alcohol courage. Too soon, the beautiful performance comes to an end.
Gautier and Benoit stand guard at the entrance to our box when we exit. Maxime says something to Gautier in French, who nods and leaves. Benoit stays behind, following in our footsteps.
“Do you always have protection?” I ask.
Maxime places his hand on the small of my back to steer me down the stairs. “Yes.”
“Why? Because your family is involved in criminal activities?”
He glances around and says in a lowered voice, “Because we’re powerful.”
“That makes you a target?”
“Always.” He brushes his thumb over a vertebra. “You have to fight to get to the top, and then you have to fight twice as hard to stay there. There’s always someone eager to take your place.”
His touch makes me shiver. “Does being at the top matter so much?”
“Yes.” His voice is filled with conviction. “In this world, only the strongest survive.”
I want to say it’s a cynical outlook, but we’ve arrived at the cloakroom. He gets my coat and makes sure I’m covered before leading me to the car. His attention is unsettling. He’s behaving like the perfect gentleman, but I know who he truly is.
I expect us to go back to the hotel, but Gautier pulls up in front of a small but cozy-looking restaurant. Surely, we’re overdressed. When I mention it to Maxime, he only laughs.
Once inside, I understand why Maxime wasn’t fazed. We’re the only customers. A man in his late fifties pushes through a swing door to greet us. I get a glimpse of the kitchen through the open door. Meat is sizzling on a grill and something is bubbling in a pot. An aroma of oregano and garlic fills the air.
“Max.” The man slaps him on the back and says something in Italian.
Maxime replies, after which the man addresses me in English. “Welcome to my humble restaurant. I will do my best to satisfy your appetite. I’m Matteo, but you can call me Teo.”
I smile stiffly, my nerves getting the better of me. “Thank you.”
Teo leads us to a small veranda where a table with a crisp white tablecloth is set with crystal and silverware. The terrace is encased in glass, keeping the cold out while allowing a view over the canal. A creeper grows over the trellis, and glass balls with tea candles dangle at different heights from the ceiling. It’s breathtaking. With the moon hanging low over the water between the buildings, it’s picture perfect.
Teo seats us, then bustles off and returns with olive bread and tapenade.
“I thought you’d be more at ease with an informal setting tonight,” Maxime says when Teo is gone.
I glance at the empty tables. “You booked out the whole place?”
“It’s more intimate, no?”
Intimate isn’t where I want to go. When I toy with the stem of my glass, Maxime asks, “Thirsty?”
I nod.
He serves sparkling water for me and wine for himself.
“Is there a reason I’m not allowed to drink wine?” I ask.
“A good one.”
“That is?”
His eyes darken. “I want you lucid tonight.”
My stomach flips. He wants me to remember our first time.
Teo saves me from a response by arriving with a selection of small dishes.
“I thought we’d just nibble,” Maxime says, “as you may be too nervous for a heavy meal.”
His seductive accent chills me to the bone. His insight sets me further on edge. I don’t want him to know what I think or feel. Especially, not what I feel.
He leans closer, his gaze sharp and predatory. “I can make it very good for you, Zoe. All you have to do is relax. I’ll take care of everything.”
My cheeks heat, as Teo is still busy shifting the dishes around to fit everything on the table.
When Teo is gone again, Maxime drops the lustful tone and talks about the opera while he serves me. Like the night he took me to Seven Seas, he proves how skillful he is at the art of making conversation, keeping it light while the stone in my stomach is heavy and I don’t have words.
