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"It was," I admit, blinking back tears. "My mom and dad helped me every step of the way. They love me more than life itself. But my uncle's decisions also made me who I am today. Growing up in an Italian family and having all these amazing opportunities in the States has all contributed to my success as an opera singer. And it's taught me not to judge someone based solely on their past."
Seeing the admiration in Philippe's eyes as he listens to me, I feel the remnants of that childhood resentment fading.
I meet Philippe's gaze again, resolve strengthening within me. "We all have chapters we'd rather keep private," I say." The past can't be changed, only accepted. What matters is who we are now." I nod slowly as I reflect on my own words.
It's true - how can I judge Philippe's background when my childhood remains tightly wrapped in unanswered questions?
Philippe's expression softens. He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine.
"You have an uncommon wisdom, my dear, a rare gift for seeing truth beneath the surface," he says. "I feel I can trust you, Tatiana, as I have trusted few others." Philippe smiles, cupping my cheek with his other hand.
His words fill me with warmth. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. "And I trust you.”
A new feeling of closeness flows between us, and I smile contentedly. At this moment, our unlikely bond feels profound. The opera house fades around us, and when I open my eyes, only Philippe remains, his piercing gaze reflecting my own.
No more words are needed. An understanding has been reached. We cannot predict what the future holds for us, but for now, this is enough.
Chapter 13
Philippe
Our conversation ebbs and flows. We talk a little more about why she likes singing and why I love listening to her.
"It's incredible, isn't it?" she mutters, looking around herself. "To imagine that you and I get to spend an evening at the Met all by ourselves.” Her emerald eyes light up with childlike excitement.
“I understand what you’re saying. It's just us in a room meant for thousands.” We look around at the dazzling lights and the empty seats, waiting to hear the proverbial pin drop.
“Thank you, Philippe, for tonight. It was beautiful in every aspect. For me, too."
I pick up my glass, finish the last sip of champagne, and place it down.
Eager to serve, Tatiana leans over the table to refill both our flutes, and just then, her corset, which I just loosened an hour or so ago, slips down her shoulder, revealing pale, freckled skin.
My breath catches as I stare at the slope of her neck, the curve of her collarbone. I ache to press my lips there, taste the salt on her skin.
"Like what you see?" Tatiana asks, her tone playful. She makes no move to adjust her corset, her eyes gleaming like a cat's in the low light.
"Very much," I reply, my voice sounding rough to my ears. I grasp her hand, running my thumb over her knuckles. "You are exquisite."
Tatiana smiles, a flush staining her cheeks. "And you are too charming for your good."
She tilts her head, studying me through lowered lashes. I find myself transfixed by the sweep of them against her skin, dark against light.
"What are you thinking?" she asks softly.
I reach out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "That I would like to get you out of that dress."
Tatiana's pupils dilate, and her lips part. Anticipation thrums through me at her reaction, praying I didn't cross a line.
I stand, offering her my hand. "Come with me."
For a long moment, Tatiana look at me. I see her desire warring with fear of being discovered in such highly regarded public premises. Then she shakes her head and whispers, "We're all alone," and places her hand in mine. Her small palm feels soft against my own.
I lead her through a door at the back of the theater into the dark maze of backstage corridors. My pulse races as I find an empty dressing room, shutting the door behind us.
In the dim light filtering through under the door, I turn to Tatiana. Her eyes are dark, her breathing quick.
"Do you trust me?" I ask her, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw.
