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The chords are about to come to an end, and I enslave myself to Violetta's expression of her desire to live and seek a life of revelry and pleasure. This is the perfect song to end tonight with since it reminds me of the first night I met Philippe.
The debauchery we indulged in that night, the pleasures we sought, the things I witnessed. Violetta's wildest dreams happened in Philippe's world. Dark, dangerous, underground.
The music swells, and I reach for the high notes, feeling the constriction of my costume as my lungs expand. The corset bites into my ribs, making it hard to draw a full breath. I gasp slightly, trying to gulp in the air without breaking the lyrical line.
The heavy brocade skirt weighs me down, the stays of the corset rigid and unyielding. I feel faint and lightheaded, still pushing my voice to its limits, though my body protests. Just get through this aria, I tell myself. You can do this.
I hit the final soaring note, and it wavers, my tight corset squeezing the last bit of breath from my lungs. As the note fades, I sway slightly, spots dancing before my eyes.
"Again," I hear the lone wolf whisper, his voice echoing through the empty chamber.
"Philippe," I gasp, my eyes on him as I notice he's just opening his. He stands on his feet when he notices me swaying.
Philippe leans forward, brow furrowed with concern as he jumps to his feet and strides towards me from his parquet box seat. "Tatiana, are you alright?" he asks, getting up on the stage. "I should not have pushed you to sing encore after encore when you're so very exhausted. But I see my desire not to be alone this evening has taken a toll."
He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder. "Come, let's get you settled." His voice is kind and understanding.
"No," I mutter back, taking his hand and walking down the stage and past the orchestra pit with his support. "I wanted to sing every word for you until I couldn't sing anymore."
“Foolish girl,” he mutters under his breath. I allow him to guide me to the box where he’s set up.
My body still trembling from the intensity of my performance, I focus on slowly regaining my breath. From a low table set with glasses and an ice bucket, Philippe hands me a glass of water. I sip it gratefully, feeling the cool liquid soothe my dry throat.
"That was magnificent, Tatiana," Philippe says. "But it seems your costume caused you some distress. Here, let me help."
Before I can protest, he moves behind me and ever so carefully gathers my long hair, sweeping it over my shoulder to expose myback. A shiver goes down my neck and spine at the thought of his lips being so close to my neck. If only...
His fingers find the laces of my corset. Tenderly, he begins to untie them. I feel the constricting garment slacken slightly with each tug of the laces, my ribs expanding as I'm able to take deeper breaths.
Philippe is so gentle, so careful not to overstep any boundaries. And yet, this simple act feels far more intimate and scandalous than if he had acted improperly. I lower my eyes, confused by my own emotions. His fingers accidentally touch my bare skin, and it feels both illicit and alluring.
"There, is that better?" Philippe asks, tying off the laces in a comfortable but still modest position.
I turn back around to face him, the tightness in my chest finally easing. "Yes, thank you," I say softly.
Philippe smiles and comes around to the low table. “Some champagne, Tatiana?”
I nod, and he pours each of us a flute. I sink into the plush velvet chair, completely at ease in his presence.
“Well deserved,” he whispers, clinking his glass with mine. His face is only inches away, and I notice tiny gold flecks in his blue irises. I catch myself staring and look away, suddenly shy.
He gives a light chuckle and sits back. I wonder what brought him here tonight, what thoughts or memories trouble his mind enough to make him seek my company. There is a lingering sadness in his eyes. I want to understand.
To offer the same compassion he has shown me. How can I explain that I sang for him because I wanted to and not because I felt obliged in any way?
“You are, without fail, the most soulful singer I have heard performing live,” he mutters. “I pushed you too hard, however.”
“No, Philippe,” I protest anew. “I needed to sing for you. After all the strings you pulled to make tonight happen, it appears you needed a distraction.” I venture, “May I ask why you called on me tonight? Is everything alright?”
He pauses, looks away, then back at me. "I did not wish to be alone tonight. I was feeling...restless. Your voice has a way of soothing my soul that nothing else can match."
I flush slightly at the compliment. His words warm me, an antidote to the chill of the opera house. I realize I feel the same way about his company. The connection between us runs deeper than I realized.
“Philippe,” I mutter. “You only had to ask. This anonymity,” I gesture around us to the empty auditorium, “the incredibly generous check, is all quite unnecessary. I will have a word with Martin and see it returned to you. Had I known it was you –”
“Shh, Tatiana,” he urges, leaning closer and lingering his finger over my lips. At this moment, I want to reach out and give it a nip. “Never mention it again. Your talent deserves all a man can afford to pay.”
“But Philippe, it’s you…” I whisper.
