They reached the entrance, and they gave their names to the doorman. They were given tickets and shown to the ambassador’s box. Once they were seated, she scanned the room. There wasn’t much to tell about the people there to see the performance. They were all dressed in finery, and almost all of them fit the ideal German citizen, according to Adolf Hitler. They were mostly blond, as well as a few people with hair that various shades of red. She couldn’t help wondering if perhaps some might be Jews with dyed hair. They would do what they could to hide in plain sight. It sickened her they had to do all that to stay alive and be treated like humans should. The entire situation was just wrong in so many ways.
Anya turned to Mr. Jones. “Tell me something about yourself.”
He lifted a brow, and his lips twitched a little. That hint of a smile gave her hope. He wanted to talk, and that was all that mattered to her. “Haven’t I already done so?”
“Have you?” She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t recall.”
“I admitted where I’m from,” he reminded her.
She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s nothing. I want you to tell me something personal.” Anya leaned a little closer. “Something I can’t learn from anyone else but you.”
He turned away from her and studied the crowd. Had she pushed him too far? She wanted to know more about him, and the only way to do that was to ask questions and urge him to open up to her. Maybe if she told him something about herself, he’d see it as a peace offering. But what could she say that would be safe? She wanted to be honest, be Anya, and still not give herself away as not being Ana. “I love poetry.” He didn’t acknowledge her. “My favorite poem is by Tennyson.” She closed her eyes and quoted her favorite verse from “Maud.”
“?Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after,
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow,
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.’”
He turned toward her and stared as if he had never seen her before. Had she blundered? Her stomach fluttered as she waited for him to say something. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to like her until that moment.
“Tennyson?” He shook his head and then sighed. “I like poetry too. He’s good, but I prefer Keats.” Then he did something she never would have expected. He leaned over and whispered a line from one of Keats’s love poems, “?Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine.’”
She shivered as her body came alive. His husky tone made her warm all over, and she wanted to lean into him. She turned her head and met his gaze. There was heat there. Hewasattracted to her. There was no denying that anymore. They both felt something, and it should terrify her, but instead vibrate with need.
They were mesmerized with each other, and the spell didn’t break until the lights went low and the curtains were raised. Even then, they didn’t look away until the first notes of the opera filled the theater. Anya made herself glance away from him and at the stage. If she didn’t, she would have kissed him, and that would not have gone well. They were in public, and she was supposed to be engaged. Edward Wegner would have her head if she ruined his daughter’s reputation. She took a deep breath and made herself focus. Maybe, sometime later, when they were alone in a private place, she could explore what this had all meant. Now was not that time, but soon, she promised herself.
