For a second, the sparkle drops from his eyes and his brow furrows, then with a straight face, he clinks his glass against mine.
‘To the most incredible woman I’ll ever know,’ he says.
Our moment is interrupted by the pilot’s voice coming over the speakers. ‘Good evening, Mr Ryans, Miss Heath. It looks like we might catch the sunset over Europe. The skies are clear all the way to Rome. We should touch down in a little over two hours. Enjoy the flight.’
‘Italy?’
Those devastating eyes are shining again alongside his smug smile. ‘It’s the only place to watch the opera without subtitles.’
I throw my head back with a giddy laugh. ‘You’re crazy.’
The pilot announces we’ve reached our cruise altitude, then Gregory rests his champagne flute on the table attached to the side of his seat. ‘Get here,’ he says in that way he does.
Without hesitation, I unbuckle my seat belt and climb onto his lap, my arms wrapped around his neck as we fly through the burnt-orange sky to Rome.
A limousine is waiting at the airport and we’re swept away to the opera house, where we’re met at the door and escorted directly to our private box. High, because it’s Gregory. Another glass of champagne is poured and small, Italian canapés are brought to the table in our box: mini caprese salads, small bruschetta, crostinis with olive tapenade.
Gregory sits with his knee pressed against mine and takes my hand as the lights fall, the band strikes up and the stage curtain rises, revealing the opening scene of a courtesan’s party. I nip his fingers in mine enthusiastically as Violetta sings for the first time.
‘She has a wonderful voice,’ I whisper.
Part way through the first act, I look back to him and find his eyes on me rather than the stage. They aren’t sparkling; they’re saying something else. It’s unsettling. I push the thought away and turn back to the stage but something in the way he looked at me plays on my mind as the tragic love story unfolds.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask him in the interval.
‘Perfect,’ he says, kissing the back of my hand.
I shuffle from my own seat to his lap and rest the palm of my hand on his cheek. Then I press my lips against his and hold them there, breathing him in, soaking up the feel of his lips on mine. ‘Thank you.’
‘No. Thank you, beautiful girl.’ He strokes a rogue hair from my updo away from my face. ‘For showing me a new way.’
Our foreheads meet, then our eyes, then our mouths. Weonly stop kissing when the lights go down for the start of act two. The curtain rises and Alfredo’s country home is revealed. I watch contentedly as the on-stage couple find each other in a space where they can be together, where their past lives are forgotten.
I feel Gregory’s breath on my neck before I hear his words. ‘Ever since the day when she said, “I want to live only for you,” I seem to live in heaven, unmindful of the world.’
I draw a deep breath and turn to him. ‘You speak Italian?’
‘Among other languages.’
‘But what about Al Italiano Meato Pasto by Gregory?’
He smirks.
‘I still have so much to learn about you,’ I say with a smile.
He squeezes my hand in his.
I pick my moment carefully and when it comes, I turn, leaning back to his ear. Pressing my cheek against his, I translate Violetta’s words on a whisper. ‘Love me, Alfredo, love me as much as I love you.’
His eyes close and his shoulders rise and fall with his breath but those three words don’t come.
One day,Gregory Ryans,one day.
Our limousine is waiting and shoots us straight back to the jet after the show.
‘You really are mesmerising, Scarlett Heath,’ Gregory says as I lie into his chest on our return flight. ‘Kiss me.’
I happily oblige, getting lost in him. His hand moves to the nape of my neck and pulls my mouth against his, making me groan, desire stirring between my legs. I slip my hand inside his blazer and feel his firm chest through the thin cotton of his dinner shirt. His tongue parts my lips and my chest lifts, pushing my breasts against him.
