"Does it ever bother you?" Desmond asks, apparently reading my thoughts.
"What?"
"The security. The constant surveillance. Never being able to go anywhere alone."
I consider the question. "Sometimes," I admit. "But it's the price of who we are. I've never known anything different." I bite my lip, not wanting to bring down the mood by mentioning Siobhan again. But after her death, especially, I’ve been grateful for my security, no matter how invasive it might feel sometimes. I never want to be in a situation where I’m threatened because I wanted to be alone.
"Still," he says, his grip tightening slightly on my arm. "It must be frustrating. Never having any real privacy."
There's something in his tone that makes me glance up at him, but his expression is neutral. "It can be," I say carefully.
He chuckles. "I imagine it makes dating difficult.”
I laugh at that. I can’t help it—I’ve thought that more times than I could count. It’s the reason that I’m twenty-eight and have only ever been kissed. Nothing more than that. "You could say that."
"Well," he says, stopping suddenly and turning to face me. We're standing under a streetlight, and the golden glow makes his hair look molten, like copper slicking his scalp. "For what it's worth, I think you're worth the extra complications."
Before I can respond, he's leaning down, and I realize he's going to kiss me. It’s a good moment for it—the streetlights overhead, the snow underfoot, the stretch of street where the theater is lit up in neon just beyond us. I almost let him, on the verge of leaning in and letting him push us this tiny bit forward.
But then, a sudden flash of Elio darts across my mind. Two images, almost at once—him at seventeen, his lips brushing against mine as he kissed me for the first time… both his and mine, and the image of this morning, when he walked into my brother’s office a decade older, confident and sure of himself.
I turn before Desmond’s mouth can land on mine, moving forward as if I didn’t realize what he meant to do. But of course I did, and I think he knows it.
His hand touches my back, and I almost shrug it off. But there’s no reason for me to. He hasn’t done anything wrong. And if I wasn’t thinking about a man who walked away from me years ago, a man I can never have and whose feelings now I’m completely unaware of, I would have let him kiss me.
"Sorry," Desmond says after a moment, though he doesn't look sorry at all. "I couldn't help myself."
He takes my arm again, leading me toward the theater entrance, and I don't have time to process my feelings. The lobby is crowded with well-dressed theatergoers, and I'm grateful for the distraction.
Our seats are indeed excellent—center orchestra, close enough to see the actors' expressions but far enough back to take in the full spectacle of the production. Desmond seems pleased with himself as we settle in, and I have to admit that he's put a lot of effort into this date. I don’t know if he’s hoping this will be something more or if this is how he tries to charm every woman he takes out, but I’m impressed. I try not to show ittoomuch—I don’t want him to realize just how inexperienced I really amwhen it comes to romance, but I also want him to know that I appreciate all of this.
“This has been a wonderful night so far,” I murmur as I sink down next to him, smoothing down my skirt. “Really, the best date I could have thought of.”
“It’s not over yet.” He smiles, placing his hand over mine on the armrest between us, and I let myself enjoy the feeling of a man’s hand on mine. It’s an intimacy that I haven’t had often, and I hadn’t realized how touch-starved I was until tonight, when Desmond can’t seem to keep his hands off me at any possible opportunity.
Hadestown is spectacular. The music is haunting and beautiful, the performances are incredible, and the staging is unlike anything I've ever seen. I find myself completely absorbed in the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, their love and their loss, the Greek tragedy of it all. I stop thinking about the night and how it’s going and how I feel or don’t feel about what Desmond has said, and just lose myself in the production.
During intermission, Desmond buys us drinks and we discuss the show. He's clearly knowledgeable about theater—he’s been to nearly every show off Broadway, and plenty here in Boston and Seattle—and his insights are thoughtful and interesting. I find myself warming to him even more, glad that I agreed to this date. It feels like being on a date with someone who is my equal, someone who understands the world we both live in and its challenges, but who doesn’t seem to be trying to seduce me just for who I am. At least, I haven’t gotten that feeling yet.
"The actress playing Eurydice is incredible,” I say as I sip my champagne, enjoying the fizz of the bubbles on my tongue. “And she’s beautiful, honestly.”
"She is," he agrees. "Though I have to say, I prefer the woman next to me." He gives me a half-smile and a wink, and I shake my head, laughing through my drink.
It's a cheesy line, but the way he says it, I can’t help but think that he means it. "Flatterer."
"Just honest," he says, moving closer to me in the crowded lobby. "I'm having a wonderful time tonight, Annie."
"So am I," I say, and it's true. Despite my earlier reservations, I am enjoying myself.
The second act is even better than the first, and by the time the final curtain falls, I'm emotionally wrung out in the best possible way. The audience gives a standing ovation, and I find myself clapping enthusiastically.
"That was incredible," I say as we file out with the crowd. The theater is warm, and I’ve taken off my jacket until we get to the lobby, leaving my shoulders bare except for the thin straps of the dress. I see Desmond’s eyes graze over the bare skin, heat flickering there in the emerald green.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Desmond says, looking pleased. "The night's not over yet, though. I thought we could go for drinks."
I pause, realizing that I’m not in any hurry to end the evening. "Where did you have in mind?"
"There's a place I know. Very exclusive, very private. I think you'll like it."
