Fortunately, the lights in the lobby dip, the chandeliers dimming as a bell chimes. A ripple of movement spreads through the crowd as people begin heading toward the velvet draped doors.
“We should take our seats, honey,” Rhett says, steering me gently.
“Of course.” I smile brightly at George and Claudia, delight buzzing through me like champagne bubbles. “See you both on Wednesday.”
As Rhett and I walk away in the opposite direction, my steps feel lighter than air. I can’t stop the words spilling out, my voice animated and giddy once we are out of their earshot.
“Did you see his face? He couldn’t believe it. And then when I said I loved opera now, oh my God, he nearly choked to death. That went perfectly. And I get to see him again on Wednesday. While you’re talking shop with Claudia, I can casually remind George of how good we were together.”
Rhett just smiles, and quietly watches me with that infuriating calm of his.
Chapter Fifteen
Pippa
Rhett and I make our way through the gilded doors into the theater. My heels sink into the plush red carpet, and the scent of old velvet and expensive perfume mingles in the air. All around us, people settle into their seats, chatting softly in a dozen languages. The atmosphere hums with anticipation.
I can’t wipe the smug little smile off my face.
But beneath my smile is something else. A tug low in my chest. George is here. And he looked at me like he couldn’t believe his freaking eyes. I keep picturing his face and grinning. It’s a great start. I’d engineered and staged that whole bump into him routine, reveled in the shock on his face, in the way his eyes trailed down my dress as if he has never seen me before. It couldn’t have gone better really. I should be floating on air, triumphant, basking in the glow of his jaw literally dropping at the sight of me in this dress. And yet, there’s a part of me that’s gutted about the whole encounter. Because no matter how flustered he got at seeing me, he’s still here with another woman, and it still stings, that thought of him with someone else. Hishand was resting on her back, the way it used to rest on mine. The thought that he might be happy. Moving on.
I tell myself I’m fine. Of course, I can’t expect sunshine and rainbows to happen without some elbow grease. The main thing is I won that round. And Wednesday will give me another chance to twist the knife, to remind him exactly what he threw away. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough to make him realize what he lost, to make him want me again. That thought is the ember I keep tucked inside of me, warm and hopeful.
Rhett steers me towards our seats, near the center of the grand circle, the view stretching out over the rows of crimson velvet chairs and gilded balconies that curve like a golden horseshoe. The huge chandelier glitters above us, a thousand crystals catching the light. The orchestra pit below us is alive with soft tuning, a cacophony of strings and woodwinds that somehow feels like magic waiting to happen.
“This is incredible,” I whisper, sinking into the plush seat.
Rhett smiles, leaning close enough that I catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. It’s nice. It smells clean, spicy, and expensive.
As I smooth my dress over my lap, the house lights dim a fraction. The crowd hushes, and the buzz of conversation lowers to a soft hum. Then, suddenly, Rhett leans toward me, his voice low, conspiratorial.
“Don’t look down. Six o’clock.”
Which of course, means I instinctively do look down. My gaze sweeps to the stalls below us, where the cheaper seats are. Rhett’s client must like him a lot to give him tickets to these seats. They are amazing seats, the best view in the house. As I look down, there, unmistakable even from this distance, is George. He is looking up. Right at me.
The air snags in my throat. He’s tipped back in his seat, his jaw tense, his eyes locked on me with an intensity thatjolts through my chest. For a split second, it’s as though no one else exists in this vast, glittering hall but the two of us. Old memories crowd in, memories of lazy Sunday mornings, whispered promises, his lips brushing the inside of my wrist …
And then Rhett moves beside me, breaking the spell. Before I can process what’s happening, his hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face toward his, and his mouth lands on mine and possessively crushes my lips.
The shock of his kiss stuns me and steals my breath. It knocks every thought out of me. His lips are firm, commanding, tasting faintly of champagne. Whoa! Even if it is staged to catch George’s attention, it feels completely and utterly real.
Then my body betrays me. Heat surges through me like a wild blaze, making my toes curl in my shoes. Raw electricity snakes through my whole body, fizzing, sparkling, and catching fire. A quiver starts between my legs, and every nerve ending starts vibrating like a tuning fork.
My mouth parts beneath his, my hand grips the fabric of his jacket. My heart is pounding so hard that I swear he must feel it against his chest. The world tilts, the chandelier blurs, and there’s nothing – nothing - except the shocking chemistry sizzling between us.
By the time he pulls back from me, the lights have lowered fully, and the curtain is stirring. I sit there dazed, my lips tingling, my breathing shallow.
What the hell was that?
No one has ever kissed me like that. Ever. Not George. Not anyone. My mind scrambles for excuses, for rationalizations. It was just for show. Just to sell the act. A performance, like everything else we’ve done. But deep inside, I know that wasn’t all it was. That wasn’t acting. That was fire. At least, on my part.
I drag my gaze back down, half dreading what I’ll see. George is staring up at me again, his expression thunderous, hisshoulders tight. I get a small amount of pleasure from knowing that I did that. That I have the power to make him feel a fraction of how I have felt these last few weeks. His date leans toward him as if speaking, though he doesn’t appear to hear a word. And for the first time since I met him, I don’t care if I’ve hurt him.
Let him look crestfallen. Let him stew. Because he hurt me first. He threw me over and found a blonde to replace me. So, fuck him. He deserves it. Right now, I can still taste Rhett on my lips, and the memory alone makes my skin tingle, and a shiver runs through me.
The overture swells, violins slicing through the air with aching beauty that feels like they are playing it just for me. Because that is the way my heart feels. It feels swollen. The curtain finally rises.
I try to focus. I really do.
