The stage is a feast for the eyes with ornate sets painted like oil masterpieces, actors in sumptuous costumes from times gone by. The music rises and falls, carrying me on waves of sound so powerful they press against my chest.
But my mind is fractured. Half of me is still stuck in that kiss, replaying it on a loop, cataloguing every sensation from the press of Rhett’s lips to the way his hand lingered against my cheek to the shocking hunger he aroused in me. That was unexpected. I never thought I would ever feel anything like that in my life. I thought I was into safe and dependable. Here is danger, and I’m openly flirting with it. Even my pulse hasn’t settled yet. My body is humming, restless, alive in ways I hate to admit.
The other half of me keeps darting back to George. I could never give him up. Not after I’ve invested so much time and energy into him. Certainly not for the scent of danger, and a fling with a foreigner. Rhett will finish his stint in London and go back to America and then, what will I do? Every so often,I risk a glance down at George. Sometimes he’s watching the stage. Sometimes he’s sneaking a look up at me. Our eyes catch once, briefly, before I snap mine away, my heart clenching with a bittersweet ache. And guilt. I’ve never been unfaithful to him. Not even my thoughts … until now.
Rhett shifts beside me, his knee brushes mine, his hand resting warm on the armrest between us.
The soprano launches into an anguished aria that soars like something unearthly. It’s not the same as listening to the radio or a music player. Her voice fills the hall, raw with passion, climbing higher and higher until I swear the walls themselves must be vibrating with the sound. A shiver races down my spine, and unexpected tears prickle in my eyes. I’ve read the storyline in English. Just like me, she too is torn between two men.
I glance at Rhett, and he’s watching me instead of the stage. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and surprise, but soft, too. Like he’s pleased I’m moved.
I quickly look away, flustered and confused by my reactions to Rhett.
The act unfolds, all tragedy, love, and betrayal, and though I miss chunks of the story because it’s in Italian and I’m still wrestling with my own traitorous thoughts. I catch enough to be swept along. There’s a grandeur to it, an unapologetic intensity that makes my own life feel suddenly smaller. Safe and passionless.
When the curtain falls for the last time, and the audience erupts in a thunderstorm of applause, I clap frantically too, my palms tingling. I feel breathless as if I’ve run a race. I turn to Rhett, my lips parting, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“That was … I don’t even have words. Incredible. Beautiful. I … I think I’ve fallen in love with opera.”
His smile is slow, smug, as if he’s won something. “And it just took one evening to convert you.”
I laugh, shaking my head, though inside I’m still reeling. From the performance. From the kiss. From the jealous way George looked at me. From how tempted I was by the scent of danger, but rose above it.
Maybe this whole plan is working better than I imagined. Or maybe it’s spiraling completely out of my control.
Chapter Sixteen
Pippa
I stare at my reflection in the mirror and adjust the strap of my dress for what must be the tenth time. It’s one of those outfits that toes the line between classy and dangerous, a midnight blue cocktail dress that clings like liquid against my skin. The neckline is modest enough to appease the sophisticated part of me, but the back plunges scandalously low, revealing more skin than I’d usually show.
Silver strappy heels with little diamantes add the final touch, catching the light each time I shift my weight. My hair is down and brushing my shoulders tonight, and my makeup is bolder than normal: smoky eyes and berry red lips. I think I look good. Maybe even better than good. I hope I look like the kind of woman George will regret letting go. That thought warms me for exactly two seconds before a pang of nerves sets in.
I start pacing the floor of my apartment.
The clock ticks slowly toward seven o’clock. Rhett will be here any minute, and I’ll have myself all worked up at this rate. I need a distraction. I grab my phone and scroll through mycontacts. My thumb hovering over Lucy’s name. Should I? I hit dial. Lucy picks up on the third ring.
“Tell me that you’re wearing something fabulous,” she says, skipping the hello.
I glance at the mirror again before I leave the bedroom and head to the living room. “I think so. I’m wearing my midnight blue dress, you know, the backless one. And the silver heels that Mom gave me last Christmas.”
Lucy lets out a whistle. “The whole shebang, then.”
“Well, I had to pull out all the stops. This might be my last chance.”
“Girl, he’s going to fall at your feet. And by he, I don’t mean George. I mean, George probably will too, but he’s not the important one.”
I sink onto the sofa and twist a strand of hair around my finger. “About that. I … er … kissed Rhett.”
The shriek nearly bursts my eardrum. “You what? When? How? Tell me everything.”
I lower my voice instinctively, though no one else is here. “It happened at the opera. Before the curtain went up. He just … he just kissed me out of nowhere. And Lucy, it wasn’t just any old kiss. It was like he was Clarke Gable and I was Vivian Leigh fromGone with the Wind. I almost swooned. I barely saw the first act because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“Oh my God, Pippa,” Lucy exclaims, her voice high-pitched and excited. She sounds almost giddy, like she’s unwrapping Christmas presents rather than a bit of gossip. “So, it’s real then? This chemistry thing you kept pretending wasn’t real?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No. It’s not real. It’s new. That’s all. Everyone knows Americans are better kissers, but lust doesn’t last. George is my constant. He’s dependable, he’s … he’s my soulmate.”
Lucy groans. “Your soulmate who is currently dating braless Claudia of the Emerald-Gown? Babe, if you had Rhett in your life, it would be a case of George who? Trust me. Stop pining after the ghost of relationships past.”
