Nico glares, one of his eyes almost twitching. “I have friends.”
“Friends, or murder companions?”
“Is there a difference?” he challenges. “Would you commit murder with anyone you don’t consider a friend? Seems like a good way to get betrayed.”
“You can have friends who aren’t conspirators to homicide,” I point out obviously. “We’re friends and I don’t want to commit murder with you.”
“A pity,” Nico replies seriously.
Matteo comes out of the closet fully dressed, buttoning up his last cufflink. His suit is crisp, like it’s been waiting to be worn. It’s traditional black and white, with a long tie rather than a bow tie. Not a tuxedo, but a very dapper designer suit indeed.
“Did Armani dress both of us, then?” I ask, letting my eyes trail all the way down to his super shiny black shoes.
“Well, the suit is Brioni,” he quips. “But yes, Armani picked it out for me. What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”
“You look handsome,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s a good suit.”
“Armani will croak if he hears you refer to a ten-thousand-dollar Brionisuit as simplygood, but I won’t tell him if you won’t.”
My responding giggle is cut off by Nico.
“Are you ready to go, then? The sooner I sneak you both out, the better. The house isn’t as full of people right now, but that won’t last for much longer. I doubt your date wants to scaledown the side of the house from your bedroom window like some shitty teen movie.”
I want to correct his use of the term date, but Matteo replies to his brother before I can. And he doesn’t correct him.
“I don’t want to scale down the wall, either. I almost broke my arm the last time we tried that shit. Stupid fucking rope never cooperates for me.”
“Yeah, it’s the rope,” Nico drawls. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sneaking out of the house is surprisingly easy with Nico guiding us. We end up in the garage without issue, and neither Matteo nor I are surprised when we see Nico get in his own car to follow us.
“He’ll probably security stalk us with his little worker bees,” Matteo tells me as he pulls onto the street nearest the Moretti mansion. “But I can tell him to fuck off if he makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s okay. He’s just taking care of us in the best way he knows how.”
Matteo looks at me after the words leave my lips, his smile soft like he knows what I mean, and he agrees.
When we get to our seats, the theater is just beginning to fill up. Our box is a bit small but cozy, with comfortable chairs and space to breathe. In my experience, box seats at the ballet can be hit or miss. The privacy is always nice, but the view can vary. Ours is a great one, though. I can see the entire stage and know that we won’t miss any details while the performance is on.
When the lights dim, Matteo offers me his hand to hold, and I take it happily. I don’t know whether he wants to hold my hand, or if he simply thinks it will make me feel safe in this unfamiliar place, but I don’t care. I want to feel his warmth against my palm, no matter the reason he offers it.
I do feel safe, though; I felt safe even before our fingers became interlocked. The ballet theater full of people doesn’t make my stomach twist with anticipation, nor my heart race with anxiety. Nostalgia, paired with the protective energy that Matteo offers, provide a comfort I didn’t think possible. I’m entirely at ease as the opening act begins.
“Wow,” Matteo says under his breath, leaning forward in his seat as soon as the curtain opens. “They just jump right into it, huh?”
I fold my lips in, smiling as I mutely nod. He hasn’t seen this show before, that much is obvious. It makes me wonder who in his family secured this box, and if they often use it, since Matteo clearly hasn’t.
Dancers twirl and leap around a lavish party set, meant to represent the gardens of a medieval palace. They’re celebrating Prince Siegfried’s birthday, carefree and joyful in their movements. A traditional romantic melody transitions into one of melancholic duty as the prince’s mother informs him that he must pick a woman to make his wife at a ball the following night.
By the time the ballet has ended, almost three hours have passed. I almost expected Matteo’s interest in the show to wane as it went on, but I think he may have enjoyed it even more than I did. Though, I think I may have forgotten how much I enjoy watching ballet since I haven’t been participating in the art myself.
“You liked it, right?” Matteo asks, still holding my hand as he leads me back to the private parking area. There was a valet option, but he didn’t use it so that we could come in through the back instead of the busy front entrance.
“I did,” I agree happily. “The ballerinas were talented, and the music was lovely. I had fun.” And I did. Not even walking through what is basically an alleyway is taking away from the way the ballet lifted my mood.
“Good.” He looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. “We have a couple hours before dinner time. Is there anything you want to do before then?” We both stop walking as he asks.
“Would you mind if I went to the hotel with Uncle Mikhail for a bit? I feel okay, but I told Tiffany I would check in with her. And it might be good for me to check in with myself. Just to make sure I haven’t pushed myself too far, you know? This is the most bold activity I’ve done in a long time. Flying here, going to a public event…”
