“Now that this is sufficiently awkward,” I say with a little laugh, “let’s head inside.”
Colton rubs his hand across his brow and gestures for me to go ahead. Inez and Tomasso, who haven’t stopped talking since they met on the sidewalk, have almost reached the entry gate, and the two of us fall in step behind them on our very platonic, not at all uncomfortable friend outing.
Coltonand I both gasp when we enter the ruins, for very different reasons.
I’m blown away by the magnificence of it. When you see an opera in a theater, the stage design is elaborate. Intricate backdrops and gigantic moving set pieces to complement how massive the story is.
But not here. Why design an elaborate backdrop when it’ll never be able to outdo the grandeur of the Baths of Caracalla? Instead, there’s a simple, flat stage with a few props to set the scene, and it’s the most glorious set I’ve ever seen.
Colton, on the other hand, is not amused.
He runs both hands up into his hair. “The stage isonthe ruins! What are they doing? They’re going to damage the integrity of the site!”
“Calm down,” I say with a laugh. “The stage is temporary and sits above the ruins so they don’t get damaged.”
“I’m looking right at it! It’sonthe Baths!”
“The magic of the theater,” I say with a flourish. “I promise you, proper precautions have been taken.”
“I don’t see how it's worth the risk,” he mumbles.
“Poor Colt,” I say teasingly, and his scowl fades to a soft smile. “Let’s find our seats.”
Inez and Tomasso have already made their way there and are talking with their heads bent together. I don’t think they even look at the stage. What a waste.
Colton’s still vibrating with caffeinated energy when the sun fully sets and the show begins. I can’t stop myself from glancing his way every few minutes, but he sticks to his word, staying awake and ripping his paper program to pieces.
We settle back into our seats for the third act, and my whole body tightens in anticipation ofNessum Dorma, arguably the most epic tenor aria ever written. Prince Calaf stands in the middle of the stage, singing of his love for Princess Turandot and how he’ll win her hand and her love. It’s visceral, the type of all-consuming music that made me fall for the opera in the first place.
As the lastvinceròechoes off the ruins, I look toward Colton with tears in my eyes, only to find his head tipped forward, completely passed out. I laugh, the sound swallowed up by the thundering applause that he blissfully sleeps through.
He’s going to feel like crap if he sleeps like that, so I lightly tiphis head to the side so it settles on my shoulder and ignore the squeeze in my chest that feels eerily similar to the way the tenor’s performance made me feel. Colton stays like that for the rest of the show, sleeping peacefully through pithy recitatives and the resounding chorus and a death so heart-wrenching it has me crying again.
As the opera ends and everyone gets to their feet for the well-deserved standing ovation, I nudge Colton.
“Colt,” I say quietly. “The show’s over.”
He tilts his head, looking up at me with a sleepy smile, then snuggles back into my shoulder.
I chuckle, and shake him more forcefully. “Time to go.”
He sits up suddenly, blinking around at the other attendees, still clapping enthusiastically around us. “Son of a bitch!”
Now free from the weight of Colton’s head, I stand and join in the applause. “Now we know six espressos aren’t enough.”
“I tried,” Colton says, standing up, too.
I peek over at him. He looks genuinely upset, like this was a test he failed when really it helped something settle into place for me. We’re more than an—admittedly incredible—night. Colton and I are fourteen years of history, love, and support. A couple awkward conversations can’t strip away all of that. I won’t let it.
“You did better than usual,” I say with a smile. “But you know what this means?”
He rolls his eyes, but his dimple pops. “What are you going to make me watch this time?”
“The modern-day classicGet Over It.Tomorrow night. No complaining allowed,” I say with mock sternness.
Colton’s dimple pops. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
19
