Page 67 of True Colors

“Champagne?”

“Yes.” She looks around and laughs softly. “I feel like we’re in the movie Moonstruck.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen it.”

“What?” She makes a face. “We’ll have to do a movie night soon.”

I hold her gaze as she casually makes plans for our next date. “I’d like that.”

I want to drink champagne and charm my woman, but…Dad does use the opera for networking purposes, which means everyone who recognizes me wants to talk.

“Luther, good to see you!”

“Your father said you were in San Francisco—how is the project going?”

“Are you presenting at the innovation summit next month?”

I make polite conversation, introduce Anouk simply by her name, fully aware that I’ll be getting a call from my mother by morning. Someone here will ‘just happen’ to chat with my parents and casually drop the detail that I brought a woman to the opera.

That’s how this world works.

I don’t mind—Anouk’s worth having my mother on my back.

It’s Anouk I’m worried about because every time someone acknowledges us, I feel her arm tense slightly.

“You okay?” I murmur, my lips brushing close to her ear.

“Y-yes.”

The air is heated between us.

I want her.

I am so close, I can smell her.

I wonder how she will smell aroused.

I nuzzle her neck. She gasps. I get harder.

Right then, an usher moves through the lobby, ringing a small brass bell—a gentle warning that it’s time to find our seats.

“Saved by the bell, my starling.” I brush my lips against her soft, silky cheek because I can’t resist it any longer.

“Luther.” She doesn’t stutter, but my name is almost a moan.

I love that sound. I want to hear more of it.

Will she say my name just like that when I’m inside her?

“Should we find our seats?”

“Yes.”

We step into the box, and she exhales audibly.

It feels like a small world carved out of the opera house just for us—curved walls wrapped in deep red velvet, warm wood paneling polished smooth by generations of hands. Two chairs sit slightly apart, angled toward the stage, close enough that our knees could brush if either of us shifted.

“Is this…ours?”