Chapter 8

The heavy velvet curtains of our private box still smelled of old money and whispered secrets, a scent that clung to my skin long after the final aria had faded into the hushed silence of the auditorium below. We had been here for three hours, though it felt like a lifetime suspended in amber, a pocket of time where the rest of the world ceased to exist and only *he* mattered. The performance was beautiful, yes, the soprano’s voice soaring like a bird breaking free from a cage, but I hadn’t watched her once. My eyes had been fixed on the man sitting beside me, on the way his thumb traced the back of my hand, on the subtle shift of his suit jacket as he leaned in to whisper something against my ear that made my knees weak and my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped thing. Now, the illusion was beginning to fray. The understated chime of the intermission buzzer had signaled the end of our sanctuary, and the reality of the grand opera house was creeping back in. I watched the other patrons begin to stir, the rustle of tuxedos and silk gowns filling the