That’s right, he would say. That’s my girlfriend.
Except girlfriend was such a cheap word. It was too small to communicate what she was to him. Instead of flashing the phone at strangers, he smiled to himself and sent a text back.
Me: Nothing between us. :) I love you, my angel.
That was exactly what he wanted.
Nothing between them.
Just a few days before, he’d talked himself into leaving her. Talked himself into giving his grandmother’s ring back to his mom with some lame excuse as to why it should go back in her jewelry box rather than on Willow’s finger. He’d decided he would tell Willow he didn’t want to be with her because there was no way in hell she would let him leave her if she thought he still loved her. No way she would let him sacrifice himself for her.
But, he knew if he claimed he didn’t love her…she wouldn’t fight it. She’d be hurt at first, but she was strong. She would move beyond it and get her life back on track, in time. She’d be free to get the promotion she deserved. Find a new ballet she wanted to perform. Keep gaining more and more fans. Continue growing and changing and setting new goals and creating the best possible path to success.
After the conversation a few days ago—the one where he had finally decided to call it off, and where she called him on it and told him that he was it for her—he realized he couldn’t leave. Not with her already in the middle of planning their future. Together.
He wasn’t sure if it meant he would be moving to New York or if she would be moving to Bliss. That was a conversation they’d have to have together, a decision to be made together. After all, the rest of forever should suit them both.
The lights in the theater dimmed several times, the signal for everyone to take their seats. Harry’s stomach twisted nervously. This was such a huge night for her. Such an important moment. And he was so excited to be there for it. So hopeful it would go well, and suddenly terrified that Sir Sweaty Palms didn’t remember the chalk and Willow would slip or be dropped.
While Harry fought back the strange surge of nerves, the lights in the theater dimmed completely and a recorded voice came over the speakers, reminding everyone to turn off their phone and that flash photography was strictly prohibited. As the rustle of movement in the audience died down, the conductor appeared in the orchestra pit, illuminated by a single spotlight. He raised his arms and accepted the polite applause, nodding and smiling, before turning to the musicians and raising his baton.
There was a moment of pregnant silence as the entire theater readied themselves for the music. Harry held his breath, anxiously waiting. Then the conductor brought his hand down and the first, rich blend of strings and horns filled the theater.
Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet—this was the first time Harry had ever heard it live, and good God, hearing such powerful music played by the New York Symphony Orchestra was an experience he would never forget.
Goose bumps rolled across his arms and back and he shivered in delight.
He closed his eyes and lost himself in the familiar melody.
The sound of the curtain opening brought another round of excited applause through the audience. Harry opened his eyes and smiled as an energetic street scene came to life in front of him. There were harlots and beggars and sword fights and before he knew it, he forgot he was watching ballet and lost himself in the story.
And then there was Willow, looking so frail and tiny on that great big stage.
Except, it wasn’t like watching Willow at all, not the Willow he knew.
This was a child, a young girl who looked like Willow, excited to start her day and taking great pleasure in giving her nursemaid a hard time. She was quick and curious and somehow, Harry felt like he’d never met this woman before—until she smiled. Then he recognized a familiar wide grin that reminded him of the way she looked behind the wheel of his Jeep, honest and open and born of pure pleasure.
He sat back, entranced, utterly lost to the ballet. Surprised to find great waves of pleasure rolling through him as Juliet met Romeo and he recognized the way Willow looked when she saw him for the first time in Ian’s kitchen. And when Romeo first touched Juliet, Harry recognized the reverence with which he himself had first taken Willow’s hand.
As he watched the story unfold, he realized that Willow had somehow managed to infuse their story into the ballet.
He truly was watching his experience with her unfold on the stage in front of him.
He sat, breathless, during intermission; lost in a swarm of emotions he didn’t have names for.
He was proud.
Honored.
Falling even more deeply in love with that incredible woman as he watched Romeo fall in love with Juliet. He was lost in memories of his time with her, images of his own love story transposed atop the ballet. His chest heaved and his heart was full and he sat in stunned silence for more than a few moments.
“It’s a beautiful ballet, isn’t it?” asked the woman next to him.
He turned to her, not sure if he could trust his voice not to crack with the weight of his feelings. “I’m so impressed I don’t know what to do with myself.” Harry swallowed hard.
“I never miss Romeo and Juliet. And let me tell you, that girl playing Juliet might be the best I’ve ever seen. If she can keep this up, there won’t be a dry eye in the house in another hour or so. I’ve never seen so much nuance to the character.” The woman nodded as if she had the power to judge all Juliets past and present and deemed them unworthy in Willow’s presence. “She’s impressive.”
Pride choked him and all
