“There’s more?” I ask.
He grins. “Well, I did hire a sitter...”
This is already so romantic. He’s pulling out all the stops tonight. “What do you have in mind?” I ask.
He motions to my plate. The only thing that’s left is the oil. “You’ve got a little taste of the food and wine. Once we’re done with our glasses, a little entertainment will be necessary. Two tickets to the Ballet. Swan Lake. Row M, center orchestra. Best fucking seats in the house,” he says.
My face tightens with more excitement than I can take. I don’t know a thing about ballet, but I’ve always wanted to go.
Marc gives me a look before I inhale the rest of my wine. I’m tipsy and ready to be showered with love.
The chef responds for me. “You are one lucky lady.”
Unable to contain my excitement, I bubble over. Before I can stand, Marc sweeps me off my feet. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I can’t even answer him. Before I know it, he’s running through the exit, through the loud and disorderly crowd in the lobby, to the parking lot. When we get to the limousine, he sets me down and kisses me. I’m leaning against the car door, behaving like I love him.
Maybe I do.
One thing is for certain. I think I’m beginning to love Valentine’s Day…
Marc
We’re having the time of our life.
What first started off as a sabotaged date with Ali, turned into one hell of a night. She could have gone off on me for what Sandra did. Instead, she was honest about her feelings and played no games. The dinner went off without a hitch.
That’s part of the problem…
Every day I seem to fall further and further into Ali’s spell. Some days, it’s her eyes. At night, I find myself staring at her lips, endlessly drinking her in. She has a wonderful heart, and her style is off the charts. I knew she’d be a good choice for the shoot. Jim’s going to fucking love her.
I’m lying to myself if I think this is really going to work. Something that starts with so much tension can’t be resolved with ease. She’s been calm about everything so far, but the competitive woman I met at the dog breeder’s home a week ago must be simmering underneath the surface, waiting for one fuck up on my behalf. What’s she going to say or do tomorrow when she finds out?
I can’t let that happen...
She’s never been to a ballet before, so the excitement waters down my anxieties about tomorrow. A variety cast of characters are chatting it up in the lobby. Among men other wealthy debutants, trillionaire tech bozo Zach Rochester stands in the corner with some yes-men that laugh at every joke he tells. It’s pathetic, and I steer her in the other direction, despite her obvious curiosity.
We get a few more drinks. Then we get a few more. By the time the show starts, I’m walking funny. The first piano notes ring out with the orchestra, and the show begins.
Ali leans against me, angling out of her chair to kiss my cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day. This was really thoughtful,” she whispers.
I kiss her back. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ali.”
Halfway through the show, my phone starts to buzz. The sound alerts everyone in the first twenty rows, but the only eyes I’m worried about are Ali’s eyes. She glares at Jim’s flashing name like he’s a side-chick I hid from her.
Silencing my phone, I whisper, “It’s one of the shareholders.”
She redirects her sight toward the dancer on stage. “Well, you better answer it,” she says.
Searching for a quick escape, I glance at the aisle and begin to stand. But then I see the face of an angered old man with a mustache in the shape of Tallahassee, Florida. It’s Jim. He’s actually calling me in the middle of the show.
I jump back into my seat. “I’ll deal with it later.”
“You sure?” she asks.
I nod. “I don’t want to ruin the night.”
Redirecting her attention to the action on stage, she watches in horror as the dancer falls to the floor, apparently signifying some kind of death or something. I don’t know. I’m hardly looking at the show. My left eye is bent to the side, watching as Jim turns his head.
He sees me, so I pretend not to see him. It’s easy, and I’ll keep up the act until the end if I have to.
A crescendo of noise swells around me. The actors are getting more and more tense. One character grabs a gun. Another does the same and calls for a duel. One woman is shouting on center stage, tears painted down her cheek.
Jim shakes his head, calling out to me, “Marc. Psst.”
I squeeze Ali’s hand, smile, and pretend not to hear.
“Don’t you ignore me,” he says, voice louder.
Someone hushes him, but it only makes him repeat himself.
The orchestra frantically builds to a climax. On stage, the two dancers face in opposite directions, beginning a march to the opposite ends of the stage. The horns scream, and the drums boom.
The man on the right opens fire.
The music stops.
Bright red petals fall from the sky, and a beautiful overture starts. Ali’s eyes are full of tears. And then, to my complete satisfaction, the room lights return. The play is over.
Thank God.
Ali dots her eyes with a handkerchief. “You didn’t tell me it was going to be such a sad story.”
Truth is, I picked this show at random. Pretty sure it was a reimagined version, too. In any case, it was pretty good. “It was a story about love.”
“That man died in the end, so she could transform,” she says, eyes watering again. “Call me old fashioned, but I’m used to romantic happy endings.”
Jim calls out to me a third time. “Marc! Hold up for a second.”
Ali briefly pauses against my weight. “Who is that?”
“It’s no one,”
