Chapter 50
fifty
RHYS
I attended my first opera when I was six.
Cillian’s father dragged the two of us to his company box for La Traviata. Cillian was asleep before the second curtain—and I was in love.
For years, operas, ballets, and symphonies were the only escape I had from being Caine’s unwanted stepson. My mother’s Albatross. The bane of Forsyth Blackwood’s existence.
After a lifetime of dread, this was the only good kind of anticipation I’d ever known. Here, in the quiet dark of a theater, holding my breath before the opening note rang out.
And now? With Briar sitting beside me?
I might never catch my breath again.
Her perfume is the only scent in my entire world, slicing deeper into my lungs on every inhale. Carving its way to my soul.
It’s not just that, though. It’s her.
The tilt of her heavily lined green eyes. Her lustrous hair and cut-crystal combs. Those long, gleaming talons. Her cool skin and black-diamond locket. The effortless poise and sex appeal beneath every minor move she makes.
She’s a goddess. And a work of art.
But she’s also funny, fierce, and fucking smart. We’ve only been sitting here for ten minutes and she’s already blown my mind with all the small details she remembers from this ballet—despite never having actually performed it herself.
One of our bodyguards for the night arrives with a tray of chilled champagne. Briar eyes her flute warily, but plucks it up, sliding her suspicious gaze around the rest of our balcony.
It’s lovely, in my opinion. All gilded, scrolled edges and sumptuous purple fabrics. I appreciate how private the boxes are, too—with solid wood-paneled walls between each individual booth instead of fabric or bars.
Our guard disappears behind the curtains hiding our alcove from the narrow hallway behind us and I suppress a cringe.
With any luck, Briar won’t notice just how many hired men I have with us.
Cillian and I had them dress as valets, bathroom attendants, servers, and ushers.
She seemed bewildered enough as I whisked her up here—blinking wide eyes at the center’s enormous foyer chandelier and the crowd milling around us.
Poor baby. She must have performed here dozens of times and her bastard father never let her so much as set foot in the lobby on the night of a performance?
God, she probably hasn’t been anywhere. There are so many places I could take her. Shows she would love. Restaurants, other countries.
Briar feels my consideration as I scan her profile. She turns her head, quirking her eyebrows. “What?”
How is it possible for someone to be so sexy and cool and cute all at the same time? I don’t know, but my lips curve into an involuntary smile.
I’d lost all hope of finding a mate. Now that she’s here and mine and so goddamn perfect… well, I don’t blame her for being annoyed. I can’t take my eyes off her.
I sit forward, sliding my arm along the back of her chair and dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “Just looking at you.”
Briar glowers, but there’s no denying the shiver that skitters down her spine when I brush my lips along her collarbone. Her scent swells and I’m sure mine rises to meet it. Because here? In the dark?
She’s the only thing I sense.
By the middle of the second act, I’ve barely registered a single scene.
Briar is far more interesting. Her enjoyment is palpable, filling the air in our balcony with lusciously tart sweetness as she gradually sinks into my side.
I soak in each moment while she watches with bated breath. At the scene where Sleeping Beauty and her prince dance together in a dream, Briar’s eyes fill as she gazes at the stage, a single glassy tear trailing down her cheek.
She’s a secret romantic, I realize. Like me.
I bet no one has ever given her that kind of passion and softness.
But I’m here now. And those are the exact things I’ve kept to myself, saving them for my mate. For her.
On stage, the prince rides off to slay the dragon and rescue his princess. Briar finally exhales, bursting into applause with the rest of the crowd. I’m motionless, stunned into absolute stillness by how perfect she is for me.
When she finally turns to see why I haven’t so much as twitched, our gazes lock. She sees whatever swirls in my eyes and I see the wonder filling hers.
The curtain drops.
And we collide.