29. Theo
THEO
I ’ve been standing outside the Metropolitan Opera House for ten minutes, checking my watch and scanning the crowd with the same systematic attention I used to reserve for potential threats in hostile territory.
Old habits die hard, even when the only danger tonight is the possibility that I might say something stupid and ruin everything we've built with Belle.
The suit I'm wearing feels foreign after years of tactical gear and construction site clothing, but Marcus insisted I "clean up nice" for tonight.
The black wool jacket fits well enough, and the crisp white shirt doesn't feel like a straightjacket the way formal wear usually does.
But I keep reaching for weapons that aren't there, keep scanning exits and sight lines like I'm expecting trouble.
When I called Belle three days ago to ask about our date, I'd spent an hour staring at my phone before finally dialing.
Marcus and Felix make conversation look effortless, but I've never been good at small talk.
Give me a tactical situation to assess or a security problem to solve, and I'm in my element.
Ask me to plan a romantic evening with the woman who's become the center of my universe, and I'm completely out of my depth.
"An opera?" Belle had asked when I finally worked up the courage to suggest it, and I could hear the surprise in her voice.
"If you hate the idea, we can do something else," I'd said quickly, already second-guessing myself. "I just thought... you mentioned at the ball that you love stories, and opera is essentially storytelling through music. But if it's too boring or pretentious..."
"Theo," she'd interrupted gently, "I think an opera sounds wonderful. I've never been to one."
"Really?"
"Really. What made you think of it?"
The honest answer was that I'd spent two hours researching date ideas that would show Belle a different side of me, something beyond the military background and security work that defined most people's perception of who I am.
The opera felt like a chance to share something beautiful with her, something that required nothing from either of us except the willingness to sit in the dark and let music tell us a story.
"I used to go sometimes when I was stationed overseas," I'd told her. "It was one of the few things that could quiet my mind after difficult missions. There's something about the music, the way it can express emotions that are too big for words."
The pause on her end had stretched long enough to make me panic. "Belle? If you'd rather do something else..."
"No," she'd said softly. "Theo, that sounds perfect. What opera are we seeing?"
"La Bohème. It's about artists and love and loss, set in 1800s Paris. Tragic but beautiful."
"Of course you'd pick something tragic," she'd said, but there was warmth in her voice. "I should have expected that from you."
Now, watching the well-dressed crowd stream into the opera house, I'm questioning every decision I made.
Maybe Marcus was right when he suggested dinner and a movie.
Maybe Felix had the better idea with his chocolate-making adventure.
This feels too formal, too serious, too much like I'm trying to impress her instead of just spending time with her.
"Theo!"
I turn at the sound of my name and nearly forget how to breathe.
Belle is walking toward me in a dress that makes my chest tight with want and pride and possessiveness all tangled together.
It's deep navy blue, almost black, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flows around her legs like water.
The neckline is elegant without being revealing, and she's wearing a simple strand of pearls that catches the light as she moves.
But it's not just the dress. It's the way she carries herself, the confidence in her step, the smile that lights up her entire face when she sees me.
This is Belle choosing to be here, choosing to try something new because I asked her to.
The trust implicit in that choice makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest.
"You look beautiful," I tell her as she reaches me, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," she says, reaching up to straighten my tie. The simple gesture, so domestic and intimate, sends electricity shooting through my entire nervous system. "I have to admit, when you said opera, I wasn't sure what to expect. But this..."
She gestures at the grand facade of the opera house. "This is incredible."
"Wait until you see the inside," I say, offering her my arm. "The architecture is almost as impressive as the performances."
Belle takes my arm without hesitation, and the way she fits against my side makes every protective instinct I have purr with satisfaction. Her scent, vanilla and honey with something uniquely Belle underneath, surrounds me as we walk toward the entrance.
"Have I mentioned that I love how your mind works?" she says as we join the crowd moving into the building. "Most people would suggest dinner and a movie for a third date. You suggest something that's going to challenge me, make me think and feel things I've never experienced before."
"Is that good or bad?" I ask, genuinely uncertain.
"It's perfect," she says simply, and the sincerity in her voice makes my chest tight with emotion.
The interior of the opera house is exactly as magnificent as I remembered from the research photos—soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, rich red velvet and gold leaf details that speak to an era when art and beauty were considered essential to the human experience.
Belle's sharp intake of breath tells me she's as impressed as I hoped she'd be.
"Oh my god," she breathes, tilting her head back to take in the painted ceiling. "Theo, this is like stepping into a fairy tale."
"Better than a fairy tale," I tell her, watching her face more than the architecture. "Fairy tales are fiction. This is real beauty, created by real people who believed that art matters."
She turns to look at me, and there's something soft and wondering in her expression. "You really believe that, don't you? That art and beauty matter."
"I believe that anything that can make people feel less alone in the world matters," I say honestly. "And beauty, real beauty, does that. It reminds us that there's more to existence than just survival."
Her scent shifts, becomes warmer and more complex, and I can see something changing in her expression. Like she's seeing a part of me she didn't expect to find.
"Where did this come from?" she asks softly. "This appreciation for beauty and art? Because it doesn't exactly fit with the military background and security work."
"Maybe that's exactly why it matters," I say as we make our way to our seats.
"When you've seen the worst that humanity can do to itself, when you've spent years focused on tactics and survival and keeping people alive, you need something to remind you what you're protecting. What makes life worth living."
Belle is quiet as we settle into our seats, which are close enough to see the expressions on the performers' faces but not so close that we'll miss the full scope of the staging. The opera house is filling around us, the low murmur of conversation mixing with the orchestra tuning their instruments.
"The music was the only thing that could quiet my mind," I continue, because something about the intimate setting makes me want to be honest with her.
"After difficult missions, when I couldn't sleep, when my brain wouldn't stop replaying everything that had gone wrong or could have gone wrong, I'd find a recording of something beautiful and just..
. listen. Let it wash over me until I remembered that there was still beauty in the world. "
"What kind of missions?" Belle asks gently.
I'm quiet for a moment, considering how much to share. "The kind where you see things that stay with you. The kind where you make decisions that save lives but cost you pieces of your soul."
She reaches over and takes my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine. The contact is warm and grounding, and I can smell the way her scent deepens with something that might be understanding.
"Is that why you left the military?" she asks.
"Partly. But mostly I left because I realized I was good at protecting people, but I wanted to protect something positive instead of just destroying threats.
Marcus and Felix gave me a way to do that—using my skills to keep construction workers safe, to make sure communities can develop without fear. "
"And now?" she asks. "What do you protect now?"
The honest answer is that I protect her, that every instinct I have has recalibrated around keeping Belle safe and happy. But that feels like too much to say on a third date, even though we both know this is building toward something bigger than casual dating.
"The things that matter," I say instead. "The people who matter."
Before she can ask me to elaborate, the lights dim and the conductor takes his place. The first notes of the overture fill the opera house, and I watch Belle's face as the music begins.
La Bohème is the perfect choice, I realize as the story unfolds.
It's about artists struggling to survive, about love that transcends circumstances, about the way beauty can exist even in the midst of poverty and hardship.
The music is lush and emotional, carrying the story forward with a power that words alone could never achieve.
But more than the opera itself, I'm captivated by Belle's reaction to it.
She leans forward in her seat during the dramatic moments, her face reflecting every emotion the characters express.
When Mimì and Rodolfo fall in love in the first act, her scent spikes with something sweet and hopeful.
When the story turns tragic in the final act, I can smell the salt of tears she's trying not to shed.