29. Theo #2
During intermission, we walk to the lobby for champagne, and Belle is practically vibrating with excitement.
"Theo, this is incredible," she says, accepting a glass from the server. "I had no idea music could be this powerful. The way it makes you feel everything the characters are feeling, even when you don't speak the language..."
"That's the point," I tell her, watching the way her eyes shine with enthusiasm. "Music is a universal language. It goes straight to your emotions without having to pass through your rational mind."
"Is that why you love it? Because it bypasses all the analytical parts and just makes you feel?"
"Maybe," I admit. "I spend a lot of time analyzing things, assessing threats, thinking through worst-case scenarios. Music is one of the few things that can make my brain shut up and just exist in the moment."
She steps closer to me, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes. "What moment are you existing in right now?"
"This one," I say honestly. "Standing in an opera house with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, watching her discover something new that brings her joy."
Her scent shifts again, becomes richer and more inviting, and I have to grip my champagne glass tighter to keep from reaching for her.
You're absolutely right! If Theo rescued her during her heat, she would trust him, not be scared of him.
"Theo," she says softly, "I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"I was so confused about tonight. About spending time alone with you again after everything that happened at the ball, after all the revelations about the pack bond. I didn't know what to expect from myself, from you, from... this."
My chest tightens with something that might be uncertainty. "And now?"
"Now I'm realizing that being confused was pointless," she says. "Because you sharing something you love with me is exactly what I needed."
"What you needed for what?"
"To understand that what I feel for you isn't just heat-induced gratitude or pack bond confusion," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's real. You're real. This thing between us is real."
The admission hits me harder than any physical blow ever could. "Belle..."
"I know we're taking things slowly," she says.
"I know there are complications with the pack dynamic and my own fears about alphas and all of that.
But Theo, sitting here watching you watch the opera, seeing the way your face changes when the music gets emotional, understanding that you chose this because you wanted to share something meaningful with me. .."
"What about it?"
"It makes me want to stop being so careful with my heart,” she admits.
This is more than I expected from her, more hopeful than I dared to let myself imagine. Before I can respond, the lights flicker to signal the end of intermission.
"We should get back to our seats," I say, though what I really want is to find somewhere private where we can continue this conversation.
"Yes," she agrees, but she doesn't move away from me. "But Theo? Thank you. For this, for sharing something so personal with me."
"Thank you for being open to it," I reply. "For trusting me enough to try something new."
The second half of the opera is even more emotional than the first, and I find myself watching Belle more than the stage.
She's completely absorbed in the story, her emotions shifting with every aria, every dramatic moment.
When Mimì dies in Rodolfo's arms, Belle openly cries, not caring who might see.
As the final notes fade and the curtain falls, the audience erupts in applause that seems to go on forever. Belle is on her feet immediately, clapping enthusiastically, her face radiant with the kind of joy that comes from experiencing something truly beautiful.
"That was incredible," she says as we make our way out with the crowd. "Heartbreaking and beautiful and just... incredible."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I tell her, and I mean it completely. Watching Belle discover opera has been better than any performance I've ever seen.
"Theo, that was life-changing. I had no idea I was missing something like that."
We're outside now, walking slowly toward where I parked the car, neither of us seeming eager to end the evening. The night air is cool and crisp, perfect for walking, and Belle has taken my arm again like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Can I ask you something?" she says as we reach the car.
"Of course."
"Why did you really choose La Bohème? Out of all the operas you could have picked?"
I consider the question, weighing how honest to be. "Because it's about people who choose love even when circumstances are against them. Even when it's impractical or dangerous or likely to end in heartbreak."
"And you think that's romantic?"
"I think it's brave," I say simply. "I think choosing to love someone despite the risks is the most courageous thing a person can do."
Belle stops walking and turns to face me fully. In the dim light from the street lamps, her face is soft with something that might be wonder.
"Is that what you think we're doing?" she asks. "Choosing love despite the risks?"
"I think I already chose," I tell her honestly. "The night I sat with you through your heat, I chose. Everything since then has just been waiting for you to choose too."
Her breath catches, and her scent shifts to something warm and open and utterly trusting. "Theo..."
"You don't have to say anything," I tell her quickly. "I know this is complicated, I know there are still things we need to figure out..."
"Shut up," she says softly, and then she rises up on her toes and kisses me.
"Belle," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
"I need you to know something. What I feel for you.
.. it's not just pack instinct or alpha protectiveness.
When I held you during your heat, when I helped you through that, it wasn't duty.
It was the most natural thing I've ever done because you're..."
I struggle to find the words. "You're everything I never knew I was looking for."
She looks up at me, her eyes soft and understanding. "Theo..."
"I've spent so many years keeping people at a distance, keeping myself controlled and contained. But with you, I want to let you in. I want to share all the parts of myself I've kept hidden."
My thumb traces along her jawline. "You make me want to be vulnerable."
Her breath catches, and I can see the exact moment something shifts in her expression.
I lean down slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, until my lips are barely brushing hers. "Can I kiss you, Belle? Really kiss you?"
Her smile is soft and certain. "What are you waiting for?"
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like she's testing the waters. But when I respond, when I bring my hands up to frame her face and kiss her back with all the carefully controlled want I've been carrying, she melts into me with a sound that's half sigh, half surrender.
She tastes like champagne and possibility, like everything I've been waiting for without knowing I was waiting.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, pulling me closer as her mouth opens under mine.
When I trace her lower lip with my tongue, she makes a small sound that goes straight through me.
Her scent surrounds me completely, vanilla and honey and something uniquely Belle that makes my alpha instincts sing with satisfaction.
I kiss her deeper, slower, memorizing the taste of her, the way she responds to every touch.
Her hands slide up to tangle in my hair, and when she tugs gently, I can't suppress the low growl that rumbles in my chest. She shivers against me, pressing closer, and I realize I could spend eternity just like this just lost in the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her skin, the way she fits perfectly against me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her eyes dark with desire, and the scent of her arousal mixed with that vanilla sweetness makes every protective, possessive instinct I have roar to life.
This is what coming home feels like. This is what all those years of searching were leading to.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she rests her forehead against mine and smiles.
"That was worth waiting for," she whispers.
"Was it worth the risk?" I ask, because I need to know she's not going to regret this in the morning.
"Ask me again in fifty years," she says, and the promise implicit in that response makes my heart race.
I want to kiss her again, want to pull her closer and never let her go, but my phone buzzes insistently in my pocket. I ignore it the first time, but when it buzzes again immediately, I know it must be important.
"I should check this," I tell Belle reluctantly.
"Of course," she says, stepping back slightly but staying close enough that I can feel her warmth.
The text is from Marcus, and the words make my blood run cold: Emergency. Come home now. Lost the courthouse contract.
"What is it?" Belle asks, clearly reading the change in my expression.
"Marcus," I say, already moving toward the car. "There's been some kind of crisis with work."
Belle doesn't hesitate. "Then we need to get to him."
The simple acceptance, the immediate assumption that his crisis is our crisis, makes something tight in my chest loosen. This is what pack feels like. This is what it means to have someone who doesn't question whether they belong in your life.
The drive back to our house takes twenty minutes, and I spend the entire time trying to figure out what could have gone wrong with the courthouse renovation project.
It's Marcus's biggest contract this year, the kind of project that could establish his company as a major player in historic preservation.
Losing it would be devastating, both financially and professionally.