Chapter 18 #2
I sigh, loud and overly dramatic, which is perfectly on brand for a night at the opera. “You have so much to learn from me.”
Colt looks at his watch again, moving to the door as he speaks. “We need to get going.”
Inez sends me a questioning look, and I just shake my head as we follow him down the stairs, a good flight behind his fast, long stride.
We take a taxi instead of relying on public transportation, and Colton’s knee bounces for thirteen of the fifteen minutes spent in the car.
A week ago, I would have placed my hand on his leg to help calm him.
I’d have leaned into him, laughing into his shoulder about the ridiculousness of the situation.
But now I resist the urge, trapped inside my head, the anxious buzz of his body matching the anxious buzz in my mind.
I spot Tomasso as soon as we pull up, and my skin goes uncomfortably tight. Inez is out of the taxi and halfway to him before I can open my mouth.
I turn to Colton on my other side. “Is this a double date?”
“What?” The pitch of Colton’s voice goes up several octaves and his whole body tenses.
“Sorry,” I jump in, shifting the fabric of my dress so I can climb out of the cab without tripping. Colton’s hot on my heels. “Obviously it’s not a date. It’s just I saw Tomasso and he and Inez have been so… attached this past week. I freaked myself out.”
Colton smiles, but the severe lack of a dimple tells me how forced it is. “I don’t want it to be like this between us.”
I sigh and drop my head forward. “Me neither.”
“I know last week was… intense. But we’ve survived worse, right? Like that time we holed up in your apartment for a week with the flu? You were so fucking gross, and I still kept you around.”
“Oh yes, you cleaning up my vomit is totally the same as me watching you come all over our shower,” I say, completely deadpan.
He rubs a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, but after a second, his eyes go somber. “I swear, I reached out to Tomasso because he had connections to get us last-minute tickets, and I wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t come when he was helping us out.”
“No, of course not.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to enjoy this summer. This is a fun friend outing. Nothing more.”
“No, I know.”
“I’m serious. I’m not trying to date you. Or anyone.”
I get it. I don’t want to date him—or anyone—either, so I don’t understand why the words feel like a grip around my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
“Now that this is sufficiently awkward,” I say with a little laugh, “let’s head inside.”
Colton rubs his hand across his brow and gestures for me to go ahead. Inez and Tomasso, who haven’t stopped talking since they met on the sidewalk, have almost reached the entry gate, and the two of us fall in step behind them on our very platonic, not at all uncomfortable friend outing.
Colton and I both gasp when we enter the ruins, for very different reasons.
I’m blown away by the magnificence of it. When you see an opera in a theater, the stage design is elaborate. Intricate backdrops and gigantic moving set pieces to complement how massive the story is.
But not here. Why design an elaborate backdrop when it’ll never be able to outdo the grandeur of the Baths of Caracalla? Instead, there’s a simple, flat stage with a few props to set the scene, and it’s the most glorious set I’ve ever seen.
Colton, on the other hand, is not amused.
He runs both hands up into his hair. “The stage is on the ruins! What are they doing? They’re going to damage the integrity of the site!”
“Calm down,” I say with a laugh. “The stage is temporary and sits above the ruins so they don’t get damaged.”
“I’m looking right at it! It’s on the Baths!”
“The magic of the theater,” I say with a flourish. “I promise you, proper precautions have been taken.”
“I don’t see how it's worth the risk,” he mumbles.
“Poor Colt,” I say teasingly, and his scowl fades to a soft smile. “Let’s find our seats.”
Inez and Tomasso have already made their way there and are talking with their heads bent together. I don’t think they even look at the stage. What a waste.
Colton’s still vibrating with caffeinated energy when the sun fully sets and the show begins. I can’t stop myself from glancing his way every few minutes, but he sticks to his word, staying awake and ripping his paper program to pieces.
We settle back into our seats for the third act, and my whole body tightens in anticipation of Nessum Dorma, arguably the most epic tenor aria ever written.
Prince Calaf stands in the middle of the stage, singing of his love for Princess Turandot and how he’ll win her hand and her love.
It’s visceral, the type of all-consuming music that made me fall for the opera in the first place.
As the last vincerò echoes off the ruins, I look toward Colton with tears in my eyes, only to find his head tipped forward, completely passed out. I laugh, the sound swallowed up by the thundering applause that he blissfully sleeps through.
He’s going to feel like crap if he sleeps like that, so I lightly tip his head to the side so it settles on my shoulder and ignore the squeeze in my chest that feels eerily similar to the way the tenor’s performance made me feel.
Colton stays like that for the rest of the show, sleeping peacefully through pithy recitatives and the resounding chorus and a death so heart-wrenching it has me crying again.
As the opera ends and everyone gets to their feet for the well-deserved standing ovation, I nudge Colton.
“Colt,” I say quietly. “The show’s over.”
He tilts his head, looking up at me with a sleepy smile, then snuggles back into my shoulder.
I chuckle, and shake him more forcefully. “Time to go.”
He sits up suddenly, blinking around at the other attendees, still clapping enthusiastically around us. “Son of a bitch!”
Now free from the weight of Colton’s head, I stand and join in the applause. “Now we know six espressos aren’t enough.”
“I tried,” Colton says, standing up, too.
I peek over at him. He looks genuinely upset, like this was a test he failed when really it helped something settle into place for me.
We’re more than an—admittedly incredible—night.
Colton and I are fourteen years of history, love, and support.
A couple awkward conversations can’t strip away all of that. I won’t let it.
“You did better than usual,” I say with a smile. “But you know what this means?”
He rolls his eyes, but his dimple pops. “What are you going to make me watch this time?”
“The modern-day classic Get Over It. Tomorrow night. No complaining allowed,” I say with mock sternness.
Colton’s dimple pops. “I wouldn’t miss it.”