Page 58 of The Client
And then Rhys peels her off his arm and turns to me. “Izabela, this is one of our board members, Corinne Markarian. Corinne, this is my date, Izabela.”
“Your date? I see. Izabela. Well. Lovely to meet you,” the woman says to me, though her tone is anything but friendly. “Is this your first time at the opera, dear?”
She’s talking to me like I’m twelve years old, but I ignore my humiliation since I want to reflect well on Rhys. “Yes. I’m very excited to be here.”
“It certainly shows,” Corinne says disdainfully.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Rhys says. “I think it’s refreshing. Everyone else here looks like they’re going to fall asleep during the first act. Izabela will enjoy every second, I’m sure.”
“I hope I will,” I say, buoyed by Rhys’s words coming to my defense.
Corinne clears her throat. “And that dress. It’s certainly…understated. I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate for the opera, but I suppose this isn’t exactly your milieu.”
My cheeks go hot. Is it possible Nicolette chose wrong? Judging by the way this Corinne woman is smirking at me, it’s obvious I don’t look like I belong here.
“I think it suits her perfectly,” Rhys cuts in again. “After all, true beauty needs no adornment. Though that would clearly be news to this room full of peacocks. Or should I say peahens? It’s as if they’ve forgotten we’re here to experience the opera, rather than swan around while getting intoxicated. Speaking of, is that your husband over there?”
Rhys tilts his head and I look over to the other end of the lobby, where I spot a man in a hideous black-and-white patterned tux that matches Corinne’s dress. I have to work hard to keep the smile off my face. For a moment, Corinne seems too stunned at the subtle insult to speak.
“Yes,” she finally chokes out. “If you’ll excuse me.”
With that, she sashays away.
Rhys pulls me close to him, his hand skating down the length of my back. When he reaches the dip in the fabric right over the cleft of my ass, he trails his fingers underneath the dress, tracing the waistband of my thong. Tingles race through me from head to toe.
“You are, without a doubt, the most exquisite woman here,” he whispers, his hand sliding lower, those electric fingertips skimming the curve of my ass possessively.
I shiver, but then he’s pulling his hand away and guiding me into the theatre to find our seats. The lights are dim, the plush velvet seats mostly filled already. I lean into Rhys, gripping his arm like a lifeline as we weave through the crowd of beautiful people.
Once we’re seated, I can’t help looking around with wide eyes. I hear snippets of conversation floating around us, people discussing past operas and commenting on arias and librettos, things I know nothing about. I look over and glance anxiously at Rhys, but suddenly the room darkens so I sink back into my chair, pulse pounding. It’s starting.
There are no words to describe the feeling that blooms inside me as the orchestra music swells, as the voices of the singers rise all the way into the rafters, rolling across the audience in hypnotic waves, like powerful incantations. I’m transported first to a beach, then to a wedding, then down into the Underworld. I’m crestfallen as amnesic rain falls on Eurydice inside the elevator car. My heart tugs painfully in my chest at the stark imagery of the woman losing all her earthly memories, for reasons I can’t quite explain. The loss is somehow incredibly visceral.
Halfway through, Rhys taps my shoulder and passes me a tissue, and I realize that I have tears rolling down my cheeks. By the time the curtain falls, Rhys is holding my hand tightly. I don’t remember reaching for him, or him reaching for me, but it’s magical all the same.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asks softly as the lights brighten.
“I…loved it,” I tell him.
“Really? It’s such a tragic story,” he says.
“That’s one way of looking at it. On the other hand, the Underworld is pretty interesting.”
His lips twitch, but he stops just short of a smile and then we’re both applauding as the cast comes out to take their bows.
As we ride home in the back of the car, Rhys slowly lifts the hem of my dress up my legs, higher and higher, and then traces lazy circles over my knees with his fingertips. I wait for him to slip his hand between my thighs, or start issuing commands, but he doesn’t.
“Tell me what you liked,” he says. “About the opera. Was it the music? The story?”
“Both,” I answer easily. “The emotions in the singing, but also the love story.”
“But Orpheus and Eurydice didn’t end up together,” he points out. “Which just proves that love, even what is supposed to be the truest, purest love, is no guarantee of happiness. It doesn’t prevail against all. You can lose somebody and never get them back, no matter how much you want them, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes I wonder if the story isn’t actually a dark comedy. Young lovers are idiots, you know. Love makes fools of us all.”
“You’re so cynical!” I say, slapping his arm playfully. “But I didn’t get that from it. In fact, I think it’s saying the opposite. I think it’s saying…something quite beautiful.”
“And what’s that?” he asks, leaning closer, placing his hot palm flat on my knee.
I suddenly feel self-conscious, like maybe my reading of the story is all wrong, but I take a deep breath and answer, “I think it’s saying that you can’t look back. In life and in love. Otherwise you’ll never move forward. All Orpheus had to do was put one foot in front of the other, right? Just keep walking, one step at a time, until he stepped into the light with his love. But he failed. Not because fate is cruel or because love makes you a fool, but…because he didn’t have faith in what lay ahead. He looked behind him. He didn’t trust the future.”
