So, I’d never even seen the palatial building, let alone set foot in it.
But I damn well knew what it was.
As a child, I had been starved for art. My mom used to sing opera before she gave up her career for my dad. Not that she was going to be singing in the Palais Garnier, but she had a voice like a songbird. One winter, when we’d been stationed in San Antonio, we’d gone to see a touring ballet company perform The Nutcracker. For a full year, I’d insisted I was going to be a ballerina—until it was clear that I had two left feet. Or more precisely, a fin and swam like a fish.
But I’d loved the grace and beauty from day one.
And my breath caught when Penn brought me to the Paris opera house. The one place in the city I’d always wanted to go and never had the chance. It was as if the man could read my mind.
“Isn’t it closed?” I asked.
“Technically, yes.”
He had that smile on again. One so full of mischief that I was certain we were about to get in a world of trouble.
“Okaaay…”
“Trust me.” He held his hand out.
I didn’t trust him. I hardly knew him. And yet, I reached out and placed my hand in his. Put my world in his palm as an offering.
We walked around to the side of the building where a rotunda jutted from the main building with long windows cut into the stone side. Penn guided me to a door, and to my surprise, we entered a modern-looking restaurant with white tiled floors and bright red chairs.
The maître d’ shook Penn’s hand vigorously, and they began speaking fluent French, effectively cutting me out of the conversation. I knew enough French to get by, but I’d studied Spanish in high school. Up until this moment, I’d thought I’d get more use out of that than French or Latin.
“Come on,” Penn said, pulling me forward.
“What were you talking about?”
“The chef is an old family friend, and Pierre wanted to know if I’d be having private dining tonight.”
My jaw hung loose. Oh…of course. That was…normal.
“Are we…having private dining tonight?” I asked uncertainly.
He shook his head. “Better.”
Penn meandered us through the restaurant, stepped through a door labeled Staff Only, and then out into the darkened interior of the Palais Garnier.
“Are we allowed to be back here?” I whispered. I didn’t know why I was whispering, except that it felt like we should.
There was no one else on the inside of the building. It was even quieter than outside, and the only light came from soft recessed lighting.
“Define allowed.”
I couldn’t help it. A giggle escaped my lips. I’d never done anything illegal other than speeding and the occasional underage drinking. My father had been in the military, so his punishment for misbehavior was a more fearsome prospect than getting caught by the cops. But my dad was a million miles away, and Penn seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Suddenly, being inside of a theater house at night seemed like a great adventure.
“You know that The Phantom of the Opera was written about this theater?” Penn asked. He confidently walked the halls, as if he was well acquainted with the interior of the building.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. It was written by an opera critic who claimed that there was a real phantom.” He suggestively raised his eyebrows.
“Write what you know, right?”
“And he did. There’s an actual lake underneath the opera house.”
“Truly?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes. I’ve seen it before. More a pond actually. When they were building it, they kept tapping into the Seine, and instead of starting over somewhere else, they made it a man-made lake and built over it.”
“Fascinating.”
“And a chandelier fell and killed someone around the time the man was a critic.”
“Perhaps the author was the phantom,” I suggested.
“Or perhaps he was a Nick Carraway, destined to stand on the sidelines to Daisy and Gatsby’s tragic love.”
“Or maybe he was just an opera critic who let his imagination get away with him,” I said with a quick cut of my eyes. “What have you been writing in that notebook of yours? Tragedies, as you seem fascinated with them?”
“They are the best kind of story,” he admitted easily.
“Are they? You don’t like happy endings?”
“I don’t believe in them.” Then, he paused as if realizing what he’d said. “I mean…”
“It’s okay. You’re not ruining my romantic notions.”
His eyes were faraway for a second. “My parents aren’t exactly the model of relationships.”
“Are they a tragedy?”
“You’ve no idea.”
I lost the thread of the conversation after that. I didn’t know what to say to this broken boy. My parents were a strange match, but no one could deny they were a love pairing. Why else would a New Age–obsessed songbird end up with a strong-headed, religious military man?
And, though I knew next to nothing about Penn, I could tell that he was jaded. Something inside of him was a shattered mess. He was putting on a bit of an act for me. Just as I was surely putting on an act for him. I was never this confident or reckless. I didn’t do spontaneity. I certainly had no experience with men. Let alone men like Penn, who could charm the pants off a snake. If I was trying to be more than I was, it shouldn’t surprise me to think that he was, too. I just didn’t know exactly what he was hiding. But I wouldn’t mind finding out.
The thought startled me. It was the first time I’d considered beyond this night. To the bright light of day.
“Here we are,” Penn said, swiftly pulling me away from that thought.
“Where are we exactly?”
He pulled open a door and tilted his head toward it. “Go on in and see.”
I tentatively stepped forward. All of my bravado squashed by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. I tiptoed through the darkened interior to the faint glow of light. Then, I nearly gasped with elation when I realized where exactly we stood. With purpose, I burst forward past the curtains and out onto the massive stage.
My jaw dropped as I looked onto the gilded auditorium and the rows and rows of red velvet seats. A chandelier hung, suspended in a dome, over the orchestra seating. Despite the dim lighting, it was a spectacular, unparalleled view.
Penn stepped out behind me with a smile on his face. “What do you think?”
“I have no words,” I told him. “How is this even real life?”
“I wonder the same thing every time I’m here.”
“How often are you here?”
“When I was younger, we came every year. It didn’t take much to get away from my parents, and this became a favorite spot of mine at night.”
“I can see why you love it. It’s so grand.”
I had never seen anything like this before. And here was a man who had been coming here since he was a child. It was clear that we were from different worlds. He might not know it, but I certainly did. Still, tonight, it didn’t matter. I could be whoever I wanted tonight. I didn’t have to be poor little Natalie Bishop.
Penn stood at my side and held his hand out toward me. “Can I have this dance?”