“Forgive me, for not noticing earlier that you were chilly. Beastly of me to ignore you like that. I’m not accustomed to having a new bride, I suppose. How is the show?”
“I’ve never been to the ballet before,” I said.
“Never?”
“No, I always thought it was something reserved for rich people.”
“Culture doesn’t belong to only the wealthy and upper class. It belongs to everyone.”
She smiled.
“Is there something you don’t understand that I could explain?” he offered, and she found his belated solicitude charming.
“No, I’m enjoying it. The music is beautiful and so heartfelt.”
He grinned. “Soaring and soul-searching?”
Her eyes sparkled. “It’s telling a story along with the dancers. The choreography is amazing. Grace goes into every single glorious movement. And the costumes are breathtaking.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Ballets are decadent performances,” he said.
“Just like the opera.”
“Yes. And both have magic. And when you’re watching the performance, well, it’s like you feel that magic.”
“Yeah, it’s incredible.”
She stared, admiring the graceful twirling, dainty stepping, and powerful leaping. The emotion and expression in their dancing was nothing short of amazing.
“It makes me feel like part of the story,” she said.
“Brandon…”
“Yes?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I saw ballet in a whole new light. It was sheer magic to me. Coming here has touched me on such a deep level. It was a beautiful, live, breatakaing show that touched my heart. Thanks for showing me this.”
His eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand. “Anytime.”
An hour passed and some loud music swelled and people applauded. Shouts of Brava! preceded their eventual release from the theater. Brandon put his jacket back on, and as they filed down to the lobby for the cocktail reception and to mingle with the press, he wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered a few details in her ear. When they reached the marble lobby, and she was given a glass of something red and sweet and sparkly, three reporters approached them.
“Oh, it was magical. I’ve never been to the ballet before, but Tchaikovsky is so approachable. I made myself right at home!” she smiled her ingénue best and the reporters photographed Marj, snug under her husband’s arm and beaming.
He kissed her forehead and told the press how she had a natural appreciation for all types of music and that it was a treat to introduce her to ballet. She was so stunned by the grace and lightness of the principal dancers. Marj nodded in agreement how she and her husband were riveted by the pirouettes of the professionals.
She tilted her head so her sweeping diamond earrings caught the light and smiled at Brandon while the pictures were taken. He looked the very image of a proud and adoring husband. She felt a wave of security, of feeling safe and sheltered with him. She knew it was a lie, that everything they’d just said to the press, every look and gesture were a pretense. It didn’t change what she felt. Marj could comprehend the insincerity of their position and still feel the discordant comfort of his presence, the strange assurance that he was with her and would make everything go well.
Just as he had stood and left his stepmother’s dinner when Marj decided it was time to leave, he was there supporting her and encouraging her now. Even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was to get his hands on his dad’s fortune once and for all, it felt real. That was the danger in all this. So much of the time they were together felt genuine and strong and seductive. She liked him, was attracted to him, and simply having him there, his arm around her, made her feel gorgeous and unattainable. If she wasn’t careful, Brandon Cates could all too easily become her drug of choice.
And speaking of the devil and all his minions, here was Lena Cates, resplendent in black sequins, squeezing into the photo with Brandon and Marj.
“Did you enjoy the performance?” she asked sweetly, “quite a change of pace for you, I should imagine.”
“It was lovely,” Marj said with equally disingenuous sweetness, “I only wonder that you can muster such enthusiasm for it after seeing, I would expect, twenty years or so of ballet season openings in this theater.”
“Oh, it never grows tiresome, Margaret. Such a refined pastime and in a glorious setting,” Lena said, unruffled by Marj’s dig at her age, “if you’re still around next year, we must share a viewing box.”
“How kind of you, but Brandon and I like our privacy,” she said archly, and they walked away, leaving Lena rather speechless.