Until I Die

bought all ten seats and had them clear out the extra chairs for us.”
I watched uncertainty flicker across his features and shook my head in disbelief. “Vincent! As if I would even know the difference! Just being here is incredible. We could be sitting in the nosebleed seats and I’d still be over the moon.”
Reassured, he opened the door to show a long, narrow passageway papered in dark red velvet and hung with an oval mirror. A narrow fainting couch sat against one wall under a pair of old-fashioned electric lights with flame-shaped bulbs. On the other end of the tunnel-like room was a balcony that opened onto the grand opera, with two wooden chairs set behind a knee-high rail.
“Holy cow. All this is for us?” I asked, feeling like I had just stepped into a romance novel.
“Is it okay?” Vincent asked hesitantly.
I turned and threw my arms around his neck. “It’s more than okay. It’s incredible.” He laughed as, without letting go, I started jumping up and down in a fit of pure joy.
We watched the first two acts of Prince Igor sitting side by side in our private box. At first it was hard to concentrate with Vincent next to me, mindlessly tracing circles on my knee as he watched the stage, but after a few minutes the mise-en-scène and costumes swept me away as the dancers performed their acrobatic feats. I lost myself in the spectacle, feeling like I had just awoken from a dream when the curtains closed and the houselights went up an hour later.
“What did you think?” asked Vincent as we stood.
“It’s bewitching—all of it.”
He smiled, satisfied, and holding his arm out for me, said, “This is the time for the promenade .” He led me outside our box into the corridor. We followed other couples into a large gilt hall with enormous chandeliers and ceilings painted with angels and mythical figures in a style that reminded me of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling.
“Do you want something to drink? A glass of champagne? A bottle of water?” Vincent asked, and I shook my head, seeing that the refreshment line already stretched halfway down the hall.
“I want to use the time to look around,” I said, clutching his arm so I wouldn’t fall over as I tried to walk and gawk at the same time.
We explored every nook and cranny that the building had to offer, each room opening onto another more exquisite than the last. When we ended up in front of our door, Vincent asked, “Want to see anything else? We have a few moments left.”
I hesitated. Although I didn’t want to ruin the night by quizzing him on something I suspected he didn’t want to talk about, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to simply bring it up. “No, let’s go inside,” I said. Once through the door, we sat on the fainting couch and smiled like kids trying on their parents’ clothes.
“This isn’t exactly like pizza and a movie at my place. Does it feel weird?” Vincent leaned forward and turned his head to look at me. The way his hair fell across his face as he grinned made the flame already burning inside my chest flare a little brighter.
“Not weird,” I responded. “To be honest, you could have taken me bowling and I would be having just as much fun. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, as long as I’m with you.” As soon as I heard the words leave my mouth, I burst out laughing. “That should totally be on a poster with a fluffy kitten saying it. Cheese factor through the roof!”
“Totally cheesy,” he agreed, grinning. “But I was basically thinking the same thing. I’ve had that feeling ever since I met you.” He leaned in and began to nuzzle the skin at the base of my neck.
My eyes closed of their own accord. Concentrate , I thought. Some things are more important than making out with your boyfriend at the Opéra . “Vincent,” I said, pulling back and fixing his eyes with my own. “I don’t want to ruin the amazing evening. But it can’t wait.” I saw him blanch and hurried to get the words out. “You promised not to hide anything from me, but it feels like that’s what you’re doing with your ‘business for JB’ or whatever you were doing yesterday. Passing it off like it’s not important makes me feel like you think I can’t handle it. And that, to me, feels really patronizing.” There, it was out. He couldn’t avoid it by getting all makey-outie now that the issue was on the table.
Vincent straightened. “Kate,” he said, pulling my hand to his lap and pressing it between his