I relax, even managing to return his smile, while Lachlan takes a card from his jacket pocket and hands it to the director. “Kate has opened her own salon on Fifth Avenue. There’s already high demand for her bespoke pieces, so if you’re interested in a collaboration, you need to get in quick.”
The director gives me an impressed nod, and as he circles away to talk to other patrons, I nudge Lachlan in the ribs. “Since when are you carrying around my business cards?”
“I need to put my degree to use sometime, right?”
I smile, but it’s a good reminder that Lachlan has dreams of his own that need to be supported. Plus, there’s the not so insignificant fact that he lives in Chicago, and we still haven’t talked about his plans for moving to New York long term.
I make a mental note to follow up on that when I notice Bram crossing the foyer, an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry. I got caught up with a couple of things.” He’s kissing my cheek and squeezing Lachlan’s shoulder, but his gaze settles on Corbus. “Everything okay?”
“Of course. But Bram, you look…” Words seem to fail Corbus, and he finishes his observation in his own tongue. Whatever it means, it puts a smile on Bram’s face, and makes his chest swell under his tuxedo jacket.
“All Kate’s work,” he says, wrapping an arm around me, and for a moment I’m caught in a delicious swirl of masculine arousal. Both Corbus and Lachlan are eating Bram up with their eyes, and given the way my nose is inching toward the sharp V of his jacket, I’m not surprised when he mutters, “Maybe we should take this into our private box.”
We all agree, and after sweeping up the curved staircase, follow an usher to the box closest to the stage. It’s furnished in gold and red velvet, the drapes drawn back to provide an unrestricted view of the theater below. Plenty of other audience members are looking our way, but while Corbus seems obliviousto the attention, Bram’s body feels like it’s vibrating with tension.
“Everything okay?” I ask as we take our seats.
“Yeah, I’ve just been doing risk assessments at work. Always puts me on edge.” He leans down to run his nose along my cheek. “You look stunning, by the way. Don’t be surprised if there’s a queue down Fifth Avenue waiting for your doors to open on Monday.”
I cock a brow at him, but my stomach is swirling with happy flutters. “You have a lot of faith in your investment, Mr. Webber.”
His lips feather across mine. “It’s easy to feel confident when I’m dealing with you.”
I taste another swirl of leather and ink on the back of my tongue, but then there’s something happening below that has a wave of chatter swelling across the floor. The audience’s attention has turned towards the stage, where the star of the show is poking his head through the red velvet curtains. “You’re here!”
I’m not sure why Dash sounds so surprised, but he bounds off the stage, a daring leap that probably has his director in fits. Our box is one level up, so when he crosses beneath us, he disappears from sight, and Lachlan jumps out of his seat to open the door. A few moments later, Dash is striding into the box in gray tights and a black vest, his hair pulled back into a warrior’s topknot. He’s wearing stage makeup, gold shimmer on his eyelids and cheekbones, and his plump mouth red and inviting. The arousal that was already in the air thickens as we move to greet him, his alphas purring as he arches his neck in invitation. But his eyes are roving over my dress as he exclaims, “God, woman! Have some consideration for my ballet belt.”
I grin as he adjusts the front of his tights, his alphas’ purrs kicking up a notch. Lachlan is smirking, but I can see theadoration in his eyes as he brushes a hand over Dash’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, other than cramped in your nether regions?”
Dash snorts and melts into his touch. “Excited. Happy. Nervous, but in a good way.” He looks around at us, all his confidence giving way to an adorable softness. “I’m really glad you’re all here.”
“We’re so proud of you,mijnliefje,”Corbus says as he carefully nuzzles his bite mark “We won’t be able to take our eyes off you.”
“Ditto,” he murmurs, giving me another appreciative look. “If it gets a little crazy backstage after the show, just head to the party and enjoy yourselves. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Someone hisses at him from the edge of the curtain, and he blows us kisses as he dashes back to the stage. There are even more eyes on us as we settle into our seats, and Lachlan squeezes my hand as the lights start to dim. “How surreal is it that we get to go home with that man?”
“As surreal as it feels to be sitting here holding Lachlan Cook’s hand,” I reply, kissing his knuckles. “But at the same time, it feels kind of inevitable, so I’m just going to soak it up and enjoy it.”
“Me too,” he whispers, and then we’re swept up in the most entrancing performance I’ve ever seen. For two hours, Dash and the other dancers propel us away to a dystopian world ravaged by war and hardship, where love has about as much chance of flourishing as a flower in a snowstorm. Despite the undertones of heartbreak, Dash’s every movement is as fluid as water, while his alpha lover is the epitome of the strong, tortured commander. They circle each other, two dancers in their prime, making even the most challenging sequences and lifts look effortless. The orchestra swells and falls around us, teasing, haunting, the lovers coming together in a heart-poundingpasde deuxthat has some people rising from their seats. But it all comes to a tragic, beautiful end, and tears pour down my cheeks as Dash performs his final dance over the body of his fallen lover.
As for the rest of the audience, they sit in stunned silence as the curtain drops, only to surge to their feet with a roar of applause.
“Okay,” I say, watching through watery eyes as Dash comes out to take multiple ovations, his gaze on our box as he throws kisses our way, “this is all completely surreal.”
Lachlan scrubs his own damp cheeks. “Damn. Can we please change that ending? I was kinda hoping love would conquer all.”
My heart, already tender from the tragic performance, gives a raw throb as I look at the man beside me. It’s been one of the hardest years of my life, but reconnecting with Lachlan overshadows all the misery by a mile. “I think it does, at least when it comes to us.” When he lifts me to my feet, I press as close to him as I can in polite company, wrapping my arms around his snug waist. “And now we get to go kiss that heartbroken soldier better.”
But we barely make it out of the box before well-wishers are crowding around our alphas, gushing compliments about their new mate. They answer politely, but eventually Bram has to use his imposing presence to push our way through the throng. We take a private staircase to the function room where they're holding the party, and I break away when we pass the sign for the bathroom. “I just need to go freshen up.”
We agree to meet at the bar, while I go and attempt to repair the ravages of a Russian tragedy on my makeup. To my relief, Bernadette’s products are holding up well, so after a quick swipe of lipstick and blusher, I’m stepping out of the bathroom, only to come face-to-face with Lee - or at least some version of him. I’m shocked by how thin and pale he looks in his expensive tux, as ifall his vitality has been drained out of him until he’s a husk of his former self.
Probably at the hands of a red-haired succubus.
“Kate!” He grabs my arm when I try to step past him. “I need to talk to you.”
“Send me an email, Lee.”
