The Other Man (Rose Gold Book 1)

by Nicole French

  Nina examined me with a practiced eye. “Of course it is. Kate again?”

  I nodded.

  “I should have known. Shall we?”

  She held out her hand for me to tuck into my elbow. Act the part of the escort. The gentleman.

  For once, I was happy to oblige.

  “Shall we?” I asked.

  We followed the crowds into the opera house, with its familiar arched windows, red carpets twisting around the grand cylindrical staircases, and the famous galaxy-shaped light installations that hung all over the lobby and the concert hall auditorium.

  I expected Nina to be stopped several times by patrons, but by the time we got inside, most people had already found their seats. Briskly, Nina led me up the first set of stairs, then took a sharp right toward a door where an elderly usher greeted her.

  “Mrs. Gardner. We thought you weren’t going to make it tonight.”

  There, she dropped my arm.

  “Hello, Terence. No, I made sure to be here, even if we are a bit tardy.”

  I waited for her to introduce me. She did not.

  “I’m actually glad you were late,” she murmured as we followed the usher down the hall. “I can’t stand talking to all those people. It’s the same horrid conversation again and again.”

  I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being hidden away. And why not? I was a dirty little secret, wasn’t I? Nothing I wasn’t used to.

  The usher opened the final door at the end of the hall to a balcony separated from the next one by a tall red wall that matched the rest of the theater with its scarlet seating and gold edges. I smiled as I looked around. I had been here a few times, but only when the cheap tickets sold for about forty-five dollars on a good night. This right here was the best seat in the house.

  “It’s just us tonight,” Nina said as she caught me looking around the empty box.

  I inspected the six seats. “Really? Seems like a bit of a waste.”

  She nodded. “Grandmother loved to go, but since she passed, no one else enjoys it. Eric might come occasionally with clients, but he’s really more of a theater person.”

  “Your coat, madam?” the usher interrupted before I could respond.

  “Thank you, Terence.” Nina slipped the mink from her shoulders and handed it to the usher, who hung it in the back.

  “Would you like your customary drinks tonight, madam?”

  Nina turned to me. “Would you like some champagne, Matthew? We have donor privileges.”

  But I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t fuckin’ speak at all. With the drop of mink, a spell had been cast, and I was too entranced to do anything but stare.

  Nina’s mouth twisted with pleasure. “Champagne would be lovely, Terence. Thank you.”

  “Very well, ma’am.”

  The usher closed the door behind him, leaving Nina and me alone in the box. Around us, the theater hummed with the sounds of people chatting. Bells outside announced the show’s beginning. But I couldn’t register a goddamn thing.

  “Matthew,” Nina said. “You’re not moving.”

  She was a vision. A sheath of satin poured over her body like water, simple and stark against that pure pale skin I dreamed about each night. It wrapped around her chest to the floor, broken only by a subtle slit up one thigh and two thread-like straps over her dancer’s shoulders.

  And it was all red. Not just any red. A bright, lustrous crimson, the color of blood. Hearts. Roses.

  Scarlet.

  “You’re…Jesus.”

  The only part of me that I could move was my hand, and even that I was only able to press over my heart, which gave a thump. Calm. I needed to calm the fuck down.

  Nina looked down at her dress and then back up. Tiny dimples appeared outside her mouth, like she was trying and failing to hold back a grin. “It’s a bit different than what I generally go for, to be sure. Perhaps I should have—”

  “No,” I interrupted, then cleared my throat. Awkwardly. “No,” I tried again. “You did perfect. Jesus fucking Christ, Nina. You are a work of art.”

  Joy pinked her apple-shaped cheeks. “Matthew.”

  I crossed the box, thankful that we were sheltered by the balcony above ours. Here in the shadow, none of the audience members could see the desire I couldn’t hide.

  “I’m not kidding,” I said. “I feel like God himself delivered that dress just for me.”

  Her smile lit up the dark. “Not God. Just Valentino, remember. So you can thank him, I suppose.”

  “Take the compliment, baby.” I tucked a stray blonde lock behind her ear, then floated my fingers over the delicate gems dangling from her earlobe. “If it’s the man that makes the clothes, it’s the woman who makes the dress. You deserve it and so much more.”

  Her eyes sparkled brighter than any diamond. “Thank you for coming tonight. I—I appreciate it. More than you know.”

  My hand lingered around her jaw, and for a second, I considered sneaking a kiss. Given the way her gaze fell to my mouth, I was sure she would let me. But once I opened that door between us again, I was pretty certain I wouldn’t be able to close it.

  The real question was: did I care?

  But before I could tempt fate, the door to the box opened. Terence, with a bottle of champagne on ice and two crystal glasses.

  Nina stepped out of reach, hands folded in front of her skirt. Only the flush coloring her otherwise snow-white face betrayed that anything less than respectable had been about to happen.

  “Best take your seat, sir,” Terence said as he carried our drinks to us. “It’s about to begin.”

  The audience below us quieted as the sparkler-shaped lights dropped, and then rose again before dimming completely. Everyone watched—it was one of the calling cards of the famous venue. But I still only had eyes for one thing. And she was sitting right next to me.

  I liked opera. Always had. Like a lot of kids in my neighborhood, I grew up on a steady diet of the Rat Pack and Louis Prima, but I wasn’t unfamiliar with the sounds of Puccini or Verdi. There was always a baker or a restaurant owner on the block with a taste for the greats. Nonna (along with half the neighborhood) cried when Pavarotti died. My sisters and I had heard his version of “Nessun Dorma” about a thousand times.

  Turandot, of course, was a classic. The Zeffirelli version had been revived here again and again for more than thirty years. I’d seen it myself from the nosebleeds, and even from there, the massive Orientalist set drew oohs and aahs from just about every audience member.

  This version, however, was different. Instead of the majestic pieces designed as much or more than the vocal talent, this set was open and shallow. Dark. Simple. Almost unremarkable. And when the company appeared, they were dressed in equally nondescript costumes.

  “This was you?” I gestured to the stripped-down version of Peking that was nearly black.

  The purpose of the aesthetic was immediately clear: to allow the audience to focus on the music, not just the bells and whistles.

  “I was one of the sponsors, yes. It’s a limited run.” Nina glanced at me. “I only wanted the music, but also the benefit of a full production. Opera is the language of love, you know.”

  I raised a brow in surprise. Apparently I wasn’t the only one having flashbacks.

  “Sorry, it must be rather dull for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  She shrugged.

  “Nina?”

  She looked up, and the uncertainty there just about killed me. Tentatively, I slipped a hand around her waist and guided her closer. Her breath grew just a bit coarser.

  “You could read the damn phone book,” I told her. “And it would sound like Puccini.”

  “Is that a good thing? A lot of people don’t care for opera.”

  “A lot of people are idiots.” I smiled. “Opera is the language of love, baby. It doesn’t get better than that.”

  “Can you understand the libretto?” Nina whispered a
s the overture began.

  I shrugged. “It’s a little harder when it’s sung, but I could probably read it.” I tapped the small screen embedded in the banister in front of us. “They provide the translation, right?”

  Nina nodded. “True.” She settled into her seat and crossed her legs, allowing her dress to split over one knee.

  I swallowed and turned back to the stage. The only way I was making it through this night was if I kept my eyes trained forward.

  And I managed it for the first two acts. Terence interrupted us at both intermissions, refreshing our drinks and making sure everything was in order so we wouldn’t have to leave. By that point, I didn’t even care that it was probably a ruse to keep me hidden from her friends. Me. Nina. Music, booze, and good conversation? Life was pretty nice from the best seats in the house.

  But just as Calaf emerged onto the stage with the memorable intro to “Nessun Dorma,” I noticed one thing amiss. Not everything was perfect.

  I nudged Nina’s shoulder and beckoned her close. She leaned toward me.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Is your translator broken?” I asked, nodding at the black screen in front of her.

  Nina glanced at it with confusion. “What? Oh.” She looked back at me. “Oh, yes, I suppose it is.” Her smile was almost sheepish. “I was enjoying the music too much to notice.”

  “Do you want me to translate this one for you?”

  It was a stupid request. Obviously, no one really paid much attention to the translations—not if they were here for the music, and—

  “Please.”

  Her bare knee touched mine, and instinctually, my palm fell on top of it so I could whisper into her ear as the tenor began to sing.

  “‘None shall sleep,’” I said as her hair tickled my cheek. “‘None shall sleep.’”

  My nose brushed the edge of her ear. She shivered.

  “‘Not even you, princess, in your cold bedroom.’”

  Under my hand, her muscles tightened. Her scent of roses floated around me, making me dizzy. Instinctually, I pulled our legs flush while I continued, spreading my fingers over her knee.

  “‘Watching the stars that tremble with love, and with hope.’”

  Nina clenched her plump lower lip between her teeth.

  “‘But my secret is hidden within me; no one will know my name.’”

  I couldn’t help the way my fingers, enjoying the silky texture of her skin, gently caressed her skin, then began, as if of their own accord, slipping down.

  “‘No, no, on your mouth…’”

  My hand was between her legs. Nina sucked in a tight breath. But she didn’t move away. Not an inch. Not a centimeter.

  “‘…I will say it when the light shines…’”

  Somehow, while I spoke, my fingers had moved over the curve of her leg, slipped between the folds of fabric. Her thighs rested lightly on either side of my fingers, lithe muscles flexing ever so slightly at my touch.

  “‘…And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine…’”

  I didn’t bother to translate the chorus singing beyond the stage as the tenor took a break. I was too entranced by what, through some miracle, I had been allowed to do.

  Her skin was so warm. The theater was so dark. And as the music vibrated through the hall, my hand slipped higher and higher, toward that forbidden space between her legs. Finding that slightly damp warmth that had been calling me home for months.

  “‘Vanish, oh night…’”

  My fingertips brushed a tissue-thin layer of lace. Some delicate fabric, through which I could barely distinguish the soft textures of skin and hair and…Nina.

  “‘Fade, you stars.’”

  Nina’s chin tipped into the air as she sighed, no longer watching the performance, though the sound rippled around us. The movement bared her neck and chest all the way down to where her breasts now tested the passion-colored satin. I knew what they felt like. Had memorized the way their soft, supple weight felt in my palm.

  It wouldn’t be hard to slip one of those nonexistent straps over one shoulder. Bare one perfect pillow. Capture a taut nipple between my teeth.

  Instead, I grazed my nose up her neck. Two fingers curved into the lace.

  It tore.

  Nina hissed.

  The rest of the audience was rapt as they watched the singer, but I was only interested in the song under my hands as I slipped one finger, then two into the slick heat that had been waiting for me all night. Maybe all my life. My thumb found her clit and circled continuously while the others moved in aching time to Puccini’s masterpiece.

  “‘At dawn,’” I promised along with the Italian poetry, “‘I…will…win.’”

  Three fingers now found her depths while my thumb pressed even harder.

  “Ahh!”

  Nina’s voice was an aria that blended with the cry onstage. The tenor’s vibrato shook along with the audience’s applause and the quake of this woman’s body. Nina came there for me in the dark, gray eyes wide as they met mine in the shadows. She opened, legs fully splayed, back arched off the seat as I took her pleasure. For a moment, I considered getting down on my knees for her again. Pressing my nose between her thighs. Tasting that sweet warmth now coating my fingers.

  But then, just like the aria, her climax faded. Nina sank back into her chair, gasping for breath. And I removed my fingers, dragging them back down her thigh, over her knee, and then, to my regret, pulling her dress into place.

  “Nina.”

  My voice was barely audible. Much like hers.

  “Matthew.” She looked at me with eyes full of desire, yes, but also fear.

  I wondered if there would ever be a day where she wasn’t afraid of me. Afraid of us.

  So instead of kissing her, of dragging her out of the booth to continue undoing us both in private, I just leaned closer brushed her hair from her face again. She leaned into my touch.

  Something caught my eye. I leaned farther over her. “Wait…your translator.”

  I sat back up to find Nina’s flush rising again, even in the dim light.

  “It wasn’t actually broken?”

  Apparently the light on those things was dim enough that from my seat, her screen was black. As, I realized, mine must have been to her.

  “I—no. It, um, it works.”

  We stared at each other for a long time. Below us, the music grew more frenetic. Nina bit her lip, clearly embarrassed. I didn’t know how to tell her that I was equal parts confused and relieved.

  After a moment, I just shook my head, then took her hand and squeezed.

  “Opera makes people do crazy things,” I said. “Let’s enjoy the rest and let it be.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  For the rest of the performance, Nina’s hand was a vise around my wrist. She kept my palm on her knee, but prevented it from moving anywhere else. She didn’t look at me, didn’t even acknowledge I was there until the curtains had closed and we stood along with everyone else to give the cast an ovation.

  I barely noticed. The applause through the house thundered in my ears, but not as loudly as my heartbeat. All I could think about was the muddled cry when she came, the swell of her breasts as she caught her breath, the subtle scent of her that still clung to my fingertips.

  I wanted more. I needed more. To the point where I couldn’t honestly name a limit to what I’d do to get it.

  We stayed in the box, hovered in its shadows until the auditorium was nearly empty. Then Nina finally slid her arms into her coat, checked her face in a compact mirror from her purse, and turned for the door.

  I couldn’t take her silence anymore. Next to the fountain where we’d met tonight, I pulled her to a stop.

  “Nina, look. I don’t—what happened in there. I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m expecting anything else. It just happened. I—”

  She cut me off with a finger to my lips. When my eyes met hers, she took her hand away, though
her gray eyes were dancing.

  “Let’s not talk about it right now,” she said as she looked nervously around the milling crowds. “Not until we can find someplace…private.”

  Wait…what?

  My mind suddenly felt like it was exploding. Was she suggesting what I thought she was? I mean, I wanted it. Good fuckin’ God, I wanted to rip every shred of clothing off that beautiful body. Continue worshipping her the way I was certain I’d been put on this earth to do.

  But I’d made a promise, if only to myself. My faults, the way I coveted this woman—I’d be doing penance for that until the day I died. But for her sake, I could bear the weight of those sins on my own. For her sake, I’d at least try to be better than the terrible man I was in my heart.

  That said, if she was joining me on my level…God forgive me, I’d welcome her with open arms.

  Nina’s eyelids drooped with desire. Every cell in my body stood at attention. I took a step forward, reaching for her hand again, but she dodged my grab.

  “Private, Matthew,” she repeated as a mischievous smile played over her lips. Her head tilted playfully to one side. “Perhaps the Grace has room for us again.”

  At that moment, I knew I would carry her all the way down to the Lower East Side again if it meant we could continue what we started in the box.

  “Let’s go—” I started in the direction of the cab line, but we were stopped immediately at the sound of a familiar voice.

  “Nina?”

  Nina froze. And I did too.

  We both turned.

  In front of us, holding the arm of a very bored, very rich-looking older man who perked up considerably when he caught sight of Nina, was someone whose calls I’d been dodging for more than a month now.

  “Hello,” Nina said as she stepped forward to exchange not-quite-kisses with the woman. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” She did the same with the man. “Kyle, so lovely to see you again. Congratulations on the recent nuptials, of course. Have you two settled in to married life, or does three weeks in still count as the honeymoon?”

  “Oh, we’re settling quite well,” replied the man. “I’m sure this one would agree.”