One Cruel Night

“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?”

I laughed. “There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music.”

“I’m not any good,” I told him before hesitantly placing my hand in his.

“Lucky for you, I am a great partner.”

He tugged me tight into him. He held our hands out and grasped my waist, guiding my own hand to his shoulder. My eyes crept up to his, and something bubbled up inside me—fear but excitement.

Who was this man? What universe had he come from?

Then, he led me in a smooth circle around the stage. His movements were effortless, and he guided us so evenly, it was clear that he had been doing this his entire life. We performed our slow waltz in front of an empty audience, yet the energy between us made it feel like it was a packed house.

“I haven’t done this since I was a debutant,” I admitted.

“You were a debutant?” he asked with surprise in his voice.

I nodded.

I didn’t add that it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever done in my life. That Amy’s parents had insisted she do it since she was a legacy, and she had refused until they said they would pay my way, too. It had been embarrassing. All of the manners, etiquette, and dance lessons in the world couldn’t make me a proper Southern lady.