were out on the street, he gave me a long and delicious kiss.
We parked underneath the Opéra. Although I had seen it several times—as a tourist and during the daytime—the building always took my breath away, looking every bit like a marble wedding cake. Tonight it had transformed into a fairy castle, its warm yellow lights glowing magically through the chilly winter air. We followed richly dressed people walking arm in arm through the monumental doors.
“Have you been here before?” I asked as we walked into the foyer.
“I’ve come a few times as a fill-in date for Gaspard or Jean-Baptiste when the other was dormant. They always have season passes.”
We stepped into the center of the room, and I looked up. “Oh,” I gasped, the sumptuous surroundings robbing me of my capacity for intelligent speech. The enormous space was decorated in an over-the-top mash-up of styles—with every single inch of the floors, walls, pillars, and ceiling decorated to the nth degree in gold, marble, mosaic, or crystal. In any other setting it would seem like too much. But here it was stunning.
Vincent led me up the left-hand branch of the grand marble staircase to the second floor, and down a curved hallway lined with dozens of little wooden doors. We stopped in front of number nineteen.
“I didn’t reserve the royal box,” Vincent explained as he placed his hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t think you’d like the ostentation. Everyone’s always ogling it, trying to see who’s inside. This one’s just a good ten-spectator box, but I 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