over the curve. “I look enormous.”
I reached over and took her hand from off her belly.
“You look beautiful,” I told her simply. “Glowing and healthy and like you’re the most stunning woman who ever got pregnant in the history of the world. Now let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”
I could see the question in her eyes, and knew that she was about to argue with me again—because that was just what she did—so I pulled her through the door and into the hallway before she could refuse and run back to hide in her apartment.
I had a very, very big night planned. And I wasn’t going to let her ‘this isn’t part of my own plan’ line get in the way of it.
We strolled through Times Square on the way to Broadway and the biggest theater there—which was the one that was showing the musical I was taking her to. Because you couldn’t live in New York without seeing The Phantom of the Opera at least once. It was practically part of our social fabric. And even though I didn’t think it was the best of all the musicals and operas I’d seen, it was almost certainly the most iconic.
Which was exactly why I wanted to share it with her.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” I said, when I spotted the marquee to our theater. I reached into the inside pocket of my coat—for the fifteenth time—and made sure that I had the tickets. Yes, we’d be able to get them at will call if we needed to. Yes, I’d been to this particular theater enough times that they would probably have recognized me at the door and let me in. If I needed them to.
I didn’t want the hassle, though. I wanted to get to our seats and be seated when the curtain came up and the big number started. I wanted to see her face when she saw it. I wanted to be able to take in her excitement, the way her lips parted when she was surprised, and the way she leaned into anything that intrigued her.
I didn’t know how to explain it. But I wanted to be there when she experienced it for the first time. I wanted to drink in the… Bella-ness of the entire thing.
That feeling—that unnamable, unexplainable, bone-deep need—was shoving its way into my life more and more often, lately. Swelling my heart every time I felt it—and then forcing my heart to stay that big.
It was like showing her the city, getting to see it through her eyes, and getting to see her excitement, was creating some sort of balloon inside of me. One that kept getting bigger and bigger—and pushing everything else out of its way.
Bella squeezed my hand a bit harder. “I know this will shock you, but I’ve never had the money for this sort of thing. Or the time. Or anyone to share it with.”
I leaned my head toward hers and lowered my voice. “Good thing the universe sent me your way. No one should go through life without going to Broadway at least once.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m sure that’s exactly why the universe put you into my life. To take me to The Phantom of the Opera. Because I might have actually died if I never saw it.”
“You might,” I said seriously. “You never know.”
We got to the front of the theater, then, and found that there was no line—thanks to us running late—and that we had a clear shot right through the front doors. I handed our tickets to the man there, and he called an usher to show us to our seats.
“There’s a guy here just to take us to our seats?” Bella asked in a hushed tone as we trailed after him.
“Of course,” I replied. “I bought the best seats in the house. They come with a personal attendant.”
I gave her a wink, making her look shocked, at first. Then her mouth twitched.
“Liar,” she said, her tone full of sass.
When we got to the top of the first flight of stairs and walked through the doors into our own personal balcony, though, I knew I had her. She stopped abruptly, her eyes flying from the seats in the balcony—only two of them—to the audience below—packed, of course—to the stage, and then the orchestra, and then the balconies on the other side of the theater, and finally to the chandelier hanging over the entire thing, swinging softly in