sees everything. Like he thinks in poetry. Like he feels…something he can’t feel. I clear my throat and turn to the shoe box. I couldn’t care less about what’s inside or how beautiful the dress is. I just can’t have him keep looking at me like he is.
He picks up the box, opens it. Inside is a pair of high-heeled gemstone sandals to match the belt of the dress. I reach out to gingerly touch them.
“They don’t bite.”
I give him a sideways glance, wonder at the cost of everything, wonder why he did it. I pick up the shoes and try them on. They’re so uncomfortable but so beautiful, I don’t even care. I’ve never worn anything like this.
When I look up, I see how he’s looking at me.
“I should get dressed.”
He nods, takes the dress off the hanger, unzips the tiny zipper low on the back.
“People will see my back.”
“Let them. Let them want what we have.”
What we have. What do we have?
He slips the dress over my head, and I turn my back to him to zip it. I look at myself in the mirror, wonder how it’s such a perfect fit.
The two upside-down triangles of cloth leave as much of my breasts exposed as they cover. The high empire waist makes me look taller than I am, and I realize the dress is split from the ankle all the way up to the waist. The back has slightly more material, so the split isn’t as obvious. I pull the two sides apart and can see right up to my navel. I turn to him.
“I can’t wear this out.”
He draws my hands away and the dress drops and covers me to almost midthigh.
“Only I’ll see,” he says.
His eyes are darker, and when he looks at me like that, I want him again.
He checks his watch. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner and the opera.”
“Opera?” I can’t help but smile.
“Faust. I hope you’ll like it.”
“A man sells his soul to the devil for love.”
“You know it?”
“I’ve just read the book. I’ve never been to an opera.” I feel suddenly very Midwestern.
“We’ll have to drop in at a friend’s party between dinner and the opera.”
“A party?”
“Drinks, really.” He opens the door.
“Oh.” I try to seem more confident than I feel. “Okay.”
He slides his hand under my hair and caresses my back lightly, like he likes to feel the welts he left or something. We ride down on the elevator. This time, we don’t take a taxi. The driver of a waiting sedan opens the back door when he sees us, and I climb in with Sebastian close behind.
Nighttime Verona is very different to how it looked earlier today. For one thing, I feel a little more at ease. How that makes any sense is crazy, but I glance over at Sebastian, who is listening to a message on his phone. That’s just how I feel. Like I’m not alone out there and uncertain and lost.
That’s how I felt this afternoon, I guess. And I’m very aware that tomorrow, we’ll go back to that island, to his horrible family, but I can’t think about that, not that or what it means for me. Not tomorrow or the day after or the years after.
Dinner is more relaxed than I expected it to be. As fancy as we look, Sebastian takes me to a small pizza place just outside of town.
“This is my favorite place to eat when I come here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?”
“That it’s not a nicer restaurant.”
I look around at the brightly lit place, at the man standing in the kitchen which is visible over the counter, at the people in jeans and T-shirts eating pizza.
“This is actually exactly my kind of place,” I say, smiling.
Sebastian walks me into the kitchen where the man rolling out dough stops to hug him, surprised at seeing him. He gives me a wink and says something to Sebastian that I don’t understand. This is probably the most relaxed I have ever seen Sebastian as he pats the old man’s back and laughs loudly.
We go out back, and I am surprised to find a small plastic table with two plastic chairs set along the river. Lanterns hang overhead, and it’s all very romantic.
Or it would be if it weren’t us.
We sit on the rickety chairs and within a few minutes, we’re eating thin slices of pizza more delicious than any I’ve ever tasted.
“You like it?” Sebastian asks me.
“I’m on my third slice,