Page 100 of Let Me Love You (Excess All Areas 5)

He shrugged. “Figured if we got bored, we could just lie down and take a nap, or fuck behind the chairs, and no one would bother us.”

Chaya burst out laughing. “You are the most ridiculous. I’m going to drink champagne and watch an opera and enjoy being in this pretty box.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You know, I likeyourpretty b—”

Chaya slammed her palm over his mouth, cutting him off. “Tonight, we are not crass Northerners. We are posh southerners. Behave like one.”

He nibbled her fingers playfully before placing his lips near her ear. “In that case, can I say you have a splendid vagina?”

Chaya’s shoulders shuddered with laughter. “No. You can’t say that, either, because it sounds ridiculous.”

“But it’s true.”

She shook her head. “You’re too much.”

“Never.” He kissed her cheek sweetly. “You mentioned champagne. Let me go get you some.”

At the end of the first act, he was confused. But the crowd had gone wild, well, wild for a bunch of predominantly middle-aged people in seats. All over some song about a woman’s hand being cold. The voices were insanely powerful, the chemistry believable. And while he was by no means an expert, he’d come again. Because even if he’d hated every minute, he’d still come again, if only to watch Chaya, who leaned forward in her seat, emotions playing all over her face. During the last duet, she’d reached for his hand and squeezed every time the notes soared to the ceiling. He’d guessed they were telling each other how much they loved the other, but his Italian was limited touna birro prego.

By the end of the final act, he remained rooted in his chair.

“Are you okay?” Chaya asked, dabbing her eyes with tissues he’d found for her from a kindly usher.

“We sat through all of that for her to die at the end?”

“Yes, but it was beautiful, wasn’t it? When the other bohemians tried to help Mimi and get medicine and things to keep her warm?”

He shook his head. “Yeah. But, Chay, she still fucking died.” And, yeah, for a few minutes, it had felt as though someone had shoved a knife into his chest. Until he realised they were actors, it wasn’t real, and he’d barely understood a word they’d all said. Or sung. Whatever.

Chaya stroked his hair from his forehead and kissed his temple. “The fact you clearly care is very sweet. I think the idea was that love conquers everything. Even death.”

Ben stood finally, pulling her into his arms. “I feel shitty I brought you all this way to cry at the end.”

Her smile told him he had nothing to worry about before her words did. “This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, all of it was beautiful.”

“Even with red-rimmed eyes and smudged mascara, you’re more beautiful.”

“Sweet talker.” She handed him the tissue. “Can you fix it before we walk out of here?”

Ben took the tissue and gently swept it beneath her eyes. “There you go.”

When they left the Royal Opera House, Ben took Chaya’s hand and they ambled around Covent Garden’s bustling cobbled streets. For the most part, they were left alone, but he noticed several camera flashes as he walked by a group of young women. For just one night, he wanted to be Ben King from Manchester, not Ben King rock star.

“Are you okay in those shoes?” he asked.

Chaya glanced down at her strappy heels. “Just need to make sure I plant my feet on stones and not cracks.”

He spotted a restaurant with outside seat heaters that appeared to be still serving food, before sweeping her into his arms. Fuck it. If people were going to take pictures, he might as well give them something to take pictures of. He wanted her in his arms. He didn’t want her breaking her ankle.

“Ben,” she squealed. “People are watching.”

He shrugged as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Let ‘em. I don’t care if they know how much I love you.”

He put her down at the desk, and within moments, they had a table. They dined on handmade pizza, Chaya’s covered in figs and goat cheese and drizzled with honey, his with prosciutto, sausage, and strangely, potato. Time passed slowly as they savoured a delicious red Zinfandel, talking about everything and nothing.

He took a photograph of her, glass to her lips, a secret smile on her face because he’d just told her what he was going to do to her when they got to their hotel. Money meant their bags had already been delivered straight there.

When he finally looked for their server to pay the bill, he realised the restaurant was empty.

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