Phillip

Nata's palm against mine calms my upper body but also gives me ideas of parking the car and missing the first act of the opera. I glance at her and catch her watching me.

"How are you feeling on our official first date?" I ask.

She tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I tighten the grip.

"Do we have to label things?" She stares at our intertwined hands.

"I'm not sure there are labels for what we are doing." I rub my thumb over the soft skin on her wrist.

She purses her lips and moves them to one side. The phone on her lap buzzes. She reads through the message. "Tom is asking if we can come over and talk tomorrow."

I try to pull my hand out of Nata's but she keeps it.

"You need to talk eventually," she says.

"Eventually–yes. Tomorrow–no." Even if I get hold of Mallard in an unofficial setting tonight and get him talking more about Mom, that is only the first step in figuring out where I actually come from. The private investigator I hired said it might take weeks or months before he has anything for me. And Dr. Lutz promised to tell me if he has any concerns about Tom's health. I'm still on his records as someone Dr. Lutz can share information with.

"You could ask Tom who your biological father is. He must know."

"He had his chance. He could have told me any time over the last 37 years. And I'm no longer sure that anything that comes out of his mouth is the truth." At least I have a reliable source where Tom's health is concerned. I'm still on his records as someone Dr. Lutz can share information with. And he promised to alert me to any changes in Tom's condition.

"What reason does he have to lie to you now that the truth is out?"

I get to the parking garage and stop by the valet station. "Good question. What reason did he have to lie to me before? What was he thinking would happen? I would never find out?"

"I'm not Tom I cannot answer those questions. Maybe you go visit, ask him, and see what he says. You don't have to believe him. You can still do your own thing. The private investigator you hired is bound to uncover whatever facts there are to find, but you said he told you it might take weeks if not months. You will have Mallard's version of your mom's youth as well. You can be a scientist, gather all the information and make an informed decision."

"I'm not a scientist though. And I am not ready to face Tom." Do I abandon the man who raised me even though he's been lying to me, when he's sick and needs me, or do I forgive him and pretend the giant chasm that his lying created between us does not exist?

"When will you be ready?"

"I'll tell you." I round the car and open the door, give Nata my hand and help her exist the low to the ground sports car.

The valet takes the key as I admire Nata admiring the high-rise of the Civic Opera. I always found the combination of an opera house on the bottom and an office building on top, a curiosity as opera houses go. The 45-story building borders the Chicago River and is a sight. But I'm more interested in looking at Nata. She is the real sight. The red dress the sales associate picked based on the picture I showed her from the reunion makes her look like a present, wrapped in a long red ribbon I can't wait to tug on and unravel.

I settle my hand on Nata's lower back. My finger migrates a little higher, so I can touch the skin on her back with my thumb. Touching her in private is as standard as breathing, but we haven't really done any PDA outside of our duplex. I wait for her to jerk away or step aside, ready to drop my hand, but she straightens and presses her back into my palm.

She looks better than the night of the reunion. Maybe it's because I know what's below the clothes, maybe it's because I know she's with me, maybe it's because my heart pinches every time I look at her. I've always been sure of Tom's love. I'm still sure of it. That is not the point of contention. But I also thought he was honest. This time, the only person who is honest is Nata. I can trust her. Can she trust me?

When I give up the Van der Heuvel dynasty and the money that comes with it, what do I have to offer? Does it mean I will no longer be in the financial position that made us a good deal before?

Nata shivers. I take my fingers off and drape Nata's black coat over her shoulders, sad to lose the sight of her bare back. But keeping her warm is more important.

She stares up at me. The makeup she put on today is more dramatic than her everyday look or her work-look. Her eyes framed by thick eyelashes and a sharp cat eye are full of excitement. The red of her lips draws me to bend and kiss her. On the cheek. The corners of Nata's mouth turn up.

I drape her hand over my elbow. "You could be my arm-candy any time."

"I've never been anyone's arm-candy."

I peck her on the nose and enjoy the slow pull of a blooming smile. Her cheeks are a lighter shade than her dress. We stroll to the colonnaded portico that runs the entire length of the building on the Wacker Drive side of the Civic Opera Building. "Never too late to start as long as it's my arm you're on."

She rolls your eyes. "Every time you say things like that, I wonder what Lothario 101 manual you've been studying."

I chuckle and tap my temple. "It's all here. I'm the cheesiest when it comes to the women I like."

"So you've used this phrase before?"

"I don't know if I did, but I want to only use them on you from now on." I slow to match her shorter stride as we step through the large bronze doors at the sound end.

Nata wraps her arm around my bicep and snickers. "Here we go again. It's hard to believe anything you say when you say it this way. No one thinks this way."

"I do." I lower my lips to her lips. "I also think about peeling this dress off you. The entire ride here I thought of parking somewhere and seeing how far the driver seat on the roadster goes."

She sighs with an exaggerated heave of her chest. "That I can believe."

"You can believe that I want your body but you can't believe I want your mind, and your soul, and that I admire it all and there are so many times in the day when I see you or think of you and know that you are with me and feel like I finally won the lottery," I whisper into her ear as we stroll down the grand foyer to the cloakroom,

"Nope." She slips out of my grasp, passes the coat to the attendant, and places the plastic square with the number to pick up her coat into the tiny shimmery bag. Nata stops in front of one of the giant mirrors and adjusts nonexistent flyaways around her high bun. She looks into the mirror and catches my gaze. "I don't believe any of that."

I believe that she doesn't. But I'm up for the challenge. I stride to her. "Then I know what my job is now."

"What?"

"Make you believe that." I stand behind her, glide my palms down her arms and keep my eyes on hers. "And more."

Something fleets over her face that I can't decipher. She stiffens. "If you like setting unrealistic goals for yourself, go for it."

"I'm good at persuading people, remember?" I bend to her face; her gaze is glued to me as I get closer. "We work, you and I." Her cheeks gets pinker, and she gives the people passing us a side glance. I tip her chin up to face me. "You just can't see what I see. Yet."

Nata lowers her gaze. "I should start recording the things you say and put them in a manual." Her voice is raspy with tension. "I'm sure other women will melt at your words."

My hands clap her elbows, moving our bodies closer together than our mouths are. Any contact with her I can have, I'll say yes to. "You're the only one I need to melt." Her red-stained lips are less than an inch away. I want to kiss her, but I also want to respect the one boarder we haven't crossed. Her lips on mine. And I will wait for her to take that step, because whether or not she says that, once she kisses me, I know I've got her. The real her, not the deal we're still masquerading behind. My lips hover over her so close, any jostle from a passerby would cause an accidental kiss.

The bell rings announcing it's time to be in our seats. Nata twists out of my hands and hurries up the stairs toward our box.

My heart beats faster and I squeeze my fists at my sides. Every time we touch, I feel, no, know that she feels the electricity between us. Was I misreading the signs? Nothing about what happened between us when she was trying on the dress was about our deal. Those papers might have been there to put us into each other's orbit again, but her gravitational pull is so strong, I won't be able to not be around Nata no matter what the deal was originally about. I want to make sure that she's in my life on a permanent basis. I run my tongue over my teeth going over what I said. Telling her how I feel is supposed to make her trust me. But it only feels like I'm screwing this up. I sink my fingers into my hair, but the gelled hardness is impossible to comb through. What did I do?

I run up the steps and stop Nata on the landing between the first and second floor. "How did I mess up this time?"

She bites her lip and watches the patron hurry up the steps. "Sometimes I feel like you're practicing your lines on me. Like you do standup where you dole out flattery, and I'm your test audience."

The heaviness in my chest eases. "What can I do if I'm so good with words?" I give her a rueful smile, hoping for the v between her eyebrows to relax.

"You're doing this again."

"What?"

"Making a joke out of everything."

I press my molars together, wipe any trace of mirth from my face and wrap my arms around her, pressing her ear into my face. The bell rings again, and she tries to move away, but I only press her tighter. "I'll work on my delivery," I say so only she can hear. "But no matter how cheesy my words are, I mean them. I really ... really mean them, Nata." My voice is low and serious. She nods into my chest. Maybe I've convinced her or maybe she just wants to get to the seats, but I let go and watch her face for the signs of what's going on in her head. "Do you believe me?"

"Let's talk later." Nata takes my hand and tugs me behind her. "I don't want to be late."

The box has six seats. We slip into the two unoccupied two and follow the instructions on the subtitles monitor that hangs above the stage to silence our phones. As the theater darkens and all eyes are on stage, I keep watching Nata and ignoring the longing in my chest.

Author's Note

3.14.24

I had to rewrite all the descriptions and emotions in this chapter becuase I didn't save the original document. I was so upset at first. Then sulked for two days, but finally sat down and did it today. The chapter ended up not as long as the original, but weridly re-writing those is harder than it was comping up with them originally. 

I'm cutting the story into shorter chapters anyway, so I can manage my writing/editing time better and stay consistent with weekly posts.

If you have time, look up Chicago Lyric Opera's building online, it's quite impressive and very werid as opera houses go.

Have you ever been to a live opera performance?

I actually used to sing as part of an opera chorus on stage with the makeup and costumes, it was so much fun.

Love,

GR