Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(20)

“Now that’s how a woman of your natural beauty ought to dress,” Viggo called. Blushing, I turned to see him skipping down the steps two at a time, clad in a black tuxedo. “Sofie,” he acknowledged with a nod and a smile, which she returned. I guessed they had reconciled. “Shall we?” Viggo said, offering his arm. I accepted, giggling shyly.

“Where’s Mortimer?” I asked tentatively as we walked through the garden.

“Oh, he has a previous engagement so it’ll just be us three,” Viggo answered, smiling.

My shoulders dropped in relief. I didn’t know why, but I was nervous around Viggo’s somber partner. Viggo was just so much more easygoing and friendly.

We reached the other side of the garden to find Leonardo holding open the door of a Rolls Royce. He inclined his head. “Miss Evangeline.”

“Thank you.” I slid awkwardly into the car, trying to keep all the slits and gaps of my dress in place. Viggo and Sofie took a seat on either side of me, sandwiching me in the middle. In seconds we were pulling into the exit tunnel, passing Max and the other dogs sitting on their haunches, guarding their fortress.

“Seriously?” I exclaimed in a rare burst of childlike gaiety as the Rolls pulled up to the curb in front of the theater.

Viggo laughed as he slipped out of the car in one fluid motion, then offered me his hand. Even Sofie’s smile looked giddy in response to my reaction.

“Romeo and Juliet was my mother’s favorite story,” I said, gazing up at the marquee. In truth, it had been a staple in my bedtime routine, growing up. My mother, the hopeless romantic, referred to it as a fairy tale. It wasn’t until years later that I learned fairy tales didn’t usually end with the main characters dying.

“Then you’re in for a treat,” Viggo said as we walked toward heavy, ornately carved bronze doors.

“You look like a hunchback. Stop skulking and stand up straight,” Sofie murmured, looping her arm in mine.

Viggo immediately grabbed the other one, pulling me closer to him. Sofie tightened her grip. I was beginning to feel like the rope in a tug–of–war as we made our way into the lavishly decorated theater.

The lobby was vacant.

“We’re late!” I cried.

“Impossible.” Viggo smiled, winking mysteriously.

A lanky usher dressed in an intricately beaded suit appeared to personally guide us to our seats, a box near the stage.

“So this is what a theater looks like,” I murmured, taking in the splendid green, blue, and gold decor. Five levels of box seats adorned with fleur–des–lis and gold–plated cherubs wrapped three walls of the theater, overlooking a deep orchestra pit and floor seating before a curtained stage. I looked up to see a giant mural painted in vibrant hues on the ceiling.

“If you ever have the chance, visit the Theatre of the Estates in Prague. This place was designed with it in mind,” Viggo said.

If I ever get to visit Europe, I thought wistfully, but I kept quiet. I’d likely be on the jet there tomorrow if I sounded at all deprived.

The lights dimmed as soon as we sat down, indicating that the show was about to begin. It was as if they had waited for our arrival. The audience hushed as the conductor stood, baton raised. He was so close—close enough that I could poke him with a stick if I wanted to!

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. This was my first real play in a real theater with real actors. I fanned through the pages of the program, curious who the actors were, expecting not to recognize any names. And I didn’t, except for one. It jumped out immediately—the producer.

Viggo. No last name. Just Viggo.

“Is this … you?” I asked, pointing out the name.

He chuckled. “I like to dabble in the arts. This theme holds a special place in my … heart.”

“What exactly does ‘producer’ mean?”

“It means he told somebody what he wanted and threw obscene amounts of money at them to do it,” Sofie replied cynically. “He’s good at that.”

Viggo chuckled but I thought I sensed contempt. “I built this theater and I wrote the play.”

My eyes widened in amazement. He’s a lawyer and a playwright!

The curtain parted, and the heart–wrenching story of Romeo and Juliet, the star–crossed lovers, doomed from the beginning by their opposing family ties, began as I remembered. The actors sobbed and moaned dramatically. The orchestra played soft music with perfectly balanced undertones of melancholy and longing. It was exactly as I had always pictured the story in my head. Right up until Juliet, traveling along a wooded trail alone at night for some unknown reason, was dragged out of her coach and bitten in the neck by a male attacker.

“I don’t remember this part,” I whispered, my brow furrowing.

Both Viggo and Sofie burst out laughing, earning a hush from the woman in the box next to us. “Sorry,” Sofie offered politely. She tapped the program where it said “an adaptation.”

“Oh … that’s what that meant,” I mumbled.

They laughed again, receiving another warning in the form of a sharp hiss from the same woman. Sofie turned to regard her. I couldn’t see her face but whatever look she gave must have had the desired effect, because the woman shrank into her seat, practically disappearing from view for the rest of the show. I was beginning to see another side to Sofie’s reserved, charming demeanor.