Page 27 of Not His Bride
Gallagher’s gaze meets mine. I wait for him to announce what’s next. Instead, he says, “Ready?”
He starts up the block. As promised, not a single hint about what comes next. I once again remind myself that I’m not here for the spectacle. We cross the block and stop outside a theater.
Not just any theater; this is the theater. Black awning, gold filigree at the hinges, two glass doors so spotless they reflect back at us.
I let him see the grin on my face. “Phantom?” I can’t help it. Why else would we be here? Unless there’s an unheard-of show going on right now, with the same gothic mysteriousness. I’d be down with that, too.
His eyes pick up the gold lettering above the door. He pushes open the left panel.
Inside, the lobby is completely empty, giving a liminal vibe. It’s so cool.
The carpet is blue and gold, a pattern intricate enough to make my head spin if I stare. There are expansive chandeliers overhead, smaller than the one in the show, but more dramatic for being lit at two in the afternoon.
Best of all, there’s no sound. No lines at the box-office or concession stand. No selfie sticks or anyone in sight, save for a small woman who rounds the corner with two ushers in sharp black uniforms.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cortez and Ms. Jovi. We are honored to host you today. If you have any issues, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
The greeting makes me look around more carefully. Not only are we early, but we’re so early that there’s no sign of house staff prepping for guests. No posters or publicity banners. No flyers for upcoming performances. The display cases are empty, except for a single playbill.
Gallagher steers us gently toward the handrail. The main usher, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and the posture that tells you he’s run this routine a thousand times, greets Gallagher quietly. They exchange a nod.
He looks at me, then gestures for us to follow him up the carpeted incline. Gallagher slips a hand behind me, not touching but close, the barest warning not to trip over the stairs.
We climb to the orchestra section.
At the top, the double doors into the house.
The usher pushes them open with a tiny flourish, like he’s introducing something grand for us alone. And then I see the seats. Rows upon rows, sweeping out in every direction, every plush red chair empty.
I come to a dead stop. “Are we early?”
“No,” he replies. “We’re right on time.”
He’s not even making a show of it. His tone is level, like this isn’t the most absurd flex I’ve ever seen.
The usher steps ahead and points to our seats. They’re front and center, right below a giant chandelier that reflects gold specks across the entire theater. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Gallagher nods in thanks. I walk the shallow slope of the aisle, boots making contact on plush carpet that must usually be drowned in shoe noise and conversation.
The stage is dressed for the performance. The blue-black curtains, the edges gilded, all lamps pointed crisp and ready for a real audience. Except, there isn’t one.
We sit. The comfort is instant; the seats are wider and more luxurious than I remember from my last show, but that’s probably an upgrade. I turn to Gallagher. “Is all of this for us?”
“For you,” he corrects. “But I’m here to enjoy it, too.”
“You rented out the entire theater for Phantom?”
“Kind of. There weren’t actually any Phantom shows playing… I hired an entire team to put it on just for us, in addition to renting out the theater.”
“Oh wow,” is all I can say. No wonder it took him so long to get back to me about our outing.
His mouth pulls sideways in the barest signal that he’s pleased I caught up.
I look around the empty theater again, then back at him. No one has ever done anything remotely like this for me. Hell, I’m not sure anyone has ever listened closely enough to get the idea for a “dream date” sort of situation.
“Gallagher.” A laugh slips out because I don’t know what else to do with myself. “This is insane. This might be the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I notice the usher waiting at the back, checking for a cue.
