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Anya swatted my arm. “Oh, you’re no better than Cameron, all the smart comments.”
“She is good, though,” Cameron said, moving towards me like in a dream. “Turn around for me.”
I got a shudder down my spine at the gently commanding tone, and I hoped I wasn’t blushing again as I turned, slowly, arms out showing her the dress from all sides.
“Opera-ready, I’d say,” she said, eyes gleaming as I met her again. “What do you think?”
I thought a lot of things I wasn’t about to start saying in front of Anya. “I think it’s gorgeous. And I think… thank you. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Not even a close contest.”
Cameron took one last long look at me before she turned back to Anya. “Invoice me the amount, Anya, I’ll have it handled once I’m back in the office.”
“Deciding the payment terms, I see,” Anya said, shaking her head with a smile. “All right, you. Get on out of here. You can’t be late to an opera.”
I laughed nervously as we left the shop, sticking close together on the walk back to her car. “I feel like we stand out.”
“I think you’ve always stood out,” she said lightly. I nudged her in the side.
“Such a flirt today.”
“I mean it,” she laughed, eyes sparkling as she stopped at the passenger-side door on her car, holding it open for me. “You have a presence. It’s hard not to notice you. Now… are you getting in the car, or will I have to make you?”
“As exciting as that sounds…” I sank into the seat, and she shut the door behind me, coming around to join me. I took the moment to shamelessly stare at her as she did.
It wasn’t a long drive to the Adrienne Arsht Center for the Performing Arts, and the sun was just a dim glow behind the horizon once we stepped out of the car, Cameron leading me towards the opulent stylings of the front of the opera house, tall lines of silver and glass standing over the meeting of brick plaza and palm trees that swayed in a warm nighttime breeze. We weren’t the odd ones out anymore—with the staff at the front ushering everyone through dressed up prim and proper, we were surrounded by people in neat suits and stunning dresses, but we still got quick looks from the people around us, Cameron’s two gorgeous dresses between the two of us turning heads. Almost possessively, I stuck closer to Cameron’s side as we went up the stone steps into the entrance.
“Frequent visitor here?” I said, my voice low, close to her ear. “Should we expect to run into your old opera-going friends here?”
She laughed, keeping her gaze straight ahead as we filtered through the crowd, squeezing into a dimly lit hallway towards the theater. “It’s my first time.”
“Really?”
She looked away. “It’s a bit living like royalty, wouldn’t you say?”
Something surged in me, a complex mixture of sympathy and something angrier, but above all else it was kind of… I got to bear witness to Cameron living like she wanted. And I got to be a part of it.
Against all my better judgment, I slipped my hand into hers. She flinched a little, eyes going wide, but when I gave her a light squeeze, she returned it, hesitantly, nervously, and she didn’t let go. “Well,” I said, “this will shock you, but it’s my first time, too.”
She smiled wider. “How about that?”
“By the way, will I… understand this opera?”
“Ça dépend. Parles-tu français ou non ?”
Where she’d just pulled that from, I didn’t know—come to think of it, Kevin had said her family came from Provence. Either way, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little sexy… “Uh—juste un peu. J’ai… étudie quand j’étais petite.”
She laughed, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze. “Not bad. It’s Carmen, a classic. I only ever spoke French with my grandparents, so I was hardly ever fluent… we’ll see how much I understand. Either way, they give you the translation.”
“I had no idea you spoke French.”
“Could it be you’re a fan?”
I laughed awkwardly, following her through a door and into the wide, echoing space of the theater. “What would be the point in denying it?” I said, and she gave me another affectionate squeeze before she led me towards the front.
“For the record,” she said, taking me down the third row—because apparently just attending an opera in our fine tailored dresses wasn’t enough unless we watched from the front block. “I definitely don’t mind hearing you speak it either. Even if it is only a little.”
Maybe I’d put French on my personal itinerary. Was I being a stereotypical lesbian, wanting to learn French suddenly for a girl?
I didn’t mind.
