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on her face.
    Since she was the enemy, why didn't she feel like the enemy?
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    N o one else occupied the box. Damien was grateful for the small measure of privacy. He might need it since he couldn't seem to say the right words to Anna. Besides, sitting still for over two hours surely would kill him, despite the cushioned velvet-covered seats.
    Damien pulled at his collar. His body wasn't meant to be encased in formal attire. He blamed the ornate architecture and opulent gold that covered almost every inch of the interior. He adjusted his jacket and tried not to squirm like a little child.
    Right now he was going through the motions to be here. Even Anna's company didn't shake off his reluctance. Whether as a no-show to his father's party or to the opera, he would have rather spent the night partying at Jimmy'z Place du Casino with women who didn't want a damn thing from him, but a good time.
    "Here's the playbill." Anna handed him the booklet with a snap.
    " Merci ." Damien dared not refuse the offering.
    Maybe he should make the first move to start the thaw. Two hours in frosty conditions held no appeal. He opened the brochure with exaggerated interest and determinedly skimmed each page.
    Occasionally he looked up and shared a tidbit that caught his attention. When he turned the page, he fell silent to read the full page write-up. Immediately he was drawn into the premise.
    The opera promised a big romance between a down-in-his-luck barber and the beautiful daughter of the town's mayor. But desperation to claim his true love caused the barber to make the wrong alliances.
    Falling in love, even in fiction, had a way of biting someone in the ass.
    Damien leaned in to chat about what he'd read. Just then, the orchestra started the production with soft romantic notes that increasingly swelled in volume and fullness as the empty market scene was suddenly filled with costumed vendors and buyers bringing to life the 17th-century Italian village.
    The elaborate stage and colorful costumes drew in and held on to Damien's attention. He looked forward to jumping in and soaking up everything from the production. For the next two hours, the actors would belt out their joy and pain for life and love.
    "Ever wondered that there are too many rules about how to love. Or who to love," Damien muttered in defense of the love-struck barber.
    "Without rules, people would act foolishly. Selfishly."
    "Nothing wrong with being selfish sometimes. It's self-love."
    As the production played out on stage, Damien did feel bad for the barber and his place in society that kept him at the lower half of the social ladder. The man's heart didn't acknowledge boundaries.
    Meanwhile Anna never responded to his declaration. Not with words, anyway. Her dismissive snort had said enough.
    The play continued onto the intermission without further interjections from him. It was no fun having a conversation with himself. When the lights flooded the theater for the thirty-minute break, Damien wanted to cheer. But he wanted to act like a gentleman and didn't move, although his legs ached for a chance to stretch. He waited for Anna to make the first move unsure if the ground between them was safe for an approach.
    "Any refreshments?" he asked, no longer able to sit still.
    The dense hum of conversational buzz filled the space as patrons aimed for the restrooms or the concessions area.
    "No thank you. But I will go chat with the Sables. They're seated over there." Anna gestured toward box seats that faced center stage.
    Damien took his cue to leave, accepting that there wouldn't be conversation during the intermission. He shrugged off the tingling edge of disappointment. It was just his luck that the play mirrored a bit of the dynamics that stood between him and Anna. He had money, but no class. She had money. And she had class.
    The difference between the story and reality was that he didn't have someone to mix a potion to take out the perfect