#timophie

He saw her through the crowd and his breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful; not just physically- though that was undeniable; he smiled a little to see heads turning to admire her- but there was a light in her that shone in her eyes and smile, a bright shine that surpassed every ordinary woman in the room. And she was walking towards him.He saw the envious glances and squared his shoulders a little, offering a formal bow and then his free arm as she joined him.

“And here I thought you were standing me up,” he teased, his eyes arm on her. “But I see that you are, of course, worth the wait.”

Sophie grinned at him, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. She had felt stupid as she had got ready, twice having to talk herself out of cancelling. She didn’t have much when it came to fancy attire, and she knew that she could show up at something so...so wonderful as this in jeans and a tee. She ended up wearing the same dress she had worn to Crowley’s wedding, which brought up thoughts of Rich which she quickly pushed out of her mind.

“I was trying to do the whole fashionably late thing.” She joked as she linked arms with him, taking in Tim’s appearance. He looked every bit the secret agent man they joked about when they had first met and she had an odd case of the butterflies as she looked at him. She couldn’t tell if they were from being around him or from anticipation of what they were about to see, but either way for the moment she had decided that they were the good kind.

“This is so exciting.” She said, unable to contain herself. “I don’t believe we’re acting going to see this.”

His eyes lingered slowly over her, drinking in the sight of the dress clinging in the right places to her comely figure. When he came to her eyes, he let her see him sigh through slightly parted lips before smiling again. He knew if anyone had looked at his wife the way he’d just looked at Sophie, he’d kill him.

But her husband- possibly- wasn’t here, and she was.

“Fashionable or not, I’d have waited another hour to see you looking so good.” He said, guiding her to the coat check. He laughed at her enthusiasm, genuinely amused.

“It’s Romeo and Juliet, so you know the story,” He said as the girl took their coats and handed him the tickets. He tucked them in his pocket and took the liberty of restinghishand on the small of Sophie’s back to guide her through the crowd. “Star-crossed lovers. Passion that echos through the centuries, but ultimately? Tragedy.” He knew he was laying it on thick, with his voice low so he had to lean in to speak in her ear, but he didn’t want to be a better man than this. This man got to be at the ballet with her; a better man would be alone at home.

“This was the first ballet I ever saw, back in college.” He said. He saw the bar outside the theater doors and leaned closer. “Would you like a glass of wine, Sophie? Drink the right amount and you can feel the music in your blood.”

“I’d love one, but only if you have one too.” She said with a slight nod. She promised herself that she wouldn’t drink too much, wanting to remember every little detail of the night. She was acutely aware of how close he was, feeling his body heat, and she knew that she needed to keep some of her wits about her but knew that it would be hard to.

“It’s the only Shakespeare play I really know anything about.” She admitted. “I read it in highschool--I still have it. It’s such a good story, but at the same time every time I read it I think that they were idiots. I mean, who falls in love like that?”

“Love at first sight, how ridiculous.” He murmured, catching her eyes for a moment. He ordered them each a glass of wine and led her to a leather bench. “There’s a certain allure to the idea. It’s passionate, and romeo is so… I don’t know.” He sipped his wine. “Eager to love? It’s sort of sweet.” He took another sip, then leaned towards her.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, for I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.” He said to her, the edge of his hand brushing the material of her dress. “It’s a kind of innocence, that kind of willingness to love.” He moved away from her, trying to make himself behave like a man out with a friend and not some horny frat boy.

“The beauty of the words and the rhythm of the poetry is captured beautifully in the ballet, if it’s danced right. And this is one of the best companies in the world, so you’re in for a feast of beauty.”

She couldn’t help but look down after they caught each others eye, for a moment feeling very silly. “Falling in love at first sight only happens in the books.” She didn’t know if she honestly thought that was true, but it’s what she had to believe at the moment. “I guess you’re right, it is kinda sweet in it’s way.”

She listened to him intently as he recited, taking a sip of her wine as she did so. She looked down as she felt his hand brush but she didn’t do anything to stop it. It was just an outing as friends, no need to be so aware--it’s not as if something was going to come of it.

Raising her glass, she decided to make a toast. “I wanna toast to having an amazing night seeing a beautiful ballet.”

“To amazing beauty.” He said, saluting her with his glass. There was just enough distance between them for him to almost feel her warmth and weight next to him; he caught a whiff of her perfume and had to concentrate on the heady taste of wine in his mouth, the rich layered bouquet of it and the sharp aftertaste. “And to elegance and poetry.” He took another sip, rolling it in his mouth and trying to distinguish the notes of the wine so he didn’t notice that her perfume had a top note of something floral and a midnote of vanilla, and it made him want to drink her in like he was drinking his wine: taking time to savour her, to taste every layer of her, to thoroughly enjoy her in every way possible.

“I must say, I’m honored that you agreed to come. A girl’s first ballet is something special.” He told her with a smile. “I’m a lucky man.”

She took another sip of her wine. It wasn’t something she normally drank; she always thought it was too elegant, too fancy of a taste for her. It felt right drinking it now though. It fit the moment, and the man that she was with. He had an air of sophistication that lured her in, and she wanted to soak it in.

“You’re lucky?” She asked in disbelief. “I think I’m the one who’s lucky here. I mean, I’ve dreamed about seeing something like this since pretty much forever. I never thought I’d actually get to experience this. You’re making one of my biggest dreams come true dude. So, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who is honored to even have been invited.”

He smiled faintly; that was an advantage he would press if he was a worse kind of man. The idea crossed his mind to tell her that she could make a small dream of his come true, if she really wanted to make it up to him. But even though he wasn’t the best man he could be, he wasn’t the worst kind, either. He wanted her to have this because she wanted it; and he’d take experiencing it with her if that was all he could get.

“It’s honestly my pleasure, Sophie.” He said, not quite meeting her eyes. “It’s a crime that you haven’t been before, you know. you have a dancer’s soul.” the wine was going to his head and he didn’t know what he was saying, only that he wanted to enchant her and maybe make  her love him a little. This ballet was the Capulet’s garden for him: he shouldn’t be here, he knew he shouldn’t, and yet he couldn’t resist. The theater was the east and Sophie was the sun. They were stealing a night’s pleasure together; at the very least, an evening of wonder for her.

The lights dimmed over head and the call bell rang. Tim rose to his feet, a little light headed. it had to be the wine; he had to master himself, and not let her get to him like this. “That’s our cue to take our seats.” He picked up his empty wine glass and offered her his arm. “Are you ready?”

She nodded as she stood, finishing up her glass before taking his arm. There seemed to be a permanent blush on her cheeks, a side effect from the wine she told herself, certainly not from the way he keep complimenting her.. She was grateful that the lights had dimmed so he wouldn’t be able to see it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready.” She looked around as she watched people move towards their seats, a giddy sort of excitement taking over her. She tried to take in every little detail of the place, from what other people wore to how the building was designed so that she could remember the night in as much vivid detail as she could. “I’m so excited it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Never be ashamed of your passion, Sophie.” He said, his voice dropping low again. He closed as much distance between them as could be considered allowable. he put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and glowed a smile at her. “It’s a crying shame no one has done this for you before. Doesn’t anyone know how much you love it?” That was as close as he’d allow himself to get to mentioning her husband or whoever she hadn’t told him about.

He’d gotten seats as close as he could manage; and while they weren’t in the front row, they were within ten rows of the stage. He let her take her seat first, all gentlemanly correctness.

“I’m glad you came.” he said it already, but it bore repeating. He sat next her but did not take her hand, merely rested his arm next to hers. The theater darkened and the overture began. He kept his face turned to the stage, but watched her from the corner of his eye.

She shrugged lightly. “I don’t talk about it much, ya know? There’s about a million different things everyone’s gotta worry about so I just never really brought it up.” Which was true; it wasn’t like her life was a normal one where she actually had time to get to do things like this. Besides, she figured that Rich wouldn’t be into it and she didn’t want to make him sit through something he didn’t want too just so she could be happy.

She smiled at him, a huge genuine smile that not many people got to see. “I’m glad I came too.” She was about to say something else but stopped as soon as the music started, her attention focusing onto the stage. Subconsciously she leaned forward, her whole world at the moment revolving around the stage. When the first dancers appeared she let out a small gasp--they were amazing. Their movements were graceful and fluid, and while she couldn’t remember all the names of the moves they were performing she could recognize that they were doing them with a talent that she both envied and admired. She was enraptured by it all and she didn’t want it to end.

The emotion and movement of the dancers on the stage played across her face in transparent delight. He was sure that the theater faded away for her as she felt every  nuance of the music and watched the dancers. His heart was full; he tried to deny that he was as stupidly and wretchedly in love as Romeo, but when she opened her lips to sigh at a particularly beautiful movement, he was lost. Because it was dark, and because she was transported to the place her soul live and therefore was above base concerns, he took her hand in his. He didn’t lace his fingers through hers, merely held her palm to palm, trying to communicate his desire and love as the ill-fated lovers met on stage. He pressed her small hand into his bigger warmer one, thinking of Shakespeare’s poetry: palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss, Juliet said; and Romeo, the desperate, admiring lover replied o then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.

He wasn’t quite brave enough to steal a kiss, even in the dark. He settled for stroking the back of her hand slowly with his thumb and trying to pretend to watch the dancing.

Even though she was captured by what she was watching, she wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t notice his hand holding hers. She didn’t care though. Actually, she did care, but not in the way that she should. It felt good, and even though she never looked away from the action on the stage she squeezed his hand lightly to acknowledge him.

She was having a wonderful time, but a small bit of her felt as if she shouldn’t be here. She pushed those thoughts aside though, focusing back on ballet. It didn’t take long before she found herself lost in it again, the words of the play and the movements of the performers transporting her into their world. She briefly tried to picture herself on stage but the image almost made her laugh.

He was being ridiculous. He knew it; but that pressure of her hand under his drew a sigh from him. The earth moved  for him and he was ashamed of himself. Her enjoyment was so… innocent, whole hearted. He’d known that first night in the bar, that she was something special, but he hadn’t realized how refreshing her soul was, or how genuine she was. As the lights went up as the first half ended, he found himself watching her, face serious and eyes warm.

“How did you like it, Sophie?” He asked, gently releasing her hand; he couldn’t bear to see her hand in his in the bright white light of the theater. “And how would you like another glass of wine?”

A brief look of disappointment crossed her features as the show took it’s intermission. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the break or if it was because he released her hand; she didn’t dwell on it though.

“I loved it.” Her words were genuine, nothing exaggerated about them. “The dancers are amazing--I’ve never seen anybody as talented in my life, and the music! I’m not really into the whole classical instrumental stuff, but it’s beautiful.”

She nodded in response to his question, any earlier thoughts about limiting herself erased. There was no way she was going to forget this, even if her mind got fuzzy from the alcohol. “I’d love some. Plus, as comfy as these seats are, it would be nice to be able to move a bit.”

He smiled and gestured her to go first out of the aisle, and then offered her his arm as soon as they were clear of the seats. He nodded and smiled at some of the people he knew, aware of how it must look to have her on his arm. She was fifteen years his junior and looked even younger than that. People would say that Tim Ross was finally working out his midlife crisis with a sweet young thing and making a fool of himself. He tried not to care about that, smiling at her.

“They are spectacular. Passionate and beautiful, two things I deeply appreciate,” He said as he led her to the bar. He leaned down to speak in her ear. “Two things i don’t have enough of in my life.”

“I find it hard to believe that, you know.” She said, suddenly feeling self conscious. She moved her head slightly so that she could look at him. He was handsome, she couldn’t deny that, and if she wasn’t with Rich she knew that she would be falling for him hook, line, and sinker--and as much as she denied she was doing it now.

“I’m sure you’re surrounded by beautiful things. I mean, you are a secret agent, remember?” She joked a bit.

“That doesn’t mean I’m surrounded by beauty, just danger,” He told her, nodding at the bartender for two glasses of wine.

He slid her glass to her and picked up his own, standing close to her ostensibly to shield her from the jostling crowd. His hand was at the small of her back again as he guided her to an out of the way corner.

“Sophie,” he murmured, leaning to speak into her ear. She was small and he had to bend over her, but his hand didn’t leave her back. “I hope you know you’re the kind of beauty that makes a man desperate.” his lips were close enough to her jawline to be grazing her skin as he spoke. His spine tingled with the pleasure of it and his hand pressed into her back, needing more but not daring more. “I’m desperate for you, you know. Desperate and delirious and ridiculous.” His voice was warm and melting, and he closed his eyes so he could breathe her in. “So desperate I’m bribing you with ballet, so delirious I can’t even see the dancing, and so ridiculous for telling you this when I know you can’t say it back.” He sighed, leaning back a little, but with his hand still on her. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? A serious someone. Someone you never told about me. Someone I’d give almost anything to be.”

Sophie suddenly found her glass of wine to be very interesting. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that there wasn’t someone else. She wanted to say that she was desperate for him too, that she felt as if he understood a part of her that no one else did, that she couldn’t stop blushing because of him being in her vincinity, she couldn’t. Even if she did feel that way.

“I should have told you sooner before this got to be...” She said, finally looking up. “I’m engaged. His name’s Rich. H-he’s a good guy. We have a set of twins together. I feel stupid for not saying anything but I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”

The word “engaged” went through him, and hearing the man’s name made him tighten his jaw. She’d mentioned the children when they’d met, but not the man. He’d known she was omitting something; he knew how to spot a lie, and he’d seen hers in her smile. He’d thought, perhaps, an unhappy marriage. But it was worse: someone she promised to marry, which meant it was someone she still had hope of. The father of the children that put light in her eyes. One measly ballet could never compete with what she and this Rich character had.

But the way she stumbled over the words, hesitating to tell him, cheeks flushed with the effort of the truth, gave him pause. She wanted him. It might not be in the way she wanted her fiance, but it was something. He had a chance, however slim and impossible it was.

If he was a worse man, he would have left her in the crowd, turned his back and disappeared. If he was a better man, he would have stepped away from her and taken his hand from her back. But because he was only a certain kind of man, he did neither. His fingers stroked her spine through her dress and then stilled, and he smiled into her hair.

“I am Fortune’s fool,” he murmured. “I won’t press it, my star cross’d beauty. Drink your wine and enjoy the rest of the show, and forgive me for intruding my feelings on it. It’s selfish of me.” He kissed her below her ear, his lips hot against her skin. with an effort, he managed to step away from her a little, giving her space. But his hand still lingered; he couldn’t bring himself to not be touching her as long as she’d allow the caress.

“Are you enjoying the orchestrations?” He asked her in a more normal tone. “Or is the music a mere second to the dancing?”

Her breath hitched as she felt his lips on her skin, and she closed her eyes for a moment. It should have been a relief to tell him the truth, but it wasn’t. It left a weird aching in her chest that she couldn’t acknowledge at the moment. She was afraid he would leave, but he didn’t and that let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s not selfish of you. Not at all. I’m the selfish one for not telling you everything before.” She did what he told her though and did drink her wine, wishing now that she could get drunk enough to forget the night.

She was aware of his hand but again didn’t say anything; this was all she was going to get and she didn’t want to waste it. After tonight she knew she had to distance herself from him. It wasn’t fair to him for her to stick around, and if she did, she didn’t know if she could keep this as strictly friends.

“The music’s good. Not really my cup of tea, but it just fits with the whole thing. Nothing compares to the dancing though. It’s wonderful.” {tag}

“The music’s a bit showy, yes.” He said after a pause. The tips of his fingers pressed her back gently, coaxingly. He wouldn’t ask her to choose him, or put in her any kind of compromising situation. At least, nothing more compromising than this: that she went to the ballet with a friend and had forgotten to mention it.  He wouldn’t try to kiss, or ask her back to his place; he wouldn’t offer to get them a hotel room. He’d stop trying to charm or woo her. Her guilt and shame mentioning Rich was enough; he wouldn’t add to it.

But he had to touch her. He had to have her under his hand. Later  he might regret being a consummate gentleman, but not he forced himself to be satisfied with the heat of her skin coming through a layer of clothes to his fingertips.

“I think the simple elegance of the dancing counterbalances the music. Maybe one day you’ll let me teach you about music,” he said, trying to convince himself he wasn’t begging her to let him see  her again. “A dancing soul like yours needs music.”

She should have said that it might not be the best idea that he does that; that tonight would be the last time they could do something like this. It’s was she was gearing herself up to say, but she found herself unable to. She wanted to be around even if she knew that it wasn’t a good idea.

“I’d like that.” She laughed a bit, trying to act as if everything was normal. It was the only way she’d get through this. “It’s almost like My Fair Lady or whatever. You’re teaching me about all the cultural stuff. I’ll be a proper lady yet.”

She didn’t want to be a proper lady though. His hand on her back was a stark reminder of what she wanted, but she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t put Rich through the pain that she had went through, and she refused to hurt Tim by making him the other man.

“Not too proper, I hope,” he said, his heart lightened. It wasn’t an absolute refusal; she wasn’t saying no. Engaged or not, she wanted him. He could wait; he’d always been a patient man.The intermission bell wrang, a polite dingding accompanied by the dimming and brightening of the house lights. He offered a warm smile as he set his glass aside.

“Shall we?” He said,, his hand still on the small of her back. “We must see what transpires for our star-cross’d lovers. Call me romantic, but I always foolishly hope it works out differently.”

“Maybe they’ll run far, far away and live happily ever after. Like, they go to Paris and own a bakery or something.like that.” She said hopefully. “I mean, there could always be a quick script change, couldn’t there?”