Page 133 of Steel Beauty

Her laugh is light and warm, but her eyes hold a quietness that tugs at me, an unspoken heaviness she hasn’t shared.Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes tonight, and while I chalk it up to our looming goodbye, the feeling clings to me. There’s something more beneath the surface.

I press a kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger long enough to savor the warmth of her skin. “I just need a minute to change.”

“Take your time. I’ll try to remember how to breathe when you come back looking like James Bond.”

I chuckle and head to the bedroom, only to find she’s already laid out a suit for me—one that perfectly coordinates with her dress.

I’m going to miss that.

Sliding into the jacket, I take a moment to adjust the crisp tie and smooth the lapels, appreciating the sharp lines and perfect fit. It’s simple, classic—exactly what tonight needs. A quick glance in the mirror confirms it: I’m ready to make this evening unforgettable with my girl.

When I return, her gaze lifts to meet mine, her eyes sweeping over me with obvious appreciation. “Look at you. Sharp suit, perfect tie—you’re definitely giving off Bond vibes.”

I offer my arm. “Well then, my lady, shall we?”

She loops her arm through mine. “Lead the way, 007.”

“If I’m Bond, does that make you Pussy Galore?”

She smirks, eyes flicking over my suit before meeting my gaze. “I am… and I have a thing for well-dressed men.” She steps in closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Though I like them better undressed.”

“You’re quite a girl, Pussy.”

The low rumble of the engine fills the quiet as we ease down the long driveway, the countryside giving way to the twinkle of distant city lights. As we drive toward the opera house, I keep the conversation light, hoping to draw her out of the thoughts that seem to weigh her down.

I cast her a sidelong glance. “You know, there’s still time to ditch this plan and head to the Rabbit Hole.”

She rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I can handle a little culture, big guy.”

For a moment, the Magnolia I know reemerges—sharp-witted, warm, charming. But as the cityscape comes into view, her gaze shifts to the window, her brow faintly furrowed.

I debate asking her what’s on her mind, the question on the tip of my tongue. But I hold back, guessing she’s already consumed by thoughts of what’s coming—leaving Sydney.

Leaving me.

Still, unease gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. There’s more to it than that. I can feel it. I just wish I knew what it was.

The moment we step into the theater, we’re enveloped in an ambience that feels timeless and electric. The space is a blend of grandeur and innovation—ornate carvings adorning the walls stand alongside sleek, modern accents, a marriage of old-world elegance and contemporary flair.

Magnolia’s eyes roam the theater, studying the intricate details. There’s a light in her gaze—a quiet appreciation that makes the moment feel even more special. I nudge her gently, leaning close enough to catch her attention. “I couldn’t let you leave without experiencing this at least once.”

She turns to me, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, this is part of my grand farewell?”

“Had to prove I’m not all G-Wagons and managing hotel spreadsheets.” I lean a little closer. “But don’t expect me to translate the opera for you.”

Her laugh spills out, soft and unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the rest of the world falls away—it’s just her, us, caught in a rare and perfect stillness.

As her laughter fades, something falters in her expression, a tension beneath the surface. It’s subtle, but it pulls at me, a quiet reminder that tonight isn’t just another evening out—it’s one of our last.

As the lights dim further, I lean closer, keeping my voice low. “You’ve been a little quiet tonight.”

Her gaze drops, a thread of hesitation pulling at her composure before she nods. “We’ll talk about it later.”

There’s something unspoken in her words, something she’s not ready to unpack, and though I feel the urge to press, I hold back. Instead, I reach for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the performance begins, letting the moment speak louder than words.

As the lights dim and the first notes of the performance swell through the theater, my focus strays from the stage to Magnolia. Her hand rests lightly on my arm, her fingers tightening enough to tether me to her as the story begins to unfold. I glance at her, catching the wonder in her eyes as she’s drawn into the performance, her expression shifting with the rise and fall of the music.

I watch her, captivated by the way her reactions bring the night to life. Her smiles, her gasps, even the subtle lean forward as she’s swept deeper into the tale—it all pulls at me. This woman will be gone from my life in two days. The thought pierces through the magic of the moment, a bittersweet ache that refuses to be ignored.

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