Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

back. “Will the rest of your party be joining soon?”
“My party?”
Pulling out a clipboard, she flips through a small stack of papers, nodding
as she apparently finds the information she’s looking for. “Yes, we have a
private box reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, and the adjoining box,
number twelve, booked for a Mr. and Mrs. Ricci, and two guests.”
Shaking my head, I stuff my ticket into my suit pocket, sidestepping her.
“I have no clue if they’re coming or not. Can you make sure Mrs. Anderson
and I aren’t disturbed?”
The kid frowns, her blush visible even in the dim lighting. “Sir, I must
inform you that explicit relations are strictly prohibited on the premises,
resulting in fines of up to one-thousand dollars.”
Tapping my foot impatiently, I reach into my pants for my wallet, pulling
a wad of cash from the flap. “Consider this a down payment.”
I don’t wait for her to accept it, shoving it into her fist and pushing past,
stepping over the velvet rope barring the staircase. Bounding up the flight, I
try to calm my racing heart, preparing myself for the possibility that she isn’t
up here.
Still, when I shove aside the curtain to our box, my heart beats so fast it
feels like it might explode; her silhouette is lit up by the stage below as she
leans forward in her chair, slumped over the balcony railing. I step down into
the box, quietly approaching, my hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder,
when she speaks.
“Don’t.”
It’s one word, long enough to drive through my chest and pierce the
organ beating just for her. She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder or move
a muscle, her body so in tune with mine at this point it seems to just know
when I’m around.
Or maybe she knew I’d come. Maybe that’s what she wanted all along.
My hand falls to my side, that familiar fucking ache pulsing in the pit of
my stomach.
“Elena, I—”
“If you came here to apologize, you can save it.”
Her attitude catches me slightly off guard, considering the last time I saw
her, she’d looked as miserable as I felt. Crushed, like the revelation of my
past bore any consequence on our future.
Devastated, like I’d chosen secrets over her.