Page 10 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire (Heart & Soul #2)
Seven
The after-party had dwindled to an echo. Only the shuffle of clean-up remained—discarded flutes, scattered napkins, and glitter that would outlive them all.
Rose froze mid-wipe. Theo Kallistratos—billionaire, enigma, temptation in black—was stacking dishes. Helping.
She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head and wondering if exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But no, he was very much real and helping clean up.
A member of the catering team noticed him too. The man’s eyes widened with a touch of awe.
“We’ve got it from here, sir,” the man said, his voice tinged with bemusement.
Theo nodded and stepped aside, handing off the full tray without fanfare.
Rose smiled faintly, her heart thudding too fast. “You and your crew did a wonderful job,” she told the man. He grinned, gave a half-bow, and disappeared into the kitchen.
She discreetly wiped her palms on her slacks and turned to Theo.
He turned too—toward her.
Neither of them spoke. Another server passed between them, breaking the moment as she collected the last of the glasses from a table. Rose jerked her head toward the side hallway and motioned for him to follow.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure where to go. She just… needed to move, to escape the stillness.
They walked in silence, a comfortable quiet, yet the air shimmered with an unspoken connection—like a shared secret.
When he reached down and gently laced his fingers through hers, she felt a jolt of excitement and her heart skipped. She led him up a narrow staircase hidden behind a plush velvet curtain, each step a quiet footfall on the threadbare carpet.
“Careful,” she murmured. “These stairs are older than half the city.”
They emerged onto the upper balcony. The lights were dimmed except for the soft golden illumination from the sconces on the wall. The hush of the theatre wrapped around them, thick and velvet-soft.
Theo took it all in—rows of burgundy seats cascading down to the stage below, the grand chandelier overhead, and the walls adorned with sepia-toned photographs in gilded frames.
“This place was built in 1908,” Rose said softly, reverently.
“By a Hungarian architect named István Solokov. He designed it for his wife, a famous soprano who performed across Europe. When she passed, he swore he’d never set foot inside again.
Performers say her voice still lingers in the acoustics. ”
She looked around, trying to see the theatre through his eyes. Her gaze swept over the curve of the balcony, the intricate molding, and the portraits of long-forgotten stars.
“Some of the greats performed here,” she continued. “Tallulah Bankhead. Paul Robeson. Even Charlie Chaplin, once, when his train was delayed—he borrowed a violin and played by candlelight.”
Her voice warmed as she spoke. A light flush of self-awareness flashed through her when she noticed that Theo watched her more than the theatre.
“You sound like you really know the history of this building,” he commented.
She nodded, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “My grandparents took over the maintenance and design when my grandmother was expecting my dad. My grandfather built most of the set pieces you saw tonight. I helped. The candelabra you passed earlier? That was ours.”
Theo turned back toward the walls, taking in the legacy. “The stage pieces were beautiful.”
“My grandfather knew how to create true magic,” she whispered. “Would you like to know a secret?”
His eyes sharpened with interest, and he nodded.
She wiggled her nose at him and smiled. “Even though I know how everything works, even when I’ve seen a backdrop collapse during intermission or scrambled to find a missing costume, the magic still hits me.
That moment when the lights dim, the music swells, and you forget everything else—it’s magical. I love it.”
“Did you ever want to be on stage?”
She laughed, the sound light and carefree. “No. My grandparents and parents were the performers in the family. I love being behind the curtain. Helping tell the story… not being the character.”
“So… what else do you do? Besides being a jack-of-all-trades?”
She hesitated and released another self-conscious laugh. “I just finished my Bachelor’s degree in accounting and economics. Glamorous, right?”
He smiled, his lips curving in quiet surprise. “Smart and creative. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“That’s what my Pop said,” she confessed.
They continued walking, climbing higher and higher, until they stood on the catwalk above the stage.
Below them, the ballroom set glowed under the ambient light.
Rose realized that she had guided Theo to the spot where their eyes had met earlier this evening.
From here, the entire lower theatre spread before them.
She gestured toward the area to the left below them.
“That staircase? We rebuilt it four times. There was a leak, and the directors didn’t want to spend the money to have the roof fixed.
They did—after water damage caused a lot more damage.
Pop kept telling them. The chandelier is real crystal; my grandfather was terrified when the company reinstalling it after it was taken down for a cleaning nearly dropped it. ”
He looked at her with a quiet intensity. “You said your grandparents raised you?”
Her smile dimmed. “Yeah. My parents were in a car accident. My mom died instantly. My dad lived… but he was in a coma and never woke. He passed away when I was five. It nearly broke my grandparents.”
Theo’s eyes softened, but she shook her head gently before she glanced at her watch.
“It’s late. I need to check the doors and make sure everything is locked up.”
He nodded. Together they descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing softly through the theatre’s empty halls.
“I love that I’m walking the same place that so many others have before me.
Sometimes I like to imagine I can see and hear them—dressed in their period clothing, laughing about the performance they just saw,” she sighed, feeling a little self-conscious about sharing such an intimate feeling with him.
She checked each door—methodically, automatically. He didn’t offer to help, just stayed beside her. Silent. Present.
When they reached the last door, she turned awkwardly, brushing her palms down her slacks again.
“So… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night?” she asked, glancing up at him. “What time? And where?”
“Is seven too early?” he asked.
“No, that’s perfect. I rarely stay out late,” she said with a small shrug.
“I’d like to escort you home,” he said, his brow pulling together.
She laughed. “You already have.” She turned and waved her hand behind them.
He looked at her with a confused frown. “What do you mean?”
“I live here. In the basement. Perks of handling maintenance. Awesome responsibility and itty-bitty living accommodations.”
Theo stared at her, then let out a soft, stunned breath of laughter. Of course she did. Rose Smythe belonged to the theatre, body and soul.
She pulled open the main door, the cool night air brushing her cheeks. “Will you be okay getting home?”
He didn’t answer, just lifted a hand.
A sleek black car slid to a stop at the curb.
“Ah, right,” she murmured.
He glanced back and chuckled. “Perks of being a billionaire.”
She stepped outside to walk him to the car, but he turned back—swift and deliberate.
He brushed his lips across hers. Feather-light—and it stole her breath.
His voice was low, husky, and wrecked. “That kiss doesn’t count.”
She stared up at him, dazed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Lock the door behind me,” he added, retreating toward the car.
She nodded, barely breathing. “Goodnight, Theo.”
The car door shut, and he was gone.
She closed the door, turned the bolt—and just stood there. The lobby was empty, still, and glowing with a soft amber hush.
She lifted her fingers to her lips.
Grinning like a fool, she spun in a circle, laughing breathlessly, and danced through the lobby, down the narrow stairs, and into the small, quiet world she called home.
She felt like a girl in a fairytale who’d just danced with the Prince—and wasn’t ready for midnight.
The faint gleam of Manhattan’s dawn seeped through the shades, casting long lines across the sharp geometry of his minimalist bedroom. Concrete, steel, and glass—cold and efficient, like the man who built an empire inside it.
Theo woke with a jolt. His breath caught in his chest, as if he’d been yanked from a dream he wasn’t ready to leave.
Or maybe it was the dream that refused to release him.
He lay still for a moment, his breath even, his heart steady—but his mind was already racing.
Rose.
His dreams had centered on her. The gentle, sensual sound of her laugh. Her stubbornness. Her wicked sense of humor.
A soft grunt—half groan, half dry laughter—slipped from him when he thought of the kiss that didn’t count.
How could such an innocent gesture create so much chaos inside me?
He grimaced at the covers—this wasn’t routine morning arousal but the echo of his dream of her.
Her smile lingered behind his eyelids, teasing him with delicate lips and dark, sapphire eyes that were unreadable. The phantom feel of her kiss—light as a whisper—still burned like embers on his skin.
He blinked at the ceiling, then rolled to sit up.
The clock on his nightstand flashed half-past six.
He’d gone to bed a little after three, his mind too wired to sleep. And yet here he was—wide awake.
His body only ever demanded three or four hours—enough to recharge, never enough to distract him from what needed doing.
And this morning, there was plenty.
By seven, he was showered, shaved, and dressed in a crisp, tailored navy suit with no tie. Impeccable. Sharp enough to cut glass. The way he always appeared when he wanted something—and fully intended to get it.
He strolled into the kitchen, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee curling in the air. As he entered, Mrs. Hughes, his long-time housekeeper, nearly dropped the set of silverware she’d been arranging.