The gown stood in the center of the workroom once Yves had securely dropped Diana at the theater. The designer looked at her piece only a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes tracing the trail of delicate silver flowers. She rolled her lips and bent her brows before pulling out her phone and snapping a picture, sending it immediately via text.
She made a phone call shortly after that.
"Yes, hello? I just sent you a photo of Diana's costume. What do you think?"
Yves listened to the other end before beginning to speak again, "Oh, good. I'm glad you like it. I wanted to ask you about a powdered wig. I should have it done fairly soon." A silence commenced as Yves rolled the prints of her left thumb and index finger together. "Excellent. I'm happy we agree. Would it be alright if I leave the costume with you? I don't want Diana to see it until the dress rehearsal." Pause. "I'd like it to be a surprise. It's the night before our wedding anniversary and I want it to be part of my gift to her. It took me about twenty hours to sew…alright, thank you. That's all I needed to talk about…Yes, you too. Good-bye."
Yves removed the dress from the mannequin and placed it within one of her various empty costume bags, zipped it up and placed it in the back of her car. In the few days that had passed between Pauline coming over and Yves sewing the camellias in place, she had also commissioned a medium-sized powdered wig for Diana's costume that currently sat in the workroom. Yves efficiently glued her flowers into place and set a black tiara against its brow. She had constructed it to look like the dark branches of a barren tree, and as promised, the flowers bloomed in perfect symmetry above it. Once completed, she delivered both of these items to the director's house herself and returned in enough time to watch as Diana walked through the front door.
Yves had set herself upon the sofa in the front room, dressed in her classic yellow as she held a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. For once, in the very long last few days, she had secured a sunshine-colored bow in the center of her crown amongst perfect hair. Even underneath her golden reading glasses, Diana could make out her wife's finely applied cat's eye, accompanied by deep berry lipstick and eyelashes longer than a butterfly's wings.
"Liebling, you look beautiful. I don't think I've seen you relax all week."
Yves tilted her long neck to look at her partner. With one hand, she removed her spectacles and blinked, dramatically, once. "Oh, I was just taking a break. I've finished your costume and I wanted to catch up on my reading."
"You finished it?" Diana's entire being nearly glowed. She placed her purse upon the ground as her heels brought her nearer to Yves. "Can I see it? Is it in the workroom?"
"No."
"No?" Diana's expression changed as her fine brows bent and her lips pursed slightly. "You mean I can't see it?"
"No, it's not here any longer."
The opera singer dropped her arms. "What do you mean, it's not here any longer? Where did it go to?"
"It's at the director's house." Yves maintained her poker face. "You'll have to wait until the dress rehearsal to see it."
Diana stood there, speechless. "But…Why?"
"Because, it's a surprise."
"But why would it be a surprise? I wanted to look at it. I was sure you would show me when you finished."
"Not this time." Yves's lips twisted into a demure smile. "Sorry, Schatzi."
Both wives stared at one another for a few long seconds. Diana maintained her pout and Yves kept her coy grin, at least until the German woman stole her wine glass, drank all its contents in one gulp, gave it back, and left.
"Hey!"
But Diana had already escaped down the hallway, clacking away on the beat her fashionable heels made.
A few days expired and neither woman brought up the dress again. Diana fumed for a while, released a few sighs, and eventually let it go. The pair went about their normal conversations, made dinner together, cuddled on the couch and went to bed afterward, until the dawn of the dress rehearsal.
Yves drove Diana to the theater through the slow traffic, turning to glance at the profile of her face every time they had come to a stop. The opera goddess would catch her and look back, practically shrugging with her forehead at the feeling of her wife's intense gaze.
"Why do you keep looking at me, Liebling? Is there something odd about me?"
"No, Diana. Not at all. Sometimes I just can't believe you're really mine." Yves's sharp brown eyes had softened as she looked at her wife's face and back to the road. "I feel very fortunate to live during a time where I was able to marry you. So I could look at you and say, 'Yeah. That's my wife—that stunning coloratura soprano with the adorable accent when she speaks English, or French.' Probably German too. I don't know." She glanced back to Diana, briefly. "I just wish it could have been sooner. Three years makes it seem like we're new to this, but I guess it really doesn't matter. Whether I'm your girlfriend or your wife, or even just your friend, I'll love you with my entire heart until the day I die."
At that point, Diana reached over and touched Yves's shoulder, her beautiful blue-grey eyes growing damp as she cleaned her tears with her free hand. "Oh, Yves. You're not going to call me 'grandma' now, are you?"
The woman driving began to laugh. "No, Schatzi. Not tonight, anyway. As much as I love it when you push me or bite me, you have a performance to kill. I shouldn't give you a reason to get too into it."
Diana still smiled beneath a light shower of tears. "I would never curse you, Liebling." She continued wiping her eyes. "You know, even when I knew for certain I didn't like men, I never would have imagined I would be married to a woman one day, much less a woman who was younger than me, but I'm very happy to be with you, Yves. I don't know. The first time I ever spoke to you, I knew I wanted to be with you. And then after the first time we make love, oh. You took my heart, and I could never stay away from you."
Yves smiled at her wife. "Do you remember how nervous you were? You were shaking. When I took your bra off, you gave me this wide-eyed look."
"I had never been with another woman before. Thank you for being gentle with me."
"I'm not going to be gentle with you tonight."
Diana turned a little pink. "Really?"
"Really. I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember how to speak English."
"That's funny. I want to fuck you so hard that you wake up speaking German."
They stopped at a red light and both women hooked their mouths together at a snap of the fingers. Only when someone honked behind them did they separate and Yves continued driving the car. Diana came away with her wife's lipstick all over her mouth and ended up cleaning it with one of the wet wipes she kept in her purse.
Yves shook her head.
"What is it, Liebling?"
"You are so beautiful. I can't wait to see you in costume."
Diana smiled with faded pink all around her lips. "I'm glad it's only a dress rehearsal. I'm going to be thinking of you every moment I'm on stage."
"I can't wait."
They arrived at the theater shortly after, and both walked in together with their hands clasped by the lock of their fingers. Yves and Diana walked into the brief chaos before the show, as well as a wave of greetings from the other actors, some of which had already dressed (at least partially) in costume.
On their way, they passed the director, who came toward the couple immediately. "Hello, Ladies. Your outfit awaits you in your dressing room, Diana. I think you're going to love it."
"Oh, she will."
The pair continued to Diana's little room that had been labeled with her name and the opera singer paused for a moment. With her hand on the door, Diana turned to look at Yves, pursing her lips and saying nothing.
"What?" Yves responded. "Open it." But even then, her slender hands had come to squeeze her wife's shoulders as she bit her bottom lip.
Diana looked back to the threshold and turned her hand around the golden knob. The inner lock made a little click as it disengaged and the hinges squealed a little as the door separated from its frame. The light from Diana's vanity shined into the area around them.
There, in the corner of the room, sat the dress, still wrapped in plastic and folded neatly over the chair. Diana came slowly toward it, rolling her lips as her curious fingers took hold of the zipper. Diana pulled it downward and separated either side of the plastic container, like a butterfly emerging from a clear cocoon, and exposed the gown's camellias. Previously sealed tight within the bag, they began to expand outward as if taking a heavy breath in, and Diana placed her hand over her mouth.
"Oh, Yves."
Her fingers brushed through that small field of precise, hand-sewn flowers, posted carefully onto the dark and shiny background that resembled a clear midnight sky.
Yves watcher her, well in place near the freshly closed door, with a few of her prints pressed against her hips. Diana took the gown from its bag and held it up, greyish eyes looking over every stitch and every blossom.
Eventually, she put her costume back upon the chair and turned to her wife, tears boiling over again. "It's beautiful." She cleaned the droplets from her cheeks and came to Yves, squeezing her slender body in a strong embrace.
The taller woman spoke, "Oh, Schatzi, I didn't mean to make you cry."
"Yeah, stop it."
Yves laughed and kissed Diana's forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm glad you like it so much."
"I love it, Liebling. It's very beautiful, just like you."
"Oh, stop."
The opera goddess connected their mouths and her wife tasted a bit of the salt from her tears. They only kissed few seconds before Diana moved back to her dress and began removing her clothes. "Help me with my outfit" she said, unbuttoning her shirt and folding it neatly over the back of the chair.
Once relatively naked, the opera goddess stepped into her gown, and Yves zipped up the back, the entire ensemble hugged her generous curves, but laid loose enough to allow her to breathe. Throughout the process, Diana frequently touched the spattering of blossoms along the front of her dress, prints getting personal with each petal while Yves set the cap and the wig onto her head. They spoke as the designer did the singer's makeup, stopping only occasionally to touch their lips together, and Diana applied her own lipstick last.
When Diana had become the queen of the night, Yves stood back and placed her palms flat against one another, looking at her wife as though she were one of the statues in their home, and Diana looked back. However uncharacteristic grinning might have been for such an entity, she couldn't help but make a playful smile at her wife—who has embellished her so well.
"Oh, Schatzi. I could just marry you again."
The Queen laughed, "I might let you," and she held Yves between her long lashes. "You know, this reminds me of my wedding dress. It had flowers across the front as well, even though they were a little different."
Yves tilted her head and turned her mouth into an odd line, saying nothing.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
The designer kept her exact position, but opened her smile to show some of her teeth.
"Oh, you're just ridiculous! Did you want me to marry you in a powdered wig too?"
"What would you do if I said yes?"
"I wouldn't be surprised." Diana stepped forward and, after pausing a moment before Yves, gave her stomach a playful slap, but then offered a hand for her to hold. "You're always saying I'm an old lady, but I hope you don't think I'm from the 1700s."
"Not at all, Schatzi." Someone yelled something outside the door and both women walked outside. "Even if that were true, you'd be the most beautiful, powdered-wig wearing skeleton I've ever seen."
"Honestly!"
But Diana's attention immediately went to all of her fellow singers' compliments, which she responded to with kind words of their outfits, sometimes in English and sometimes in German. The entire time, she remained attached to Yves by their intertwined fingers, who kept her admiration against some part of her wife's face, leaning over occasionally to afflict her cheek.
Diana finally sent her away when she had to warm up, and Yves found her seat in the front row, waiting and watching as the crew set the scenery. Even from well off the stage, Diana's voice made a cameo within the theater.
Eventually, more people began to file in—those friends or relatives of the singers who bought their tickets at a discount. One of these included Pauline, who took a seat next to Yves and handed her an impressive bouquet of fair white roses.
"Thank you, Pauline. I suppose camellias didn't work."
"No, Madame. My apologies, but I thought these would be adequate. You suggested white."
"Yes, these are lovely. They'll match her hair."
"Hmm," Pauline settled into her seat, "Has she seen the dress, Madame?"
"She's wearing it and she loved it. Thank you for your help."
"Of course, Ma'am. It's my pleasure."
A few minutes passed and the lights began to dim, and just a short while after that, the opera started. Yves leaned forward in her seat and didn't lean back for the rest of the performance, and nearly recited the lines until Diana walked on stage, following the dramatic announcement of, "Sie kommt!"
Her three assistants moved well out of her way so the queen could address the prince, and Yves leaned even further forward in her seat, every last fiber of her attention clinging to her wife, holding fast to the sparkling bits of her skirts. The audience released a collective gasp when the queen took the stage, delicately shining like a star in the black sky. She recounted her daughter's abduction at the hand of the wicked Sarastro, and Yves cradled her wife's flowers a little tighter. She sat, staying completely still as that magical voice reached well above the orchestra and echoed inside the theater, and even if the audience made so much as a peep, her sound would have overridden it in sheer power alone.
The Queen of the Night sang her ridiculous high notes with ease. She even made it look reasonable as she shed her sadness and lit up with an idea, nearly accusing the prince as she simultaneously asked for his assistance. She looked like she had twenty years ago, retaining her diamond-sharp edge over her excellent voice, and just as a silver dagger hidden beneath all of her clothes, the Queen hinted at revenge.
A few droplets landed upon the lovely ivory of the roses.
All of those decades ago, Yves had sent Diana a piece of fan mail—a letter which included a ticket for the last day of the fashion show she was modeling in, as well as a photograph of Yves dressed in a cheerful yellow dress.
'I would love to meet you,' she had written. 'I don't know how you feel about fashion shows or if you have the time, but I hope to awe you as much as you've awed me with your performance.
'Cheers, Yves Diamant.'
And Diana came, dressed in a nice shirt and informal pants, and met Yves backstage with a small pink envelope, sealed with a shiny silver sticker.
"Hello, Miss Diamant," she pronounced with a light German accent around both the English and French syllables. "Thank you for your invitation. I think we may meet anyway because I was already invited to the fashion show. Your designer made up the outfits for our opera. Did she tell you so?"
"She did, but I wanted to be sure you had a ticket. Thank you so much for coming, Miss Weiss."
"Oh, I love to see all the new fashions."
They ended up talking to one another for hours. Diana followed Yves even after the show for a cup of coffee, and the two exchanged addresses before the weekend was over, when the model flew back to New York and the opera singer stayed in Germany. They remained pen pals for two years until Diana moved to the States to be in another opera and the two found each other living on opposite sides of the same city, meeting every weekend and attracting odd looks with their loud laughter any time they went out.
After one evening spent sipping wine on the balcony of the model's apartment, Diana had gone home and once several hours of silence passed, called Yves well into the night.
Her house phone rang at exactly 11:13, and she answered as she normally would, though beneath a thin film of confusion, "Hello, you've reached Yves Diamant. Who can I say is calling so late?"
"Yves, it's me," she made an uneven gasp on the other side of the line.
"Diana, what is it? Did you forget something?"
"Listen, I—I need to say a few words, but I'm not sure how you're going to feel after hearing them. It's been on my mind ever since I came home and…" Her throat choked and cut at her syllables, but she continued, "I don't think I can meet you anymore."
Yves made a long pause. "Can you explain why not?"
"I—" She gasped a little and took several seconds in composing herself, her English, and her answer. "I think I fell in love with you—" and before Yves could respond to that, Diana continued, "But I feel terrible, because you're already so younger than me, and you're a woman, and when I think about you, my heart beats very fast and I feel like some pervert—so I decided that if I can't be with you, that I can't go on seeing you this way, Yves. It hurts—"
"Diana, stop. You're gay?"
The opera singer had begun to cry.
"I'm coming over."
Through the upset, she managed, "No, Yves! It's already so late, I shouldn't have called."
"It's fine. I'm glad you did. I'll see you soon."
"You don't have to—"
"Diana, I'll see you soon."
"Okay. See you soon."
Yves took her purse and her keys and went immediately to her small, used car. It awaited her, parallel parked on the street, slowly dripping oil upon the asphalt day by day, drop by drop. The machine started with a little effort and took her through the late-night streets, steadily, as Yves gripped the wheel and drummed her fingers against it, hard.
The time read 11:57 when she pulled up to Diana's house and nearly tripped upon exiting the car. Yves untangled her long legs and marched forward, rang the bell and waited, until finally, Diana answered. Her eyes were pink and sunken in, over a reddened nose and rolled-up lips. The moment she exposed herself enough, Yves stole her into an embrace and she began crying again, tangling her short white hair against the model's bright shirt.
"Diana—" Yves's long fingers stroked past her scalp. "Please don't cry," She kissed her cheek and made half a print. "I love you too."
Diana pulled away to look her in the eyes, her lovely blue-grey irises drowning beneath an ocean of tears. The water only stopped for a moment before growing even more violent. In response, Yves took a polka dotted handkerchief from her purse and wiped them away. They still held one another's arms, and Yves left several slight imprints from her faded lipstick all around the opera singer's face—her forehead, her cheeks, on one side of her nose, and even her eyelids, but never presumed to touch her lips.
"I never said anything because I thought you were straight. You mentioned your ex-husband, and I just assumed…"
"I'm sorry," Diana settled down. "I divorced him because every time we were together I always imagined women. When we married, I was so young, but I never felt the way towards him I felt towards you. It's just—"
But Yves cut her off by touching their lips together and Diana pulled her inside. Both kept going until landing upon the couch in the main room, dipping their tongues into one another's mouths as the delirium built. Only when Yves began to kiss the other's neck did Diana tap her on the shoulder and lead her to the bedroom, where they continued until the floor was littered with bunched up clothing. The smaller woman shook at first, but Yves held her hand and spoke to her softly as they brought one another to several loud orgasms. Now they embraced, practically unconscious beneath the plush comforter of Diana's bed.
Diana looked at Yves sleepily as she traced her fingers along the side of the German woman's face.
"Aren't you glad you called?"
"Yeah, I'm glad." She blinked her tired grey eyes. "When I opened your letter and saw your picture, I thought you were the most beautiful woman. I couldn't believe you invited me. You looked like you came from Heaven." Diana shut her lashes.
Yves kissed her between her brows. "That's what I thought of you when I saw you the first time. I haven't been able to take my eyes off of you since. I thought you might be a diva too, singing like that, but you're so sweet. I still have the thank-you note you gave me. I tried not to tear the sticker when I opened it."
Diana said nothing and grasped their bodies even more tightly together, and several minutes later, both finally passed out, falling into a deep and pleasurable sleep.
Twenty years later, they still woke up together, and Yves still watched intently as Diana hit those staccato runs and threatened Pamina with her dagger. The Queen harked to the heavens and left her daughter a crying mess, only to dramatically exit the stage to overwhelming applause from an audience who nearly screamed for her.
The opera continued until the queen had been vanquished and the day saved, and to a standing ovation, all of the singers stood upon the stage and bowed. Yves clapped for her wife until the curtain fell, at which point, she bid farewell to Pauline and joined the actors backstage, who complimented her on her needle work as she passed by.
"Thank you, where is Diana?"
"I think I saw her go into her dressing room," Papagena said.
"Thank you. Great job tonight, by the way."
Yves travelled until she arrived before her wife's door and knocked upon it, immediately receiving a friendly "come in!" She then turned the knob and stuck her head in, finding Diana at her vanity, removing her dramatic makeup with a wet cloth. At that point, she had erased one eye's worth and had begun on the next, but found Yves in the mirror and smiled.
"Oh, Liebling, you didn't have to bring me flowers."
"Of course I did," Yves closed the door behind her and locked it. "You were absolutely stellar. I loved every moment you were on stage."
Diana turned in her chair and looked at her lover with an eyebrow raised. Her lips shaped into a crooked grin before she turned back around to continue cleaning her makeup. "I don't think you needed to lock the door to stay that, but I appreciate your nice words."
"Well," Yves came closer and set the flowers on the vanity. They hadn't retained their perfect shape from when she received them from Pauline, since she had grasped them so close during the performance. "I was hoping to do a little more than just compliment you." The tips of Yves's fingers slid along the nape of Diana's neck as she admired her roses, and the opera goddess only looked back up when Yves unzipped her gown to the waist.
Her already pink cheeks grew red. "The cast invited both of us to dinner."
"They need to undress too, don't they? Unless you all want to go out in costume." Yves's hand slipped inside the bodice and caressed one of Diana's breasts. "Not that I would mind, but it might be a bit much for dinner, don't you think?"
Without responding, Diana stood up and allowed Yves to slip the dress down to her ankles. From there, she stopped out of it and while her wife to folded it upon the small couch only a few steps away. In the meantime, Diana attempted to remove her wig, but Yves returned and pressed their bodies together.
"Please leave that on." Her palms smoothed over her wife's shoulders as she kissed beneath her ear and along her jaw.
"Why, Liebling?" Diana leaned her head back, setting her hand against Yves's cheek and released a sigh as Yves's precise grip smoothed along her hips.
"We're facing the mirror. Do I have to tell you how beautiful you look?" The designer bit Diana's neck and began to suck upon her skin, causing the woman to lean back, bringing their bodies just a bit closer. "This look suits you, Schatzi, because you're a fucking queen. No one can hold a candle to you." Yves darkened her love bite and Diana gasped, digging her nails a little into the side of her lover's face.
"Oh, Yves. I've wanted you since we arrived here. I could barely focus—" She cut herself off when Yves's hand slipped beneath her panties and searched through the short white hairs under her lower stomach.
"Fuck—I love you so much."
"Let's move to the couch—"
"Don't you like the mirror?" One of Yves's prints slipped beneath her wife's lips and found her clitoris. The opera singer made a quiet moan and Yves bit a little harder.
"Liebling, stop. I have to sing tomorrow."
"Oh shit, I'm sorry." The taller of the pair recalled her bite and kissed her wife's cheek instead, setting her lower hand upon Diana's stomach. "I guess it would be distracting if you showed up with a hickey. Spoiler alert: The Queen of the Night has a lesbian lover." Yves kissed the edge of Diana's lips. "Let's go to the couch."
"Thank you." Diana took Yves's hand and lead her to that little sofa, and both occupied it as well as they could, lips locked and tongues twisting.
They held one another tightly, and upon separating with a pop and a thin trail of saliva between them, Yves began leaving kisses along Diana's body. She touched her neck, her collar bones, and her breasts, stopping for a moment to suck upon her nipples. The entire time, the older woman tossed her head back, hitching her breath and occasionally releasing a short cry.
"Yves—"
"Don't worry, Schatzi." The former model and her long legs had landed upon the floor. Quickly, she found the lubrication in her purse. "I'll be quick." She popped the cap and spread a healthy amount onto the index and middle fingers of her right hand.
In the meantime, Diana wasted no time in removing her panties and left her thighs open for her wife, who returned to kiss her belly button and pushed her fingers inside.
The singer made a little noise and arched her back, one of her hands coming to touch the side of Yves's head. She opened her mouth when her wife's lovely lips began to suck upon her stomach as she slipped her fingers in and out.
"Scheiße!"
Yves drug her teeth against her Schatzi's flesh, causing her to gasp and hit a high note.
"You like that?" Her prints drifted cruelly past Diana's G-spot and kept a pace that caused her to squeeze in time. She then moved her mouth to the German woman's thigh and began to leave a mark, biting down as she drew upon her soft, pale flesh.
"Yves, don't tease—" Her prints fondled a few of those dark curls.
"Do you mean you want more than this?" She added a third digit and Diana's breath hitched. "I thought you seemed happy, Schatzi."
"Liebling, please. I don't want to beg."
"Well, as much as I love to see you beg, I love making you happy even more—" and Yves placed her mouth directly above her wife's clitoris and sucked gently, continued to move her hand all the while.
Diana moaned as though she were singing. Her voice, perhaps accidentally, projected itself around that small chamber and Yves stopped a moment to laugh.
"You know there are other people still around, don't you?"
"Shut up. Don't stop, please—!"
"Yes, ma'am." Yves raised her eyebrows and smoothed her tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves, occasionally drawing a circle around it before continuing to suck. She timed the movement of her digits with the motion of her tongue, which established a rhythm in Diana's cries.
Occasionally, Diana would part her generous lashes and meet gazes with Yves, who watched her lovely wife inch closer and closer to those few seconds of absolute ecstasy. The Queen appeared possessed; she arched her back and dropped her jaw and dared to ruin Yves's hair with a few audacious fingers, making noise with her beautiful voice the entire time. Those gorgeous blue-grey eyes, which nearly matched the colors of the camellias in her wig, rolled to Yves beneath a light veil of tears and the heavy influence of sex.
"Liebling—" she practically sat up. Her voice cut and Yves stopped to suck upon her most sensitive spot. Diana squeezed so hard she popped a few of her spouse's joints and fell back upon the couch.
The opera singer finally removed her wig and cap, and caught her breath. Just as Yves claimed back her hand, a round of applause came from outside the door, and then a choir of laughter.
"Look at that, Schatzi. I think I got a standing ovation."
"Oh, no…" Diana lounged for a moment, her stark white hair messy around her face. She looked like some goddess a renaissance painter had eternalized forever, only a little damp with sweat that clung to her like the dew upon a rose—brought on either by her lover's attention or another violent hot flash.
Yves stood in her place and admired her, a wry smile twisting her entire face from ear to ear. "I'd be willing to put on an encore performance, just for you."
"No—" Diana looked to her, still a little high from her rolling orgasm. "There's no time. They must be waiting for us."
"They're waiting for you, My Queen."
"Oh, stop. Give me my clothes, won't you?"
Yves tossed Diana her previous outfit and composed herself as she slipped it on, combing back her ruined hair with her considerate fingers. The entire time, they traded on and off glances with one another, sometimes with a wink of a blown kiss, until Diana finally linked arms with Yves.
"I'm going to repay you two times when we return home, Liebling. I still want to make you speak German."
"Bitte. I can't wait."
They nearly exited, but Diana stopped them both like an anchor just a few steps before the threshold and the anticipating theater troupe. "Yves, thank you."
"For what, Schatzi?"
"Well," she grew a little pink, blinking her charming eyes once before they shared gazes again. "For everything. Always. I love you."
"I love you too, Diana." Yves kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the side of her nose, and even her eyelids. "Let's go. The public awaits you."
And both of them walked outside to another round of applause, though whether the subject of this praise was Diana or Yves never became clear. Still, they held one another all the way to the car, and from the car to the restaurant, and from the restaurant all the way to the frothy sheets of their ruined bed. There they placed stars into one another's eyes and sang until dawn, holding one another near just like the first time, up to the very last.