Masterstroke | The Dark Knight Trilogy

ELEVEN - BALLET AND HOLIDAYS

I step into the penthouse, barely dragging my feet after a grueling day at work. The moment I take off my heels, I see Bruce casually leaning against the kitchen counter, dressed in a sleek dinner jacket. My mind races—why is he all dressed up? And then it hits me: tonight is our date night. The Russian ballet.

I raise an eyebrow, muttering an Italian expletive under my breath. How did I forget? With a sigh, I rush to the closet, scanning through the gowns I'd set aside for nights like this. My fingers land on the emerald green gown and I grab it along with a pair of heels, dashing into the bathroom, my mind a blur of urgency.

From the other room, I hear Bruce's amused voice, "We can skip it, you know." I almost laugh but shake my head instead, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. Skip it? Not after I've already committed. I throw myself into getting ready, knowing I'm on the clock. No time to hesitate, no room for error.

Twelve minutes later—showered, hair done, makeup finished, and my gown zipped up—I take a deep breath and step out. The air feels different, quieter. Bruce is standing by the door, watching me with that look in his eyes that makes everything worth it. His gaze sweeps over me, and I can tell he's impressed despite himself.

Bruce offers me his hand, and I take it, squeezing it as we head out for the evening. His quiet compliment—just a subtle, "You look beautiful"—makes me forget all the chaos of getting ready. Tonight is about us.

By the time we arrive at the theater for Swan Lake, my earlier rush has melted away. We settle into our seats, and as the lights dim and the first notes of Tchaikovsky's score fill the air, I find myself swept up in the magic of it all. The dancers move with such grace, telling a story of love and tragedy that holds me spellbound.

But the day has been long, and despite the beauty unfolding onstage, I can't ignore the growing fatigue in my body. I shift in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the warm darkness surrounding us has other ideas. I try to keep my eyes open, but the pull of sleep is stronger than I am tonight.

At some point during the second half of the ballet, I lean into Bruce's shoulder, trying to stay alert. His arm moves around me, holding me closer, and I feel the warmth of his body wrapping me in a soft, protective cocoon. I can't help it—my eyes flutter shut, and I give in to the comfort and peace.

Bruce's gentle chuckle vibrates in his chest as he brushes a kiss to my temple, but I'm already half-asleep, barely registering the moment. The last thing I'm aware of is the steady rhythm of his breathing, and then the world fades away.

I don't wake up until the applause rouses me, the sound echoing through the theater. Blinking groggily, I look up at Bruce, who's smiling down at me with a mix of amusement and affection.

"Enjoy your nap?" he teases softly.

I try to muster a playful glare, but it quickly turns into a sheepish smile. "You're too comfortable to resist," I mumble, still feeling the warmth of sleep clinging to me.

Bruce only chuckles again, pressing a kiss to my forehead as we stand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Later, as Bruce navigates the evening traffic, driving the Lamborghini, I'm leaning back in my seat, exhausted but content after our night out. My phone buzzes in my purse, and I glance at the screen to see a call from my mom. I quickly answer.

"Hey, Mom!" I greet, trying to hide my smile.

"Nina, darling!" she exclaims. "I was just thinking about you. I wanted to see if you and Bruce are free for Christmas this year. I've already started knitting sweaters for the family photo. I even made one for Bruce!"