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Sabine Chauntel de Garderobe had always been a loud and robust child. Although her name now harkens to her greatness on the stage in Italy and the royal courts of France, she was born to a poor farming village on the outskirts of a small city – far from the luxury and wealth she now enjoys.Her parents Jacque and Shoshana de Garderobe were simple dairy farmers with a lot of 12 children, 5 cows and 3 acres to their names. None of Sabine’s brothers or sisters proved to be anything more than good, salt-of-the-Earth people whom she would eventually care for financially, but they were always supportive and honest. It seemed that the greatness, the gift of song and dance that had yet to be discovered, lay only in only one of the children in their family.As with most inventive geniuses, Sabine’s imagination as a child was greater than some of today’s finest artists, and although her parents adored her, they had no idea how to properly raise a prodigy. As a result, Sabine was mostly left to her own devices, trying to expand her mind, talents and situation in any way she could. Luckily, Sabine was an agreeable and intelligent child so it was not difficult for her to charm her way into a small library or travel to see a musical performance in the nearby city. While she wasn’t desperately trying to expand her mind, she preferred to help those around her and was endlessly optimistic, which sometimes annoyed her other siblings and the people in their small village. Sabine had just been born with a sweetness and intense sanguineness that no one had ever seen in their lives. Most of the villagers were simple and stately people, finding her behavior odd, especially when said behavior sometimes included violent outbursts of loud vibrato notes. Once Sabine taught herself how to truly sing, however, there were no more normal conversations had in their household, and it did not take long for her to finally plan her leave of the village, especially once she was exposed to the idea of high fashion and courtly music.Court fashion appealed to her greatly. The large skeletons of dresses that looked like forts, ribbons and fabric that could easily swallow you up, and that endless palette of colors and creams that, when smeared properly, made one look like the most desirable, beautiful thing in the room. Everything about it said party, high fashion, luxury and elegance. It was everything Sabine had wanted for herself, though she did not covet it as darkly and subserviently as some did. Where some would be satisfied marrying a wealthy man without love to achieve these materialistic goals, Sabine had promised herself that she would either find the right man and pray he had money, or she would make her fortune and fame on her own. The only thing that mattered was that she was able to rise above this provincial monotony and breakthrough onto the stage she knew she deserved to grace.She’d only heard tale of court music mostly -- there were no great cities around her -- but some of the girls in Nice had told Sabine about it. They spun her elaborate stories of the bright, pastel colors and the gold that kissed every inch of baroque embroidery, of the men and women in bright, snowy white wigs with pale faces, heavy creams and dark powders smeared in pleasing patterns on their supple skin. It’s like the theater! They would tell her, Beautiful, painted and flamboyant. It appealed greatly to a young girl who had always prided herself on her looks and had obsessed throughout her childhood about eccentric fashion. But she found that she loved the music most. The harpsichord was incredibly popular, and the waltzes that accompanied their bright and heavy melodies were almost perfect, save for a perfect voice to marry the two parts of the song.Even though her planning had begun around age 5, it wasn’t until she was 13 that Sabine headed off to fulfill her dreams -- first she had to spend 12 years planning her career and plotting her escape, all the while wondering why she had been born to the farm when she felt so connected to the music and theatricality of the court. However, on her 13th birthday, her family pitched in to send her to Milan, to study with the greatest musicians and the new breed of vocalists that were forming revolutions in Italy. You will change the world of music, her father told her, you will be on a stage somewhere far away and we will be here, feeling the effects of your success. That was what she wanted after all -- Sabine wanted to make her mark on the already wide and vast musical canon. The way she let her voice waver was a popular technique she had only picked up from watching other musicians -- now she was ready to make something her own. To teach the musical world something new.Sabine arrived in Milan a week after bidding everyone adieu, bright, beaming and optimistic as always. She knew no one and it did not take long to see that without someone to help her up, the young French singer was going to fail completely and be forced to travel home embarrassed and penniless. Sabine had told herself that she would leave after the first month if no one would take her as an apprentice, but that in the meantime, she needed to spend every last second of her time trying to find a way into the elaborate musical scene in Milan. Opera was an up and coming style at the time, and once she heard it in the throat of a professional, Sabine knew she was perfect for it. But, alas, a month passed and although she had been to hundreds of performances and given plenty of impromptu performances in pubs, still no one had taken her. She was black and French, two things that the artists and critics in Italy were currently very disinterested in. No matter how much powder or gold accent she put on her face, Sabine would never be the proper color for an Italian stage -- not without a master vouching for her talent as though she weren’t already bursting with it. Now, it was time to pack up and go home, but not without having a last drink at her favorite lounge.That was when she met a man named Giuseppe Niccolo Cadenza. He was a demanding man. Greedy and difficult to work with but exceedingly charming with the women that seemed to consistently flock to him and immensely powerful in the musical world. There was a common saying amongst booking managers at opera houses and symphonies that his talent far exceeded the difficulty of working with him, obvious by the endless list of international venues he had played for. Giuseppe, or as he was known on stage, Maestro, was not just a musical prodigy, he was also somewhat of a heartthrob -- a gorgeous, skilled musician and lover who was quickly and loudly making his way through the ranks of the rich and famous of Milan. Everyone who was anyone knew his name and face, especially that bright white smile, olive tanned skin and bright white poofed hair that was so, so fashionable. He sat atop a large, blue and gold plush chair at the front of the stage, a matching harpsichord seated directly in front of him.Sabine, however, would always remember feeling unimpressed. She would remember thinking he would’ve looked better with black hair, and that she could almost feel the arrogance emanating from him. He was jarring and annoying. He couldn’t sing. Sabine decided immediately that she didn’t care for him. But then he spoke to her.“Tesoro,” his smooth voice said, the accent velvety and passionate, “I must know your name.” She hadn’t even seen him leave his post by the high table, surprised to find it truly empty when she looked again. He had hurried over to speak to her, but Sabine wasn’t just going to give in. She knew what men could do, knew very well what happened to women who took husbands without first fulfilling their dreams. She was determined not to be wooed or impressed by the famous Italian composer, even when he represented everything she desired in this world. There was no way she would add that shame to her current situation, for he surely wanted only one thing from her. There could be no way his intentions would be anywhere near pure.But then she saw his eyes, blue and deep and meaningful. There was no pretentious melody in his words anymore, only a silken, soft-spoken need called through. The money in his voice was muted by truly stunned adoration and admiration, for it wasn’t only Sabine who pined for something more, something profound and deep and musical in nature. She wanted to begin her career but she could see that it was deeper for Maestro – he wanted love too, like most Italian artists. It was so painfully Petrarchan.“Why?” Sabine asked in her bored, silky voice, pulling out the fan she’d borrowed from a friend, a white and gold covered, neat mess of fabric and hand-hewn wood ribs holding it together and snapping it dramatically open. The Maestro closed his eyes and visibly shook with momentary passion at the sudden display of vanity and the sharp, pleasing noise her fan made. She was like a human peacock and he was instantly in love, though unsure that she would be the muse he was waiting for. The muse who would be able to offer a musical gift to match his own. “I can hear the money ringing in your voice, amore,” the woman purred with a seductive song in her voice, “I can see the women on your arm. Pray sir, tell me why I have forced you to abandon your post above.” Sabine’s tone was challenging and although she wanted to be stronger, there was a definite excited glint in her eye, perhaps a result of the attention she was receiving. Inside however, it was much more. Something about the man awakened a strong and irreversible desire deep within Sabine’s chest and it could only be seen if one looked very closely at that coy smile and her hooded eyelids. She hadn’t stood a chance.“Because your radiance makes me weak,” Maestro purred, reaching for her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles which she quickly drew away. “A woman such as you has no compare,” he added, ignoring her rejection completely, for he had seen excitement dancing in her eyes and knew instantly that she was simply challenging him, “And so I must know you before you go. I must write a song of your beauty, compose a great symphony to capture your vivacity.” Now the overdone, egotistical, privileged tone was back in his voice and a sudden need to prove herself overtook Sabine. How dare this man come over and touch her, assuming she wanted affection from such a handsome, talented performer. Such pretentious assumptions, such insincerity! She would not be made a fool of, no matter how famous and respected this man was.“I need no love songs or sonnets in my name, boy,” the singer spat, her voice becoming louder by the second until the entire place was looking at them. Finally – the chance to prove herself. “I am an artist,” Sabine drawled, her French accent mixing oddly and beautifully with the Italian she had picked up, “And you know not what artist lives inside of me. I am not some simple girl to be tricked. To be shamed. Listen and know your mistake.” She wasn’t that farm girl anymore as she kept reminding herself –now she was a star, a musician begging for recognition. Finally she opened her mouth and let the beautifully pitched soprano notes fill the stagnant air of the place, all sounds of the drab harpsichord forgotten as its player and the patrons around sat open-mouthed. Her hands moved gracefully in front of her, creating cradles and flowery shapes before her, those delicate hands forming courtly poses with such ease. Sabine was heat and class incarnate. Maestro had never seen anyone like her in his life, nor had anyone else beholding her great gift.~~ Giuseppe Niccolo “Maestro” Cadenza ~~In Italy, around the 17th century, a young, good-looking and talented boy named Giuseppe was born to noble parents, the leading lord and lady of the opera scene at the time, Gianni and Antonio Cadenza. The two were a power couple on and off the stage, gaining prestigious roles, tons of money, and well-earned success in their craft at very early ages. Although both were from wealthy and important families already, they were determined to make their own way, and each had worked hard to achieve the level of fame they enjoyed, though their poise and natural abilities made the process slightly easier. They were inevitably spoiled and narcissistic, but once a child came along, the pair seemed to soften – to leave their more diva sides in the past as the boy forced them to understand humility and patience. Giuseppe, the difficult and talented child that brought these artists back to Earth would prove to be even more annoyingly confident and unreasonably gifted than his parents once were.“I AM AN ARTIST!” Giuseppe would shout at the top of his lungs, banging his tiny fists down on the small keyboard he’d gotten for Christmas or the violin he’d been given for his birthday –whatever instrument he was currently obsessing over. To be so genius at such a young age, in a family of musicians and artists, much was suffered by the child. He was intensely dramatic, throwing himself around his room in fits of frustrated rage or disappointment. Everything seemed to affect him, even when it wasn’t directly happening to him. In fact, Giuseppe mostly demanded loudly that the world revolve around him so he became an expert at finding a way to insert himself into others’ issues or successes.The Maestro’s teenage years brought a love for beautiful men, women, expensive wine, and mastering as many instruments as he could get his hands on. Although he grew bored with his voice lessons and decided himself to stop going entirely, his parents seemed unperturbed by it – he was a composer and a musician, not a singer. His friends were other wealthy and privileged brats that ran around acting better than everyone else, dressing and acting posh, and generally spending most of their time rubbing their wealth in others’ faces. Giuseppe was bored by it. Everyone already knew his status and it felt a bit gauche to rub it in in the manner that his friends did. He preferred to invite those he disliked to his concerts, give them front row seats, so that they could see firsthand how inferior they were. But although his friends were simple and cruel, the Italian boy stuck with them all the way past university.By his 18th birthday, Giuseppe was internationally renowned. His parents had brought him with them on numerous tours and encouraged his work beyond perhaps what was healthy, affording him solo trips and the most expensive tutors and teachers (most of which he drove away with his brattish and dramatic behavior). The child’s passion for music was something they wanted to nurture beyond all other qualities he possessed and rightfully so since he was the definition of a natural. Success meant achievement, and achievement meant fame, fortune, and a happy life – all things the Cadenza’s were very familiar with. Giuseppe’s intense emotions and demanding nature was simply worth it, everyone agreed. The owners of the opera houses and symphonies could not deny that he pulled some of the largest crowds they’d seen and never failed to amaze with his original work as well as his knowledge and prowess with the classics of their time.And so it was that Giuseppe continued on his path of fame, fortune and arrogance. Around 23 he earned the name Maestro after his first two symphonies were bought and performed around the world for years, dazzling audiences and baffling his fellow composers with its complexity. Giuseppe was merely superior, a true genius. One that needed to be knocked off his pedestal, and luckily, on his 28th birthday, the Italian man found someone who would challenge, delight and enslave him – offering a quick unseating that would hopefully bring him back to Earth.Giuseppe played on a raised stage in the pub he loved so well, his harpsichord placed between his legs, fingers stretched forth nimbly, hitting the keys with great ease and fluidity. It was a sight to behold. When he played, his expression softened. Those normally dark eyes melted away and allowed one to see the smile lines around the corners of his mouth, the pale, soft skin glistened in the candlelight, and a change in his aurora that signaled great relief and respect. Normal people couldn’t possibly understand the profundity of his love for music and all he dreamed of was someone who would share that ineffable desire that burned constantly inside of him.There was a stirring near the doorway and in stepped a gorgeous, dark beauty. She was dressed in a fine but almost casual gown for the time – trimmed with silver and blue. It was the one thing she had been able to afford thanks to a friend who worked at the theater in the evenings, but it made her look fine and beautiful nonetheless. The way she moved was what made the garment however. Sabine swept into the room, a trail of blue cloth swishing behind her as though kicked up by an imaginary breeze. Giuseppe was instantly captivated. The women around him seemed like nothing in comparison to the woman who had just graced them with her queenly presence, even though several of them were wealthy and influential socialites. At that moment, nothing else mattered but her name. Maestro left the stage with not a word to any of his entourage.At first, he had tried to win her with his sweet words. The Italian brought out some of his favorite terms of endearment and appealed to her beauty, begging to know her name with a desperation that every other woman had fallen for. The Maestro’s deep passion and obviously theatrical nature had always attracted people, and he had done nothing but rely on that innate skill his entire life. That obvious passion and emotional investment in everything he did touched others, made them feel things they hadn’t thought possible. The Maestro, like Sabine, was a life-changing force.The conversation progressed and he was becoming less and less successful, but was growing more excited by the second. At every turn, every hollow promise he gave, the woman rebuffed him. She was a queen amongst peasants, aware of her gift, arrogant, insistent that what she had to offer was far greater than his status and wealth. Giuseppe quietly hoped that she wasn’t bluffing. There was a fire in her eyes, a gravelly, almost growl-like fierceness inside of her throat that spoke of her strength and persistence – none of it seemed fake. For once in a long time, Giuseppe wondered if he had met his emotional and theatrical equal. Sabine quickly brought the room to a fever pitch until everyone was watching, then opened her mouth … the Maestro remembered little after the fact, only that he had never heard someone sing as beautifully as Sabine. The timbre of her voice, the sincerity, practice and skill in that deeply developed song, cut through the air, filling the dimly lit room with a sense of excitement and wonder. It was inexplicable. It did something to the Maestro that he had never experienced. In that moment, Giuseppe knew that his muse had come to him. This was the woman who was to be his better half, to sing and dance and love for the rest of their lives.He was in love.But it wouldn’t be so easy. He had dropped to his knees melodramatically the second her aria was over and proposed, “Madame,” Giuseppe almost sobbed, clutching his chest, “Forgive me, forgive my arrogance. Speak not of my folly, come hence. Marry me, my perfect muse, amore, and I shall be your slave. Love me as Petrarch loves his Laura, as Romeo and his Juliet, and I shall give you everything you desire.” Although he could see the passion and blush on her face, she insisted that he must work for his rude folly in assuming such arrogance. There was strong hope established, and for once in his life, Maestro turned his attention to something much more important than music: courting his future wife and equal. Unbeknownst to them both, their union would create one of the most memorable and passionate duets in musical history and give new meaning to the story of true love.The moment she was done, the Maestro ran to her, poised on one knee and begged her to marry him. After a moment of contemplation, she refused, insisting that his grievous error would cost him a bit of time and courtship. And for once in his life, the great artist set his heart on one woman, one muse, one shared existence.And much to her poorly-disguised dissatisfaction, Sabine knew their love story had begun.
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“I AM AN ARTIST!” A shrill but musical female voice emoted from behind a dressing room door, “HE IS MY LIFE! I will not perform without him –DO NOT TOUCH ME – FIND HIM!” There was a loud noise, the unmistakable harsh shattering of pottery against wall and a second later, three beautiful but terrified maidens rushed out of the room. Behind them, the Madame’s distressed wailing could be heard.“Madame will not perform without the Maestro!” the blonde woman practically sobbed to the theater owner, “And no one can find him! What will we do?” It was five hours before the curtain was to go up, so naturally everyone was losing their minds over the possibility that their star performers would not go on. The theater director, Antony Teatro was a seasoned owner. He had met the Madame and Maestro many years ago, just when they got together – a month after starting their relationship – and he knew well of their difficult ways. Just like everyone else, Antony had concluded that their eccentricity was worth it. Neither were cruel, but simply privileged, impatient, and wrapped entirely around themselves.“He has gone out for a surprise,” Antony said in a very calm tone, “Keep the Madame in her room and he will arrive shortly. Tell Margaret to be ready – she will need her make-up redone before curtain.” He could hear that she was crying all the paint off her face at the moment in her dressing room. “Make yourselves scarce,” the director said, shooing the girls away, “Don’t go far. Anticipate what she needs but do not let her see you.”As if on cue, the Maestro stepped through the doors of the opera house, carrying a large bouquet of white and blue roses and a box that held some sort of local jewelry, his hair crowned with a snowy white wig, clad already in his stage clothes. He was obsessed with the Madame, had been ever since he’d met her, and getting her gifts before the show was somewhat of a tradition for him. In the same respect, the Madame’s exaggerated and dramatic fits over her husband’s absence were entirely for show – a tradition of her own. They both loved to be needed by the other and there was nothing that they loved more than showing their best selves to the world.“Back finally, Maestro,” Antony said with a small smirk, “I think you know your wife is waiting.” The other man beamed at his friend, “I hear her. Enchanting and glorious even off the stage. A true vision.” He closed his eyes and put his free hand on his heart, savoring the sadness in his wife’s voice, knowing it came sincerely even if it would be removed but a moment later when he walked through the dressing room door. Madame was so musical that even her distress carried a certain tune. “Amore!” Giuseppe called loudly, just once, before rushing up the steps to greet her like some hero in a fairy tale.“Maestro!?” came a loud shriek from the dressing room, louder, since the door was now being opened, “My love!” She burst through the door, sending the heavy mahogany back on its hinges, groaning against the metal, and threw herself upon her husband. The Italian man was suddenly covered in 30 pounds of costume as well as his wife and had still not dropped the items in his hands. It was such a regular occurrence, such a familiar dance, that over the span of their 20 years together, he had perfected it.“Come, Madame,” Giuseppe cooed in his smooth, rich accent, “Sotto voce, come, come my love.” Madame wept quietly in his arms for a moment before composing herself. She brought out a large blue and gold fan, snapping it loudly to attention and cooling herself with the heavy thing. The Maestro shifted visibly, passion emanating from him as he watched his wife compose herself. He pulled her into an embrace and then helped her off and into her dressing room.At the bottom of the stairs, stage hands, actors and various theater employees stood with wide mouths. It was ridiculous but so sweet. Where before there had been intense distress there was now soft vocalizing coming from inside of the dressing room, pleased, sweet and warm. The Madame’s voice wavered slightly as the Maestro stole a kiss in the midst of a soft, impromptu aria, none able to see.“They’re crazy,” breathed the blonde stagehand, cautiously approaching Antony.“Absolutely insane,” the theater director agreed with a broad smile, “But then, that kind of talent always comes with a price.”
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“Mio Dio! What is it!?” Maestro asked, staring at the fluffy creature in the pet store owner’s hands. It was a poorly manicured mess of white fur and blunt, small features, and to the composer, who was unfamiliar with animals of any kind, it was ugly as sin.“It’s a cat, Maestro,” the woman said in a slightly wounded voice, “A Persian! They’re very popular in the courts in France,” she added, reassuringly, “The Madame will love her!” The Italian man examined it carefully, noting the squashed, sour expression on the animal’s face and pulled back, wincing.“It’s hideous,” he said in that airy, dramatic tone that was final -- as though he were stating fact and not what was obviously an opinion, “Get rid of it. I want something cute. Precious. Worthy of a queen.” The Maestro had lost his focus now, as he did whenever he was thinking about Sabine. He would say her name or mention her briefly and then become lost in the visions of her that existed only in his dramatically elaborate memory. The way she walked seemed accentuated with a poetic swagger in his mind, her voice was particularly breathtaking, and her beauty somehow more devastating than it was in reality. In the very short time they had known one another, just over 6 months, Giuseppe had become full-blown obsessed with the woman, much to her immense delight. The rest of the music world was delighted as well -- both artists had joined together and started a duet tour that was already selling out all over the world, giving the industry renewed purpose and Italy two more stars. Sabine’s dream had come true, as had Giuseppe’s -- mostly. He still had to convince the Madame to marry him.As it was basically all he knew, the musician had gone for the obvious leverage: gifts and assorted luxuries. Custom gowns, endless pallets of crushed eye powders and bright lipsticks, even expensive outerwear when they travelled to colder cities. Anything and everything she desired materialistically was given immediately, without hesitation. And while the Madame was not just with the Maestro for his wealth, she never complained -- only thanked profusely and with great gusto whenever doted upon. Maestro adored his Madame more than life itself and much to their delight, it had made them even more famous. The Grand Dame and Lord of the court, the Leading Queen and King of the stage – they were legend in some parts of the world, not only for their eccentric and often difficult ways, but also for being love incarnate.So when the Maestro picked the right animal for his wife, it was going to be one that complimented their lifestyle, a little doggie that they could love – perhaps also a trial before having children. It was important that he got this one right. The thing would travel with them, obviously, so it had to be cute, cuddly, and elegant.“Dulce!” the Maestro cried suddenly, making the poor shop owner jump, “This puppy here!” He rushed over to a little tan and white mutt with a well-manicured tail and bright, wide eyes. It was absolutely precious and would look perfect in white and blue – Sabine’s signature colors. “It’s this,” the Italian man said, again with that air of finality that he was so familiar with, “This one here. I adore him – he’s perfect. The Madame will fall in love instantly.” The shop owner’s demeanor had picked up by now, thrilled by the sale and less wounded by the Maestro’s distaste for the cat that had been so expensive to import.Maestro purred to the dog in soft Italian, whispering sweet nothings about the dog’s adorable nature and promising it a gorgeous, luxurious life with a woman beyond compare. The animal nuzzled his face and settled into his arms decisively, as though claiming the spot in his new owner’s arms. It was then that Giuseppe knew he had picked the perfect pet and he was bursting with excitement to show him off to the Madame. “Thank you,” he said to the clerk when the transaction was complete. He had also, of course, bought a few accessories, which were carried out by his security team and packed into their carriage. A large gold and blue dog bed, ivory handled brushes and combs, several durable toys, bags of treats and food to last a lifetime, and myriad other things, most of which were incredibly unnecessary.By the time they made it home, everyone in the carriage was exhausted and disgusted by the composer’s ridiculous affinity for the small dog. He had done nothing but fawn over how adorable it was and brushed it’s long, luscious fur with one of the expensive brushes while gushing aloud, sounding poetic and dramatic as usual, about his muse. Everyone unloaded the presents quickly and quietly before taking off and resuming their posts around the mansion.“Madame!” the Maestro called from the stairs, putting the dog down to tie something to its new collar, “I have a surprise for you!” A door flung open upstairs and Sabine flew out of it, clad in nothing but her dressing gown and long, black hair in a plait down her back, still gorgeous and ethereal even without the make-up and dresses.“Maestrrrrroooooooo!” she proclaimed in her expertly sopranic voice, “My darling you’re home! I – “ Then she stopped, noticing the cute, furry thing at the bottom of the stairs, wagging its tail like mad. “A PUPPY!” the woman shrieked in a rare burst of purely French accent, practically sprinting down the stairs and scooping the animal up, “Oh he’s beautiful! So proud and blonde, like his mama,” she purred jokingly, referring to the blonde hair she usually donned for parties and performances. Sabine took a moment to look around them, seeing the spoils of Maestro’s shopping trip, “Oh it’s amazing. Everything for the love, for the sweet, sweet …” She searched for something, then snapped her fingers, “For the sweet Frou Frou.” Sabine kissed the dog’s hair with an air of surety and then turned on her boyfriend, one hand scratching the animal’s neck lovingly.“Oh my love,” she cooed, her free hand brushing his cheek, “I love you so. What a wonderful gift. I ---“ but the Madame stopped abruptly again, mid-sentence, for her fingers had brushed something solid that was clearly not a part of Frou Frou’s collar. Maestro saw the look and beamed, his bright white teeth sparkling almost as brightly as his eyes. Sabine searched through the dog’s fur and found the ring, a gorgeous, complicated set of stones set against stunning white gold, tied to his collar with a bright red piece of ribbon.“Marry me, Madame,” the Italian man begged softly, pressing their foreheads together and kissing her chastely, “Complete my life. Love me, and I shall be your slave.” There were more words whispered, promises and a few filthy things that would no doubt be brought back up later, and after some time, Sabine finally gave her answer.“It took you long enough,” she said, bringing their lips together in a passionate, earth-shattering kiss, their little dog pressed firmly between their embrace, calm and content.