She was perfect. His divine acting partner, the one who knew his (almost) every move. She'd become almost as wily as him over the centuries and he adored that.
He pulled Ariadne into his arms to kiss her more deeply. There was the sound of chatter and of some people clapping, but mostly there was Ariadne, intrepidly seeking her way back into the twisting labyrinth of his heart and setting up there. Happily, gladly, wonderfully, he would always allow her there.
When he drew back from the kiss he swept her blonde waves back from her face and said, "no one I'd rather duet with, my starling."