London Celebrity @LondonCelebrity. 3h
Emergency services called to the Metronome Theatre. We’re investigating live
at the scene.
“No. No.” Bennett threw down a wad of papers in disgust. He had abandoned his seat in the stalls and was pacing up and down on the stage, to the visible annoyance of Richard and disconcertion of Will. He gripped violently at what little remained of his hair. Lainie could see where the rest of it must have gone. “Troy and Farmer, get out. Cool off in your dressing rooms. Take a bit of time to reflect. See if they’re hiring at Waitrose. Lainie and Chloe—ten-minute break, then get back here for another run-through of scene four.”
Lainie exchanged speaking glances with Chloe. She thought they’d been doing fairly well this time. Bennett was obviously not in a mood to agree.
Will put a hand on the edge of the stage and jumped into the orchestra pit—presumably to have a word with someone, not out of sheer frustration with their director. Bennett was turning into the West End’s answer to Big Brother. Every time she turned around, he was there, watching, carping and criticising. They had all been run ragged from the moment they’d entered the theatre.
She finally summoned the courage to look at Richard. She had been a blatant coward for the past ninety minutes, not in the mood to sustain another encounter with the Ice Man. To her surprise, he was looking back at her. And the way he was looking at her kindled a cautious spark of optimism. Deep, searching intent. She couldn’t read exactly what he was feeling, but he was letting himself feel something. That was a step up from this morning.
He tossed his sword aside and started to walk toward her. Dispensing with the lethal weapon. Also a good sign.
Lainie checked to make sure Bennett was otherwise occupied, and met Richard halfway. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne—deep, spicy and masculine. There seemed to be new creases around his eyes and mouth. She wanted to put her arms around him.
Unsure whether he would let her hold him or if he’d just chuck her into the orchestra pit with Will, she refrained.
“Lainie—”
She interrupted him, spoke quickly to get the words out before he frosted over again or said something to provoke her. “Look, I just want you to know. When Will broke up with me—” she rolled her eyes “—well, indirectly broke up with me, I was embarrassed. I didn’t know about Crystalle. Other people did. A lot of people. I felt stupid, and really naïve, and...and small. But I was no more upset about losing Will, as a person, than I was about my first boyfriend at school.” She winced. “Less, probably. I was a very emo teenager.”
“Lainie, you don’t have to—”
“Yes. I do. For a very short amount of time, Will made me feel like I was worth nothing. I won’t have him doing the same thing to you. Especially since you’ve made me feel like me again.”
The fierceness in Richard’s eyes gentled. He touched her then, lightly, his palm lifting to cradle her cheek, and her own eyes stung.
“Richard.” It was Margaret, looking harassed. “Sorry to interrupt. I need a word about the new set change.”
His fingers tightened, unintentionally biting into her jaw before he released her. He blew out a breath, tearing his gaze from her to acknowledge Margaret. “Yes. What is it?”
Aware of the hint of curiosity in Margaret’s side-glance, and in desperate need of some fresh air, Lainie went out the back door by the props room. It opened into a bleak little side alley, lined with discarded cigarette butts and crisp packets, but it was quiet. The wind whipped through her loose hair and down the front of her jumper. She crossed her arms and bounced a few times at the knees, trying to keep warm. And almost leapt out of her new ankle boots when the door banged open behind her.
The familiar scent and feel of Richard’s cashmere coat thumped over her shoulders.
“If you have to stand out here in five-degree weather, put on a bloody coat.” He spun her around, jerked up her chin and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Bennett’s blown his fuse again.” His breath was warm against her cold lips as he spoke. “Your presence is required.” He looked into her eyes. “We’ll talk later.”
He left her flushed, breathless and definitely not cold.
As kisses went, it wouldn’t make her personal top ten. For one thing, there was still an edge of temper under the surface, and angry snogging didn’t really rev her engine the way it seemed to for vintage romance heroines. He’d also caught her by surprise, and she’d bitten her tongue.
But, for the first time all day, she was smiling when she returned to the marginal warmth of the back hallway.
With Richard and Will effectively banished to the naughty step, the atmosphere onstage was a lot more relaxed. However, by the time she and Chloe had run through the same scene four times, to scant appreciation from Bennett, Lainie was equally ready to take refuge downstairs.
“You despise her!” Bennett sounded as if he was at the end of his rope. He gestured at Chloe in exasperation. “This is sheer bloody vengeance, ladies, not a frigging tea party.”
Casual sexism was rampant in the workplace.
Lainie frowned, Chloe put a sassy hand on her hip—and an ancient, supposedly defunct gas pipe exploded in the greenroom.
The actual blast wasn’t that alarming. It sounded more like a large car backfiring than anything else. There was a moment of blank surprise.
The tremendous crack and crash that followed ten seconds later shook the stage. The Metronome’s excellent acoustics carried the deafening rumble clear to the cheap seats in the back. It was as if an express train had taken a wrong turn off the Piccadilly line and rammed straight through the theatre. Lainie put out a hand and grabbed at the nearest support, which happened to be Chloe’s shoulder.
In the intense quiet of the aftermath, she heard a faint crackling and spitting sound through the wings.
Then the shouting began.
“What the hell was that?” The bemused question was spoken right near her ear. She wouldn’t otherwise have made out the distinct words above the rising clamour.
Bennett’s deep bellow proved useful for once. His voice cut through the chaos like a guiding foghorn in the mist. “Everybody out. Front exit. Gather in the street. Carson—roll call.”
“But—what’s happened?” Chloe sounded bewildered.
The back of the stage seemed to be full of people in work overalls, jostling aside other people holding clipboards and phones.
“Chloe. Lainie.” Margaret was there again, her face pale, her arms outstretched to herd them down into the stalls.
“Jesus Christ.” Someone spoke from the wings. “The floor’s caved in.”
A pause. An authoritative, rapid-fire question: “How many people were down there?”
“Troy and Farmer, for sure. Maybe others. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
The floor of the greenroom was the ceiling of the principal dressing rooms.
Lainie acted on autopilot. She was physically unaware of her feet as she began to walk forward, toward the wings, toward Richard. In her strangely calm mind, it seemed perfectly logical that she could just reach through the hole in the floor and pluck him out.
“Lainie.” Chloe was grabbing at her elbow. A masculine hand was closing around her upper arm.
Why was nobody going in there?
And she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. She was going backwards. Literally. Even when she was outside on the street, the cold wind biting against her cheeks, she didn’t realise how hard she was struggling.
It had happened too quickly. Her mind couldn’t catch up with her instincts. Which were urging her to go. Back. Inside.
Tourists were looking at her. People were talking to her. Bill, the props master, was hugging her, which seemed a bit inappropriate. She kicked him, with vague violence, and he yelped.
“If you see a posh prick in a silk shirt in there,” he said to someone, in his strong Geordie accent, “tell him to get his arse out here and deal with his own bloody woman.”
Obviously, it was ridiculous. She wasn’t Lara Croft. She would probably end up falling headfirst into the basement. Intellectually, she knew that. Intellectually, she was aware that other people, including Will, could also be inside. Under that floor.
She had no emotional reserves to focus on anyone except Richard.
She really hadn’t known that she loved him this much.
People in uniform were streaming into the Metronome. They didn’t have tickets.
She had admired that death trap. It had seemed to be full of...to be full of romantic ghosts.
She started to shake. She couldn’t breathe.
Richard was probably buried under a pile of bricks, and she was having her first ever panic attack, in the middle of a busy London road.
A camera flashed, and she winced.
“Lainie?” Chloe’s face appeared right in front of her own, nightmarishly close. The whole thing was a nightmare. And Chloe was almost forty years old, and had no lines on her face at all.
What was up with that?
Lainie wasn’t even thirty, and she already had permanent stress creases in her forehead. Probably crow’s-feet as well, after today.
Sanity began to return—and with it, crushing horror.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God. Chloe.”
Chloe took her hands and gripped them tightly. Her voice was calm and cool as she proved herself once and for all the mother of a teenager, used to hysterics. “They’ll be fine, Lainie.” She gave Lainie’s hands a single, forceful shake. “Keep it together. They’ll be fine.”
Lainie’s attention returned to the façade of the theatre. It looked so innocent. If she raised her gaze above street level, where emergency services personnel were gathering in a buzzing cluster, like the epicentre of a beehive, it looked like any other day.
She was afraid to even blink, in case her whole world came crashing down when she closed her eyes.
* * *
It was a measure of how bad the past couple of days had been, that when Richard’s dressing room collapsed around him in a dusty pile of rubble, his primary reaction was irritation.
His Wi-Fi connection had kept timing out, which a few seconds earlier had seemed like the pinnacle on the mountain of crap he’d been dealing with for the past forty-odd hours. He was halfway out the door, in search of a stronger signal, when everything went to hell. It was an implosion rather than an explosion. The room literally seemed to buckle, folding in on itself like something out of The Matrix before it shattered.
He ended up on his knees, his eyes wet and stinging with grit, the ground quivering beneath him. Strangely, he was most aware of the hiss of an old-fashioned exposed lightbulb as it swayed and flickered from a broken beam. It was nearly impossible to see anything in the gloom, and difficult to breathe in the dense air.
He struggled to his feet, but had to bend at the waist. What was left of the ceiling in the hallway had lowered to proportions that even fifteenth-century cottage-dwellers would have found claustrophobic. The electrics were just barely hanging in there, but most of the lights had shattered.
What the everlasting fuck...
Richard could hear his own breaths, loud and rough in the stillness. He could hear nothing from the floors above. It was horrifically eerie. He didn’t know how much of this section of the theatre was still standing. He couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about Lainie, or he would lose his mind.
He braced one hand against the far wall, then snatched it back as he felt the stones move. Rubble had spilled over the length of the hallway, blocking the way to the north stairs. His dressing room, to his left, was scrap metal and broken mortar. There was only one way to go.
He tripped and stumbled several times in the dim light. It was slow progress as he inched forward, wary of each careful step as the building shuddered around him. Dust clogged his nose, and he took a glancing blow to the shoulder from falling stone.
He’d once done an independent film set in a bombed hotel during the Second World War, and the staging had not been entirely dissimilar. It was a lot less enjoyable without the cameras and crew.
He crawled over a pile of bricks, got his first glimpse of stronger light and realised that the south hallway was intact. If he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have dropped down in gratitude.
Behind him came a low, rumbling, metallic groan, as if the Metronome was in its dying throes and wasn’t going to go out quietly.
It almost drowned out the faint cry for help. He so nearly didn’t hear him.
Richard froze, listening, his eyes fixed on dingy, beautifully solid walls and floorboards, every instinct of self-preservation urging him forward. He turned his head, looked at the shivering wreckage. It was going to come down.
Oh, hell.
Despite the mess they’d made post-collapse, the walls had been thin. He’d heard the sounds of an iPad game next door, and it hadn’t been that long ago. Fifteen minutes at most. He was on his feet again. He took a step back.
“Farmer.” His voice echoed down into the depths of the ruined corridor.
A faint scuffling noise in the distance, unmistakable this time.
The Metronome might have the structural stability of Jenga blocks, but it didn’t have man-size rats scrabbling in the walls.
All he could think of in that moment was Lainie’s face. The look in her eyes when she’d told him about her sister.
The prospect of telling her that she’d lost someone else.
Because she was all right. She had to be. Any other outcome was totally unacceptable.
He went back.
Moving as quickly as possible, trying to keep his weight away from the fragile remains of the walls, he retraced every slow, painful step.
When he found where the other dressing room door should be—and was not—he swallowed on a nauseated wave of dread.
“Farmer?” he said again, sharply. It sounded shockingly loud, and startled his brain back into some sense of normality. “Will!”
A strange sound, between a moan and a gasp. He fought his way through the heavier wreckage in his path. Something sliced into his foot, but he ignored the pain from the shallow cut.
He found his castmate under a wooden beam. The gods continued to shine on Wonder Boy, he was relieved to see. The light at this end was so weak that the vacuous Ken doll face was a white blur.
“You all right?” Richard bent at his side and tested the weight of the beam, trying to see if Will was actually trapped or if he was just shocked into immobility. He felt around the side of the beam, hoping it wasn’t supporting anything essential, because it was going to have to move. It was wedging the other man’s leg against the far wall. “Farmer. For the first and hopefully only time, I’m going to need you to talk to me.”
“What?” Will sounded dazed. His voice was hoarse. “What happened?”
“In the immortal words of Radiohead, ‘go and tell the king that the sky is falling in.’” Richard got down on his haunches and braced himself. “Taking a reckless guess, the builders really cocked up in the greenroom. On the count of three, move your right leg back toward your chest. One...two...three!”
He heaved the end of the beam upward, just about dislocating his own shoulder in the process, and Will shoved himself free. Richard hauled him the rest of his way to his feet. They were bent over like a couple of elderly golfers, both of them far too tall for what was now basically a hole in the ground.
Inevitably, because Richard was reaping all sorts of cosmic payback for his past sins today, the other man began to panic.
“Oh God,” he said, and the words rose in pitch. “OhGodOhGodOhGod.”
“Not to be insensitive to your religious needs,” Richard said sarcastically, “but if you let me know when you’re finished praying, perhaps we could get going. I’d prefer to be out of here when the rest of this comes down.”
“Oh God.” Will had turned into a broken record. And a bloody annoying one, at that. Presumably, the foot-stamping was a nervous tic, but it was a poor idea in a structurally unsound space. It was seriously beyond him what Lainie had ever seen in the guy in the first place. “Oh God, we’re trapped. Nobody knows we’re down here.”
Richard gave him a shove to get him moving. “First of all, everybody knows we’re down here. You haven’t left a room quietly since you passed out drunk at the wrap party for Fields of Justice in 2010. Watch your head.”
Will turned and grabbed his arm, his fingers biting into Richard’s wrist. “Do you think this is funny, you arsehole?”
“I don’t get my kicks from having you rub up against me in the dark, no. Would you back the fuck off? We’re not that short on space.”
“We’re fucking buried alive. How the fuck do you think we’ll get out of here? The whole thing could come crashing down.” He was almost hyperventilating. “Jesus. I’m going to die with you. What a fucking joke.”
“Or we could just keep moving down into the completely intact south hallway and use the old fire escape.”
Silence.
“Oh.” After a pause, Will said lamely, “I’ve hurt my leg.”
“Is it broken?”
“No.”
“Then if you think I’m carrying you, you’re mistaken.”
In the end, he did have to get far too close for comfort. Will was dragging his leg and their pace was too slow. Dust and debris was falling far more rapidly now. Richard pulled Will’s arm over his shoulder and took the brunt of his weight.
“Just move,” he gritted out, ignoring the whinging protests that ensued. His nerves were a taut wire, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
“But—”
“Shut up.”
His muscles were burning when they finally crossed the boundary into relative safety, the adrenaline firing off electrical impulses that made him twitch and jump like water on hot steel. The defunct fire escape had been boarded over. Richard leaned against the wall to catch his breath. It felt reassuringly solid against his back.
“You knew the way was clear.” Will suddenly looked up from his half crouch on the floor. He seemed to have regained some of his wits, which was fortunate. He didn’t have many to spare. His expression was odd. “You must have—You were already out.”
Richard closed his eyes on a wave of exhaustion.
“Did you actually come back for me?”
“Farmer. Seriously. Just shut up.” Gathering the last of his strength, he started to pull at the boards. He was banking on the wood and nails being as decrepit as the rest of the Metronome. One piece broke away and he tossed it aside.
Will belatedly got up to help. As they worked side by side, in cooperation for probably the last time, he spoke without looking at Richard. “She didn’t love me, you know.”
Richard clenched his teeth. He viciously yanked down another board.
“I hurt her, and I’m sorry. But she didn’t love me.” Will’s lips were a thin line. “I can see the way she looks at you.” He threw down a jagged scrap of wood. “Just—start looking back.”
Richard turned his head. Will’s face was etched with a mixture of annoyance and resignation.
“It’s all there. Just look at her.”
* * *
It took fifteen minutes for someone to remember the existence of the old fire escape. Their overall disaster response had been a bit of a fail. If the show must go on, Bennett would probably start doing fire and earthquake drills, which might not be a bad idea.
The entire company was in panic mode, and for some people it was a slight anticlimax when the tragic victims suddenly ambled out from the side alley. Will was hobbling on one foot, propped up between the two firemen who had found them breaking down the boarded-up door. Richard was also limping, but walked without assistance. There was a small smear of blood on his forehead. Both men were filthy and dishevelled. Otherwise, they looked fine.
Lainie’s knees almost gave out.
Through jostling crowds and swimming vision, she met Richard’s gaze, and saw the intensity of his relief. Silently, they stared across the chaos at one another.
Then he had the barefaced nerve to wink at her, picking a really bad time to become flirty, and avoided a punch on the nose only through distance.
They were taken away in an ambulance while she was still stuck behind the police barrier. Chloe drove her to the hospital in her red vintage Morris. She felt sick in the car and impatient with the delays. They were stuck in traffic for almost forty-five minutes. Her hands shook as they circled the block over and over again, trying to find a parking space. She wished she could just pull an I Dream of Jeannie and blink straight to Richard’s side.
They bumped into Margaret in the hospital foyer.
“Everyone’s fine,” she told them, relief heavy in her voice. “All safe and accounted for. We were worried about Sally, one of the interns, but they found her on Tottenham Court Road. Thirty percent off American-brand makeup at Space NK,” she added sardonically. “And Bob’s on form. He’s already contacted our lawyers about litigation.” She squeezed Lainie’s arm. “Richard and Will are okay. Minor bumps and bruises.”
Lainie nodded tightly. She was going to need to see that for herself, within touching range.
However, when she marched up to a nurses’ station and asked to see her boyfriend, she somehow ended up in Will’s ward. The gossip magazines in the staffroom must be out-of-date.
She stayed anyway, for a few minutes. In hindsight, not caring if her former boyfriend was flattened like a pancake as long as her new boyfriend emerged intact was pretty bad.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” Will’s voice was raspy, and his leg was elevated and bandaged, but overall he looked quite pleased with himself. He’d been out of the ER for ten minutes and a smitten fan had already sent a shiny Get Well Soon balloon to his room.
The animation drained out of his face when he admitted, “Thanks to Troy.” Slowly, he said, “He came back for me. He could have got out straightaway.”
God. Richard.
“He is okay?” Lainie was desperate for reassurance.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s a heroic dick, but he’s fine.” He grimaced. “You’d better warn him I’m going to thank him in person, properly.”
“You might want to wait a while.” Her halfhearted smile was wobbly. “His body has probably had enough shocks for one day.”
“You haven’t seen him yet?”
“No, I—No.”
Will watched her. “You should go. He’ll be wondering where you are.”
“I know.” Lainie looked back at him. “Will, I...” She sighed. “Do you need anything?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “But I don’t really know what to do with it when I get it. Do I?”
She was silent, and he shrugged and lifted his phone. “I’ll be fine. You know me. Never short of company.”
“Oh, I know.” She poured him a glass of water before she left the ward and went—finally—in search of Richard.
She found him in a single room—naturally, Richard Troy would never be expected to bunk up in a mixed ward with the hoi polloi. Lynette Stern, Alexander Bennett and Bob Carson all stood around his bed, in deep discussion about the extent of the damage backstage and whether it would require a complete relocation of the play. Richard, naked to at least the waist and covered with smudges of dust and dirt, looked exhausted and cross.
Their eyes met. With a muffled sound—and completely ignoring the audience by the window—Lainie launched herself straight onto the bed and into his arms. They closed around her, his hold brutally tight. Her face shoved into his neck, and she breathed in the strong musty smell that completely eliminated his usual comforting scent.
Richard’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head. “Shut the door behind you,” he said to the others. Through her tears, Lainie choked on a relieved snort and elbowed him. Sounding as if he was rolling his eyes, he added, “Please.”
Lynette hid a smile and ushered out the still-arguing Bennett and Bob. Lainie increased the strength of her hug, and Richard smoothed his palm over her tangled hair. “About time you made an appearance.” His deep, velvety actor’s voice was temporarily a dust-shredded ruin. “I was going to give you three more minutes and then come looking for you.”
“You probably shouldn’t be walking around,” she said to his rough cheek, her eyes closed.
“My limbs are intact and functioning. No thanks to Farmer’s bruised knee and all fifteen stone of the rest of him.” A tearing cough contracted Richard’s chest, and she touched his bare ribs.
“It’s not going to help if you come down with pneumonia. Don’t tell me the nurses were so desperate for a look at your pecs they didn’t give you a gown.”
It was Richard’s turn to snort. “I’m not sharing a backless nightie with five hundred previous occupants.”
Typical. Lainie couldn’t help smiling at that, but she still had to stop herself from clutching him again, just to feel him there, reassuringly solid.
Her fingers curled in his chest hair. “Are you naked under there?” She took a sneaky peek under the sheet. He was wearing boxer briefs. He also had nice thighs. She rubbed one affectionately, and he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the side of her neck.
“Will’s fine.” Lainie’s own voice was still husky with tears. “Thanks to you.” She swallowed. “But if the theatre ever explodes again, don’t let the roof drop on your head. I swear to God, Richard, if you do this to me again, I’ll throw a fit that will make Sadie Foster look like frigging Pollyanna.”
Richard’s eyes were fixed on her face. He slowly played with a strand of hair under her ear, tickling her throat with it.
“I thought you were going to die.”
He pressed her palm flat against his chest, where his heart beat in a strong, regular rhythm. His thumb caught the moisture under her lashes before it had a chance to fall. “Don’t cry, Tig,” he said quietly, which only made her more hopelessly teary. “You might finish me off completely.”
“Don’t even joke about it, you insensitive bastard,” she said, pushing at him. “Richard.”
“I was worried about you too.” He shook his head. “Worried. I was losing my mind.”
“Ditto. I was ready to charge in there and dig you out with my bare hands. Have you seen the film Diamonds Are Forever?”
“Probably.”
“In the finale, Tiffany Case tries to shoot a gun to save the day and falls straight off the side of an oil rig. Every time I watch it, I want to smack the crap out of her.” Lainie exhaled, disgusted. “Well, in a crisis? That’s me. Trying to save Bond’s arse and toppling off an oil rig. I completely lost it. Chloe, by the way? Voice of reason. It’s totally demoralizing. Soothe me.”
She was rewarded for her legitimately embarrassing inability to cope by the lightening of Richard’s expression. A twinkle came into his eyes.
“Wanted to dive in and save me, did you, Tig?”
“Yes, I did. And don’t look so smug about it.” Lainie leaned her chin against his shoulder, her smiling fading. “Will says you saved his life.”
“I doubt it. He would have stopped wringing his hands and got to his feet eventually. He can’t be completely useless.”
Her arm tightened around his ribs. “Were you scared?”
“Are you joking? I was scared shitless.” He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I fully expected the walls to come down completely before we got out of there. Christ, I was even scared for Farmer. Although that was mostly for your sake.”
“What do you mean?”
His fingertips ran along her lips, absently petting. “I suddenly remembered the way you looked when you talked about Hannah.” His voice was grim. “I didn’t want you to lose someone else you cared about.”
Lainie took a shaky breath. “You risked your own life to help Will...for me.”
“Well, for Farmer himself as a borderline human being,” Richard said mockingly, “but yes. Also for you.” He obviously couldn’t believe his own fallibility.
“Because...” She hesitated. “Because you think I...care about Will?”
Which she did, in a very platonic, mostly nostalgic way, but Richard was suggesting something more than that.
“I heard what you said.” He pulled on her earlobe, gently chastising. “I do actually listen when you speak. But—you do care about Farmer.” He was matter-of-fact, but his finger tightened around a loop of her hair, accidentally giving it a painful tug. “I realised that a long time ago. I suppose that’s why I reacted so badly on Sunday night.”
Sunday night—God, was it only two days ago that everything had fallen apart so spectacularly?
“You had the right to react badly. It was really shitty, what I did. Will might have blabbed, but it was my fault he was able to.”
“I’m not denying I would have been angry no matter who you told, but I doubt I would have left you on your doorstep if it had been someone else. Anyone else.” Richard grimaced. “I was jealous. Of Will fucking Farmer. It doesn’t get much lower than that.”
Lainie shook her head. “You don’t need to be jealous of anyone. What I feel for you and how I felt about Will—it’s not even on the same planet.”
There was still a definite hint of doubt when he said, “You wouldn’t sleep with a man if you didn’t care about him. That might be gratifying in light of recent activities—” he lifted a brow “—but less so in relation to events of a few months ago.”
“As of a few days ago, I would no longer sleep with a man I didn’t love.” She touched the ashy black curls at his hairline. “I know what I would be missing now.”
Richard stilled. “Love?”
She put her lips to the corner of his in a feathery kiss. “You’re the most irritating man I’ve ever met, Troy. And I love you like you wouldn’t believe.”
He stayed motionless while she trailed leisurely, affectionate kisses over his brow and the bridge of his nose, giving him time to take that in. Then he gripped her face between his hands, so tightly that it hurt, and took her mouth in a fierce, shatteringly possessive kiss. They sat curled together for long minutes, noses touching, lips millimetres apart, their breaths mingling.
“Are you telling me,” he said at last, in a low, rough murmur, “that I dragged his sorry carcass all the way through that building for no reason at all?”
Her smile lit up her eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, your good deed today probably cancelled out an entire year’s worth of bad behaviour. Firmly back on Santa’s nice list.” She held his gaze, needing him to understand. “Richard. What you said about me being on the rebound. No. Just—no. Really, really no.” She wrinkled her nose. “Will’s not so bad. But my relationship with him? A pretty mediocre dress rehearsal before I fucking killed it on opening night.”
Richard finally smiled at that. He slid his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Yeah?”
Solemnly, she sketched a cross over her heart.
“All right, then,” he said softly, and she slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight again.
Eventually, he pulled back and lifted her chin with a gentle nudge of his knuckle. “You know you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”
Lainie curled her fingers into a ball to hide their shaking. She tucked her hand behind the bulky breadth of his shoulder.
“I think I knew when you tried to leave an imprint of your face on the Metronome stage. I definitely should have known when I found you struggling with Westfield. I could have throttled him with his pretentious bloody cravat.” He kissed the arch of her cheekbone. “Last night, I was looking for any excuse not to care.”
“And now?”
“Now I will grudgingly agree. I’ve never been so lucky in my life.”