It was hard to make friends with the people in my classes. There weren’t a whole lot of mature students, and those who were had partners and kids to go home to right after class. This meant, other than taking Jack up on his offer, I had no one to go to after rehearsal who wouldn’t see that I was distracted. Seonaid, Roddy, and Angie would all know something was up and I didn’t want to talk about Aidan’s sudden reappearance in my life.
Not once in the five minutes Quentin took to introduce Aidan had my past love acknowledged me or the fact that we knew each other.
He treated me like I was a stranger. One he looked through.
After what he did to me?
Laine was right—he could be an asshole to women.
It was hard for me to reconcile the man that was just introduced to our company—that cold, aloof man—with the one who’d looked at me like I was the answer to everything good in his world. Was that what losing Sylvie had done to him?
I cursed myself for the concern that overtook me. And for the way he was already consuming my thoughts. This wasn’t what I wanted. I needed a distraction!
Quentin had called time on the rehearsal to hang out with Aidan and talk shop, and I didn’t need to be told twice to get the hell out of there. However, as I was leaving, I swore I could feel that chilly gaze on my back. Not able to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder before following the others out into the night.
Aidan wasn’t looking at me. He was smirking at Amanda who gave him a little flirtatious finger wave as she walked away.
To my horror, I felt a flare of possessive jealousy so intense, it was like the last eighteen months hadn’t happened.
I went home. I avoided a call from Seonaid knowing as soon as she heard my voice, she’d know I was not okay. And I glared at my English paper, thinking how impossible it would be for me to work with Aidan on this play. My life was good. I was finally in a good place where I actually liked myself and the plans I had for my future. Why do anything to shake that up?
It was time to find another theater group.
The money my mom had given me was enough to afford the luxury of only working a few nights a week at a pub on the Grassmarket. I kept my flat in Sighthill to keep costs down, and bartending at The Tavern covered my food and electricity.
Rehearsals for the play were Monday and Wednesday evenings, and I worked Thursday and Friday evenings. We were always busy at the pub given our close proximity to student housing. During classes that day, I’d vacillated between the need to fall asleep (I had not slept well the night before) and wanting to tear my hair out in frustration because my thoughts would not abandon Aidan Lennox. Moreover, I was trying to work myself up to call Quentin and tell him I was out. Knowing that was going to be unpleasant, it was taking me a while to gather the courage.
I was on break at work that evening, considering using work as an excuse to leave the Tollcross Company, when my phone rang.
Spookily, it was Quentin.
Quentin never called.
Texted demands, yes, but never called.
“Are ye gonna answer that?” Kieran, my Irish colleague, scowled at me. He was a law student at Edinburgh and studied during his breaks in the tiny staff room at the back of the bar.
“Sorry.” I stepped outside into the narrow hallway that led to a small courtyard at the back. “Hello?”
“Good, you’re there.” Quentin heaved a dramatic sigh. “Change of plans. You’re now Viola.”
“Uh … what now?”
“Gwyn quit. Apparently, her dissertation is suffering and she needed to cut something out of her life. Considering she couldn’t learn her lines, I’m not exactly in mourning. So. My little Rain Man, you are now Viola. Congratulations. Be at rehearsals, usual time.”
And he hung up before I could say another word.
At once I wanted to fist pump the air because there was no way I expected to get a major part in any play so soon. We may have been an amateur theater company, but Quentin had worked hard for more than a decade to build up its reputation. His productions always sold out because he offered quality, affordable entertainment. The local media reviewed them. Jack had gotten work on an episode of a national TV drama because of his performance in A Streetcar Named Desire a few years ago.
How could I turn down the chance to play Viola?
Yes, I didn’t want the drama of having to deal with Aidan or the way he clearly could invade my every waking thought. But wasn’t running away from the situation something the old me would’ve done? This was my life. Mine. It was time to stop letting other people dictate how I lived it.
That didn’t mean my hands weren’t shaking when I wandered back into the bar.
“Are you avoiding me? I feel like you’re avoiding me,” Seonaid said as I hurried along Home Street, trying to block out the noisy traffic so I could hear my friend. She’d called as I was on my way to my first rehearsal as a major player.
“I told you I had a paper to finish this weekend. How is that avoiding you?”
“For fuck’s sake, Cee Cee, stop interrogatin’ the poor lassie. Ye ever think maybe she just wanted some peace and quiet fae ye?” I heard Roddy call from the background.
I snorted, listening as she retorted, “She’s not you, Roddy. She actually likes having me around.”
“I like havin’ ye aroond tae. I just like it better when ye’er no’ yappin’.”
“You are lucky I know you’re trying to wind me up, Roddy Livingston, or I’d advise you to get reacquainted with your right hand.”
“Remember he’s ambidextrous?” I said at the same time he said the same thing.
Seonaid huffed but I heard her amusement. “Stop avoiding the subject. Is everything really okay?”
I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her about Aidan. Seonaid was so good at bolstering me, inspiring me to be a better version of myself. But somehow, I couldn’t get the words out. Telling her that he’d walked back into my life like a stranger would make it more real, and there was still a part of me hoping I could bury my head in the sand and pretend he’d been a surreal dream.
“Nora?”
I scrambled for a lie. “I … um … I’ve been feeling a little swamped with school lately and I didn’t want to complain because I want this, and it seems so ungrateful to complain.”
That sounded plausible.
Seonaid apparently thought so too. “You’re still allowed to get stressed about it, though, babe. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you. I’m fine, though. I’m heading to rehearsal, in fact. I … uh … the woman playing Viola dropped out so they gave the part to me.”
“Oh, Nora, that’s brilliant!” she cried. “I can’t wait to come see you in it.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, still giddy that I’d actually be on stage playing this part.
“Shame you grew your hair out, though. Doesn’t your character dress like a boy for most of the play?”
I snorted. “Yeah, she does.”
Once my hair had hit my chin, it grew like wildfire and to my delight, it now reached my shoulder blades. I usually wore it in soft waves created with my hair straightener—Seonaid showed me how.
“Anyway, I’m almost there. Speak soon,” I promised.
“Okay. Speak soon, babe.”
We hung up and I attempted (and failed) not to feel guilty for lying to her. But I was already trying to deal with my own reaction to Aidan’s return. I didn’t need to deal with Seonaid’s too.
By the time I walked into the building on Gilmore Place, it felt like there were small creatures surfing waves inside my belly.
Do not be sick, Nora. Whatever you do, do not throw up.
I’d like to pretend it was all about being nervous for my first day as Viola, but it was, of course, more than that. And the “more than that” was standing near the stage talking with Quentin and Terence.
Quentin looked up at the sound of my entrance and gestured to me. “Viola arrives!”
I flushed but attempted a smile. It may have come out a little grim.
My director didn’t seem to notice, however. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, coming to a stop near them.
To my disbelief my body hummed with absolute awareness of Aidan, like it used to. Would that damn feeling never go away? How was it possible to still feel that way when the bastard left me? Left me!
Because of the awareness, the way the hair on my arms stood on end, my eyes were drawn to him, despite my anger. He was concentrating on his phone, texting someone. His top lip was pressed into his full lower lip and the strong muscle in his jaw popped out, like he was gritting his teeth beneath his cool façade. As always, he was unshaven, scruffy in a way that worked for him. I flushed, remembering how the scratch of his stubble elicited tingles through my body when we kissed. Once upon a time, he’d promised me I’d feel it everywhere, but we never got the chance.
And now here he was.
Ignoring me.
Well, then.
In denial of the pain that scored across my chest, I said, “No one else here yet?”
Terence nodded to a door at the left side of the stage that led to dressing rooms and a small kitchen and public room. “Having a coffee. Still waiting on a few others.”
I flicked one last look at Aidan but he was determinedly not looking anywhere in my vicinity.
Asshole.
Anger swirled in my belly and took out the earlier surfers, and I strode away like I couldn’t care less. I found most of the cast in the kitchen.
“Here she is!” Jack boomed, standing up and holding his arms out wide. “Our lovely Viola!”
I rolled my eyes at him and then blushed when everyone cheered and whistled. “Stop it,” I said, gesturing for them to hush.
“We’re pleased for ye, Nora.” Jack grinned.
“No, Jack is pleased for himself.” Will smirked. “Now he can snog you and you have to snog him back.”
While everyone chuckled and teased us, I took it in stride as I poured myself a quick coffee. “Yeah, pity Quentin isn’t strictly sticking to the original play, huh?” There wasn’t any kissing on the lips in the original.
Jack held a hand to his chest. “Oh, how ye wound me.”
We stood around talking and joking for a few minutes until Terence popped his head in to tell us we were ready to start. As we wandered out to the theater, I heard Jane asking when the costume mistress would be taking fittings. We’d already had our measurements taken but I wondered if I’d need to have another session with her now that I was Viola.
Quentin’s vision for the production was a dystopian twist. To him it was set way in the future after a cataclysmic climate disaster and Illyria was an island that had survived and thrived. Our clothing would be modern meets Mad Max, and although our dialogue was from the original play, Quentin had sexed it up a little. There were moments when I, dressed as Cesario, would appear as if I was going in for a real kiss after Orsino kisses my cheeks, for example. Those moments were supposed to be thick with sexual tension on my part. And Quentin also wanted me to kiss Orsino as Viola when he finally learns the truth that I’m a woman. He said it gave the audience the satisfaction they were looking for, rather than questioning whether Orsino really loved Viola or was simply glad someone loved him when he’d been rejected by Olivia so many times.
That last bit pricked me, reminding me of Jim. Although I was learning to forgive myself, I still wasn’t completely there, and I still questioned how I’d really felt about him. Had I run off and married him because I was allured by how much he loved me?
Shaking the thoughts out of my head—I didn’t need them hanging around when Aidan Lennox was near—I grabbed a seat with the others. Jack took the stage with Terence, who was playing Curio as well as Malvolio since the characters never share the stage. We were starting from the top secondary to Gwyn’s departure.
I chanced a glance at Aidan who stood beside Quentin, and I frowned, watching him watch the actors. Why did he have to be here? Did he really need to be? Couldn’t he just study Quentin’s production notes and the costume and set designs? It wasn’t like we were in dress rehearsal.
From the angle I was sitting, I could only see Aidan’s profile. A rush of feeling flooded over me as I studied his familiar face. Memories flooded me. Smiles. Laughter. Kisses. Soft touches. Tears. Him falling to his knees. Not meeting my eyes and telling me to leave and get rest. The last thing he ever said to me.
I’d never felt such a confusing mix of fury and longing in my entire life. I at once wanted to go to him, make him look at me, hold me, and I also wanted to march up to him, grab his sweater in my fists, and shake him, even though he’d barely budge under my assault.
I remember you, Pixie.
I closed my eyes, in pain at the memory. If he called me by his nickname for me again, I didn’t know whether I’d burst into tears or smack him across the face.
Probably both.
“Viola!” Quentin spun on his heel to look at me. “On stage.”
Nerves hit me in a massive wave and I took a moment to exhale slowly before I stood and walked toward the stage. I hoped I appeared calm and ready to do this because inside, I was under attack.
I joined Eddie up on stage; he gave me a bolstering smile.
In my entrance on performance nights, I would be accompanied by Eddie as Captain and we’d have extras with us as our sailors. “‘What country, friends, is this?’” I said in a faux upper-crust English accent, slowly walking across the stage, looking awed.
“‘This is Illyria, lady,’” Eddie said, following me.
I swiftly turned to look at him. “‘And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium …’”
We fell into the scene and I was feeling pretty good about it when it came to an end, until I looked over at Quentin and Aidan. Finally, I had Aidan’s attention. But I’d take him ignoring me over the scowl he wore.
As my director opened his mouth to speak, Aidan called up to me, “You need to work on that accent.”
I flushed, turning expectantly to Quentin. He looked a little taken aback by Aidan’s input but he nodded at me. “If one person thinks it’s not great, others might. Practice it. It’s not a huge concern yet.”
“The way she’s wandering around the stage like a bewildered child is,” Aidan said, like he hadn’t insulted the hell out of me. “Viola is bold enough to dress as a man in order to find her brother. She wouldn’t be wild-eyed and frightened.”
Wild-eyed and frightened?
I hadn’t been acting wild-eyed and frightened!
Quentin quirked a brow at his friend and then smirked up at me. “Play it a little less vulnerable in your next scene.”
Seething, I could only nod. Completely unable to look at Aidan, I turned to Eddie. He gave me a sympathetic smile and we left the stage together. The actors playing Maria, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew took the stage.
Ignoring Aidan, I strode farther down the aisle to get away from him, and Amanda gave me a smug smile from her seat next to Hamish. “You’ll get better with practice,” she said.
I returned her smile with a tight one of my own and flopped down on a seat near the back.
It wasn’t much later, however, that Quentin was calling me up to stage again with Will and Jack. After Aidan’s criticism—something he did not dole out to anyone else—I was on edge but fighting the feeling because I didn’t want it to affect my performance.
We were halfway through the scene when Quentin called up for us to stop. Dread filled me as we looked down at him.
But it was Aidan who spoke. “You’re doing it again. All doe-eyed while he’s talking.” He gestured to Jack.
Anger flared out of me. “I’m supposed to be in love with him,” I argued.
“And you’re masquerading as a man. You’re good at deception,” he bit out, and I couldn’t miss the hiss of anger in his words. Were we still talking about the play? “At this point in the play, you can control your feelings for this man.”
Reeling from his words, I couldn’t argue this time. In fact, the whole atmosphere in the theater had changed, as if everyone else had heard the underlying fury in his words and were confused by them.
As confused as I was.
Why the hell was Aidan mad at me?
Attempting to shake him off, I stepped back into character and tried to rein in the vulnerability. Jack was incredibly charming as Orsino, playing him with the right amount of sensual masculinity and silly, lovelorn comedy.
When he’d finished his last line of the scene, I gave him a bow. “‘I’ll do my best to woo your lady.’” And then I strode off, as if exiting stage, but stopped and turned to the audience. I gave them a pained look, my hands in tight fists at my sides. “‘Yet, a barful strife. Whoe’er I woo … myself would be his wife.’”
“Again!” Aidan called up.
I gawped down in astonishment and even Quentin was gaping at him. Aidan caught his friend’s look. “I can’t get the feel of the play until all the actors are doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“What do you think was wrong here?” Quentin, to my utter surprise, entertained Aidan’s overstep.
“Now she’s not giving enough emotion. I need emotion to write music.” He cut me a sneer. “This one needs more practice than the others.”
This one? This one!
Quentin frowned. “It’s the first rehearsal, Nora. You’ll get there.”
I nodded, grateful for his kindness, but my cheeks blazed with mortification at Aidan’s hurtful critique. As I walked offstage, I heard Jack hurry to catch up with me. He threw his arm over my shoulders and squeezed me into his side. For once he wasn’t smiling; he actually looked annoyed on my behalf. “Ye did great.”
“Thanks. Apparently not.”
“What the fuck does he know?” he whispered. “He’s just some jumped-up music producer.”
Whom I used to be in love with until he left me.
Which apparently wasn’t enough damage.
Furious, my eyes went to Aidan as Jack walked with me, his arm still around me in comfort. Aidan was glowering at me with such vitriol, my muscles locked as if preparing for battle.
Dazed, I couldn’t even remember getting into the seat next to Jack. I couldn’t take my eyes off Aidan, not even when he whipped his fiery gaze from mine to turn back to the stage. But I knew him. His body was stiff with tension, with anger, and I was a mass of confusion.
How Aidan had treated me on that stage, deliberately humiliating me, was so out of character. It was like I was faced with an entirely different man. A stranger, like he’d made himself out to be. The only time in our past that Aidan had been truly angry with me was when I’d deserted him at lunch after he’d confided in me about his sister’s death.
He’d treated me with cool aloofness then too.
With cold anger.
Looking at it rationally, the Aidan I had known would only be this angry with me if he thought I had done him wrong.
Cold sweat prickled under my arms.
“Yesterday after you left, he suddenly started making arrangements to leave the country. He took a job in LA so he can be close to Sylvie but it meant leaving early this morning.”
I’d taken the word of a woman I didn’t trust over a man I’d grown to trust more than anyone.
What if Aidan hadn’t left? What if Laine had orchestrated the lie somehow?
No.
That was too ridiculous, right?
But then why was Aidan so furious with me? That kind of fury could be born of the fact that I had left him the day after his kid was taken from him. Right?
Yet … Aidan had texted me.
Aidan had texted me, right?
I tried to put the pieces together, the entire theater falling away as I thought back to that time eighteen months ago. I had left that night. My phone didn’t work in the US so I’d left it, and I got a new number and cell when I returned months later. The old contract had ended and I threw out the old phone.
So if Aidan had tried to contact me, I wouldn’t have known.
But he knew where I lived. He knew where Seonaid worked because I’d told him. Wouldn’t he have gone to Seonaid when he couldn’t get in touch with me?
And still, what about his phone? If he hadn’t text me, if it had been Laine all along, then why didn’t Aidan know about it?
Nothing made sense.
But something was wrong.
I looked at him, fear coalescing inside me, and I realized I was more afraid of discovering it had all been a huge misunderstanding, a deliberate manipulation on the part of his jealous friend, than I was of being faced with an indifferent, cold Aidan.
The Aidan I’d loved terrified me more.
Because I was finally in a good place, taking care of me, and I was nowhere near ready to face the kind of volatile emotions Aidan Lennox brought out in me.