Chapter Thirty-One

Annabel

Beau kisses me awake in the morning. His eyes catch the golden sunlight of early fall. All the worry there is illuminated in those green pools. “Have you still forgiven me?” he says, his voice gruff.

I stretch. My muscles feel tight, heavy, and all I can do is fold my face back into the side of his neck. It was an excellent dinner. “Who can remember? That was days ago.” Two nights, but who’s counting?

“There was no excuse for it,” he says, bending to kiss me again. “I’m sorry, and I want you to know it.”

I curl my arms around his neck. Somehow he’s already showered, and he smells fresh and clean, like a new beginning. My heart still feels achy and tender from what he said, bruised in a way I haven’t felt since high school. It seems ridiculous to admit it now that it’s behind us.

He’s solid in my arms, here for me. So what if he said one thing in the middle of the night? We all make mistakes. “I forgive you,” I whisper into his ear, then flick out my tongue to lick his earlobe.

He catches my mouth with his on a low groan. “You’re an insufferable tease.”

Is it so wrong that I like this? That I like feeling powerful? Beau climbs onto the bed next to me. He’s dressed for the day, his suit pants and shirt meticulously pressed, but when he kisses me again, its hungry and wild. He’s hard. I can feel him through his clothes and mine. “I’m not teasing,” I say, then bite at his lower lip.

Beau is off the bed and stripping down in an instant. He’s back in seconds to kneel on the bed next to me, his hands on the hem of my tank top to pull it over my head. “Late again,” he says, and then he goes for my panties, and it’s all over.

*****

In the quiet of his bedroom after he’s gone, the feeling pricks at the back of my neck.

I didn’t like what happened last night. He hit me where it hurt. I’ve forgiven him, but when he’s not touching me, that grace-giving feeling fades away.

It’s not the sweet spot. How could it be, when we’re still working out the kinks? He’s trying so hard to make it up to me. I take the leave, now sensation and shove it all the way down to the bottom of my gut, where it won’t bother me.

Work. I have work to do.

I get into the shower. He keeps a small caddy of my everyday makeup and a hairbrush for me on his bathroom counter, and I rush through my routine. Next to the caddy is a note that Winston will be waiting when I’m ready to go.

In the car on the way to the Pearl, I check my messages.

Cynthia likes it at her sister’s house. That’s the vibe I get from the three she’s sent this morning. She likes it at her sister’s, and repairs won’t be completed on our place for another ten days. That puts us squarely in opening-night territory and awfully close to renewing the lease for another year. I swallow hard. Cynthia might not want to come back. She might want to stay at her sister’s and use the time to hunt for another place—one that doesn’t have a ceiling about to cave in.

It’s like New York City is trying to push me out. Beau would let me stay here for as long as I want, but a suite in a hotel isn’t an anchor the way a yearlong lease is.

Keep me updated. That’s all I send to Cynthia, and then we’re at the Pearl. I’m looking forward to getting down to the costume shop. Bethany might have a funny story to tell me.

I know something is off when I get down to the landing.

It’s the sound.

There’s a low hum of voices echoing into the hallway. Did Marilee schedule a meeting with multiple cast members this morning? She would have mentioned it if she had, right? I rack my brain. Do I have sex-induced amnesia about whatever it is she set up today? Over the top of the noise, I hear Bethany’s laugh, high and sweet. I’m going to be finishing up her gown today so dress rehearsals can begin. Lucky for me she’s already here. It’ll be done before lunch.

I move down the hall, walking fast, walking with a purpose. Beau woke me up so early that I’m ahead of schedule, despite the I’m sorry romp in bed. Perfect. This way I can make up for all the breaks I’ve been taking in that closet lately.

I stop dead at the door to the costume shop.

It’s filled with people. Not filled to capacity, but the six people in there now, plus Bethany and Lance, who’s playing Romeo—name unchanged, don’t ask me why—make it seem like Grand Central Station. Bethany is up on the pedestal, two people kneeling at her feet, and Marilee stands in the corner talking to two more.

Oh shit.

Creeping in doorways isn’t my thing, so I make my entrance like I’d jump into a lake—with both feet, all at once. “Good morning,” I say, heading for Marilee and her crowd.

She looks up at me, eyebrows raised, and then her cheeks go pink. “Annabel!” It’s very singsong, the way she says my name, and it makes my blood run cold. “Hold on a minute,” she says to the two others standing near her, and then she rushes over and takes my arm. “Everybody,” she calls out, silencing the conversation. “Everybody, this is Annabel. She bailed me out when the rest of you didn’t show up.”

Everybody else chuckles, but then one of them cries out, “Thank you,” and there’s a cute little round of applause.

They turn away, back to what they were doing, and the conversation resumes. Now I’m on the outside of it.

“Here—come with me, Annabel.” Marilee leads me out into the hallway, where she straightens up and looks me in the eye. “I got the call late last night. I should have sent you a text. I’m mortified, Annabel.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

I missed the sweet spot.

Choking shame tightens my throat.

Cover it up, and get out.

I put the biggest smile I can muster on my face. “Oh, Marilee,” I say. I hate that my voice wavers. “It’s all right. I always knew this was a temporary thing.” It seems so stupid now—the hope that this could turn into something more. I give a shrug. “It was amazing, though. If you ever need anybody in a pinch, you’ve got my number.”

Marilee smiles. “I’m so glad you understand,” she says. It seems like she’s going to say something else, but someone calls to her from inside the costume shop. She settles for a quick hug, then disappears inside, her curls bouncing atop her head.

There’s no need for a last look inside the room. I turn and go, my footsteps heavy on the staircase.

A new adventure. That’s all this is.

So why does it feel so wrong?