Chapter Forty-Seven

Annabel

Time grinds to a halt.

I swing between furious excitement and cold dread. What if Beau wants to see me one last time so he can tell me it’s over, it never meant anything, and he’s moved on?

But why would we need to meet at the Pearl for that?

Cynthia looks at me in the middle of a wine-soaked viewing of Legally Blonde. “What’s on your mind? Are you considering going to law school?” She swirls her wine in her glass and takes a sip.

“It’s never too late,” I tell her. I hope the same is true for Beau. An excited warmth spreads across my entire chest.

Sleep does not come easily.

On Sunday I put on my best little black dress—my only little black dress—and splurge on a cab. Cynthia watches me collect my purse with narrowed eyes. “Do you have a date?”

“I hope so,” I say, and then I dart out before she can ask any further questions.

My heart is pounding by the time I step out of the cab in front of the Pearl. One question is answered right away. Beau is standing on the steps looking elegant in one of his suits. It looks expensive even in the fading light.

I walk toward him and feel it. I feel what it would be like to walk down the aisle toward him. It’s insane, but I feel it.

He meets me at the bottom of the steps and makes a show of looking both ways. “No bikes,” he says. He offers me his arm.

I take it.

We walk up the steps together, and the excitement becomes overwhelming, so much so that my teeth start chattering. I squeeze my jaw shut, count to five, and start talking. “What is this, Mystery Man?”

He glances down at me, and his eyes are warm and bright and hopeful. It makes me feel warm and bright and hopeful. Surely he wouldn’t look at me like that if this was a breakup scene.

Beau walks me through the hotel lobby and down the long hallway that connects the hotel to the theater. I’ve never been down this hallway before. There’s an identical hallway one floor down, where the costume shop and dressing rooms and green room are, not to mention the hidden closet.

The farther we get, the more I see them: decorations.

It starts with a vibrant red carpet about halfway toward the theater. Then lights. Fairy lights hang delicately from the ceiling.

“Too much?” Beau says, looking up at them.

“No. As long as there aren’t giant red hearts or something coming up next.” I take another look. “I lied. Red hearts might be okay. But what is this?” It hits me. “Are we going to see The Lovers?”

He grins slyly. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner is that?”

We step into a narrower hallway, which opens up into the lobby of the theater.

It’s practically empty.

The entire place is mood-lit—more fairy lights—and the only other people are two ushers in black tuxedoes waiting by the theater door.

“Are we early?”

“We’re right on time,” Beau says and leads me to the entrance.

They open the double doors as we move past, and one of them hands me a show program. On instinct I fold it in half and tuck it under my arm. Those things are slippery. I hate to leave litter. Beau laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says.

The theater is empty.

The stage is gorgeous.

I never came out to see the set of The Lovers, but it’s breathtaking. Juliet’s villa—Julie, whatever—looks like it’s actually been built on the stage. It’s all I can do not to run up and touch it to see if the bricks are real. On stage right is an authentic street from Verona. Downstage is a bench.

“Front row seats.” Beau takes us right to the front, right in the center. A shiver runs down my spine. “Are you ready?”

“What is this?” I crane my neck around. There’s nobody here.

“Annabel.” I turn back to Beau. His lips are pressed together in utter seriousness. Underneath all his confidence is a raw flash of pain. I want to lean over and kiss him, and never stop kissing him, but now might not be the time. “This isn’t a regular performance.” He gives a nod downward.

“What—oh.” The program. I unfold it. On the front it says The Lovers, but instead of a photo of Bethany leaning out her villa’s window, there’s a sketch of a bike.

My heart breaks. My heart soars. “What kind of performance is this?” I whisper.

“Watch.”

The lights go down, and music swells. There’s an orchestra. We’re not alone in here—they were silent, waiting. The stage lights come up in full, the music settles into a happy, thrumming rhythm, and people pour on from the wings. They’re dressed in costumes from the show—the most understated gowns. The men, as always, look dapper as hell.

From the chaos comes order. Oh my god. They’re acting out a New York City street.

I know what’s going to happen next.

Bethany, dressed in a stunning dark wig dyed pink at the ends, steps out from the Verona street. Another actor—the woman who plays Julie’s nanny—is playing the part of Marilee. I laugh out loud. The sheer amazement is too much to contain. Bethany has me down pat.

I watch myself being offered the job at the Pearl. I watch myself directing all those men in a line, carrying crates from old-time Italy. And I watch the hero of the show see me for the first time. The look on his face when he sees Bethany is all pain, all hope, all determination. Oh. My. God.

He saves her from a speeding bicycle that whizzes off the stage.

Everything is there. Everything. To my delighted horror, there are even a couple of tasteful bedroom scenes.

Then things take a turn.

I watch Romeo-Beau take a stressful call at work. I watch my character come home late, a dead phone. My heart cracks open. Jesus, are we going to watch the breakup, too?

The music has gone quiet.

The two stars of the show meet in the center of the stage, tension coiling between them. “Beau!” she cries, her smile too big. “You won’t believe what happened. It was as crazy as that time you saved my life.”

The scowling Romeo glares at Bethany until her face is drawn and white. “Where have you been?”

“Beau, I—” I slide down in my seat. This is painful. Bethany digs into a pocket, searching for a phone. “I’m sorry. I was out with my old roommate, you remember—” She trails off, knowing it’s not enough. “I’m sorry, Beau, I ran into her and—”

My entire body goes tense and tight. I’m waiting for the eruption from Romeo. The acid words.

“I was worried sick,” he shouts. Bethany’s eyes go wide. “I thought you’d gone, Annabel, and I thought you were never coming back. You love your freedom,” he says, stepping toward her. “You love it so much that I could never take it away from you. Not knowingly. I was beginning to think—” He turns away, running a hand through his hair. “I was beginning to think we could do this together. Be free together. But when you weren’t here, I lost my mind.” Then he’s stepping toward her, taking her face in his hands. “There are going to be hard times, that’s what I’m trying to say, damn it. But my life is never going to be right without you. Never.” Then he draws her in for a long, lingering kiss.

When they finally break apart, he speaks again. “I’m sorry I was angry.” Their faces are inches apart. I’m hanging on every word. “Will you let me spend my life making it up to you?”

She gasps. Then she reaches up and curls her hands around his wrists.

“Will you?” Beau murmurs in my ear. “Will you let me erase that awful day and make it up to you?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Yes!” Bethany cries out, and the lovers are caught up in a swirl of music, in a closing scene that shows them dancing in the middle of New York City, life rushing all around them, life rushing through them.

I can’t take my eyes off them. Beau’s hand is in mine, holding it tightly. When did he take my hand? All I care about is that he never lets me go.