It’s everything I’ve been holding back from taking, but it’s barely a bruise before she’s pulling back.
Worse than missing the chance to return it, is the sight of regret pinching the spot between her eyes.
“Wait, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Can we just cut that and pretend it never happened?”
I doubt I’ll ever forget a single moment with her for the rest of my life, but I nod anyway and watch the relief sap the tension from her body.
“Great,” she says, taking a step back. I already miss having her in my arms. “God, you can’t be real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up from this dream, but you’re still here.” She’s staring up at the freshly painted awnings. There’s no doubt the building is a beauty, but there’s nothing else I’d rather be looking at but her.
“How did you even arrange this?” she asks. “They don’t do venue tours after two.”
The backstage door swings open, and Francis looks gleeful. “Yes, but Don Juan here has friends in high places,” he says in his clipped British tone.
Ivy’s jaw drops open. “You’re Francis Byrne. I absolutely adored you inThe Sacred Link.”
Francis’s eyes sparkle, and I know immediately Ivy has him under her spell.Join the club.
CHAPTER35
DRAMA, DARLING
IVY
Francis Byrne is standing in front of me. The Francis Byrne. He’s so close I could touch him.
His hand covers his heart. “I was phenomenal in that, wasn’t I? One of my best, even if I was robbed of the Olivier by that bastard Alfonso. But we shouldn’t linger on old wounds.”
Behind me, Lincoln stifles a laugh, which makes me think this is a scab Francis has been picking at for a while.
Holy shit, Lincoln knows Francis Byrne. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.
I wish Astrid were here.
“And who is this ravishing creature?” Francis leans back dramatically and gives me a once over. He’s as tall as Lincoln, but lean, his hair shock white, his face wrinkled with age and experience, with deep-set eyes that skewer you in place.
He’s a bastion of the stage and he’s standing four feet away from me.
Lincoln’s hand curls around my waist. “The someone special I told you about.”
He mentioned me? ToFrancis Byrne? Is this what an out-of-body experience feels like?
I hold out my hand, half expecting to wake up the moment we touch. “I’m Ivy.”
“A pleasure, Ivy.” Francis takes my hand and gives it an air kiss. It’s so charmingly dramatic I’m ten seconds away from linking our arms together so we can skip down the aisle.
I can’t believe Lincoln did this for me.
Francis walks back into the theater and beckons us to follow. “Come, let me give you the grand tour.”
I’ve lost count of the shows I’ve seen at the Playhouse. Getting a tour has been on my bucket list since my first, but it’s sat at the back of the list for years, waiting for a rainy day.
Here Lincoln is, making it pour.
Stepping inside is like stepping back in time, like stepping into a dream. The red-cushioned seats, the gilded archways, the buffed and polished and re-scuffed stage.
With rehearsals underway, the stage crew is hard at work around us, taking directions given to them via managers’ headsets. Francis introduces his costar, Julian, who is currently sprawled back on a leather sofa at center stage, talking over the script with someone who is nodding a lot and unable to get a word in.
The air smells of set paint and a little like wet socks, and I’m so happy I could cry.
