“But they were suchhappychickens.”
“No jugglers.”
“No jugglers.” Beth consults her list. “So, crunch time. If we add Dora and Isis—”
“We can’t add them. Dora threw up before she even sang a word.”
“She’ll get there,” Beth says. “I have a calming elixir that will help her.”
I very much doubt that. I think Dora’s reluctance to perform has more to do with the possibility of what her husband will say. But Gideon and Beth seem to have decided that they’re running this show, so what I say doesn’t matter. I add Dora and Beth’s names to our cast list.
“So with Isis and Dora in, I think we’re almost there.” Beth scribbles in her notes. “But we need at least one more act for the second half.”
“That’s obvious. Arabella has to perform,” Gideon says.
“I’m the director.”
“That never stopped you at La Petite Mort.” His eyes shimmer. “You want to be on stage again. You know it.”
“You could do a pole routine!” Beth grins. “It will be the perfect advertisement for my studio!”
I fold my arms and glare at them both. “That’s not happening.”
The last thing I need is another client seeing me dance – or worse, someone in the audience films me and puts it on the internet.
“Go on, Arabella.” Gideon’s eyes shimmer. “Don’t you want to show all these amateurs how a professional does it?”
“All the ladies in the book club will be there!” Beth grins. “We’d cheer you on!”
Gideon leans over and whispers, “Admit it. You want to be back on stage again, every eye in the village on you while you captivate them. Don’t you remember what it felt like to be the most famous, most notorious dancer in Paris?”
He’s right.
Damn him.
My pulse quickens, which has absolutely nothing to do with the whiff of honey and red cherry I smell when Gideon leans close.
Seeing these rank amateurs ruining the stage has made me long to darken the floorboards once more. I’m already mentally hunting through the folder called “dance costume insp” I’ll never admit is on my computer.
And I can find a way to hide my face and ensure that people are too distracted to notice who I am.
“Fine. I’ll perform. On one condition.”
Gideon lets out a ragged breath. “Name it. Anything.”
“Gideon must agree to be part of my routine.” I steeple my fingers. “Andhe promises to perform any role I give him without complaint.”
“Oh no. No no no. You’re going to make me dress like a banana, or force me to act as a giant baby and suck on a dummy or… or…” Gideon’s face crumples as he contemplates all the horrific things I might do to him.
“I was actually thinking of appearing as Marie Antoinette and cutting off your testicles with the world’s tiniest guillotine, but I’m intrigued by the dummy idea.”
“Go on, Gideon!” Beth slaps his shoulder. “It’ll be fun. I’m sure Arabella is kidding about the guillotine.”
“She is not.” Gideon swallows. “But of course. I’ll be your humble servant.”
“Good.” I write our names down on Beth’s studio booking form. “We’ve filled all our slots. Maisie, you contact our performers and make sure they have the rehearsal schedule. Gideon, you will be here, on the dot, at seven pm Friday, so we can begin working on our routine. Beth, I’m going to need some private practice time…”
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