New York, New York
October 2013
Ten minutes before dress rehearsal,AJ Graves sat alone in the auditorium of the Hayes Theater, watching the stage lights rise. Her head was full of ticking.Ten minutes.One more run-through, just them. Then the doors would open, and—
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
What was she going to do?
With a mechanized clink, the stage turned gold, and Noah Drew strode on carrying a prop chair. AJ stirred as his muscular, six foot three frame crossed center; he had such command, even when he wasn’t trying. He halted over a taped spike mark, his tousled black hair etched in light. He tried the chair this way then that, his expression so familiar it made AJ’s chest ache.
Hers.He was hers until the show closed. That’s what they’d agreed.
Noah’s gaze lifted as he sensed her presence. He gestured to the chair. “Thoughts?” His low voice projected effortlessly over the scalloped red rows of the theater.
“What’s the difference?” asked AJ. Half their show was improvised—the chair’s role changed each night. But tomorrow was Noah’s directorial debut: even the chair must be considered.
He turned his broad back on her. “Thisway acknowledges the fourth wall.Thisway does not.”
AJ smiled as she stood. “Whatever you want. You’re the bride.”
Noah muttered something that sounded distinctly likeMy grave is like to be my wedding bedand returned to the prop. As AJ watched him fuss, she felt a tug near her sternum and knew: this was about them. Each tiny adjustment delayed the show from opening. From closing.
Slowly, AJ walked down the aisle. Noah faced her, severe. “Speak again, bright angel,” she teased.
His lip twitched as he tried to hold on to his irritation. Then he smiled, his gaze appraising. AJ’s cheeks warmed. “Come here,” he said.
She stepped up to the stage, and he knelt before her, his enormous hands brushing strawberry-blond wisps out of her eyes. Then he plucked something from her hair. A stray leaf.
Fucking foliage. “That was fashion,” grumbled AJ.
“That was garbage,” said Noah. He examined the half-yellow leaf, then tucked it into his pocket like it was nothing, like of course he would deal with her garbage hair leaf, that was his job in life, and now AJ couldn’t breathe.
She had read once that falling in love was like being a celebrity to one person. The irony was that Noah was actually famous. Wildly, obscenely famous and beloved. An Academy Award winner. Thelast Drew.People’s Sexiest Man Alive, 2012.
But despite that, despiteeverything,here he was, cleaning her up like she belonged to him.
AJ’s throat constricted. “Don’t throw it away.” She wasn’t talking about the leaf anymore.
Noah’s brow creased as he read her. “It’s dead,” he said gently, his thumb smoothing her cheekbone. AJ leaned into his touch, looking up into his beautiful dark eyes.
“No, it isn’t,” she whispered.Not yet.
“Five minutes, you two,” their stage manager, Jerry, called from the wing.
For a moment, neither of them moved. They’d been suspending time for weeks, playing out entire lives on this stage. But once the doors opened, the clock would restart. There would be no turning back.Let’s keep playing,AJ silently begged him.Let’s never stop playing.
“Age,” he breathed, and she glimpsed a war in his eyes. He was having doubts. AJ’s heart leapt.
Then he dropped his hand, his stare going distant. AJ knew this look. She knew what it meant.
Twelve performances, then Noah would be gone.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
He surveyed her now, reserved. “Are we doing this?” He hadn’t changed his mind, AJ understood. But he couldn’t hide from her, not his pain nor his regret. He didn’t want this any more than she did.
AJ held his gaze.
