Watching her now from across the room, remembering the way she looked at Ellie and Chloe like they had something she desperately wanted but was never able to have...it makes me wonder what kind of person Juliette would be if she could have that. Would she need me less? Would she treat me differently? Would her being with the right person take some of the sting away if I were to leave for this new job with Professor Jack?
It’s all these questions that send an idea spiraling through me. A crazy idea. It shouldn’t be more than a fleeting thought, but for some reason, it puts down roots inside my brain. I’m filled with a strange, determined sense of resolve as I think back to the way she talked about her grand London love affair. She might end up hating me. She might even fire me. Or maybe I’ll be the maid of honor in her wedding, and she’ll be eternally grateful to me forever.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out, because one way or another, I am going to find Paul.
10
“Can I please open my eyes now?” I ask, trying to steal a look through Liam’s fingers, which are still covering the upper part of my face. I can sense people milling around, but not a huge number. Snippets of conversation peppered with laughter and faint car honks fill my ears. It’s a pretty warm day today, so I opted for just a T-shirt and jeans, and Liam steers me away from someone or something that just bumped my arm.
“Not yet,” he answers.
“Why not?”
“Because then you’ll know where I’m planning to hide your body.”
I huff in protest and give him a light elbow to the ribs. “You know, it’s bad form to make murder jokes while covering someone’s eyes in a foreign country. Where’s the British charm that should have been paddled into you at some fancy, horrifying boarding school?”
“Luckily enough, I was spared the paddle.”
“More’s the shame.” Liam chuckles near my ear and continues to move us carefully forward. I do open my eyes a bit then, but only see small slits of light and the outline of fingers. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going or if we’re there yet?”
“We’re almost there, and don’t blame me for how long this is taking. Your hair is blinding, and it’s making this walk far more treacherous and time-consuming than I anticipated.”
My hand instinctively drifts up, brushing through the end of my high ponytail. “I thought you liked my hair?”
“I do,” he says defensively, “but standing directly down-wind from it also feels slightly akin to sustaining a physical attack. An enjoyable and fragrant attack, but an attack nonetheless.”
“That’s because my hair is a sentient being and is fully capable of sensing evil. It’s obviously trying to warn me of whatever nefarious plot you have in store.”
“You’re going to be eating those words in a matter of seconds.”
“I’d rather be eating fish and chips. I thought we were going to the Red Lion?” My stomach rumbles in protest at the thought. It’s probably half past five at this point, and having skipped lunch today in favor of periodic snacks throughout rehearsal, I’m on the dangerous cusp of becoming hangry.
“Forget the Red Lion,” he tells me. Just then, his hands gently fall away, and a warm breeze brushes across my now uncovered face. “Look.”
I open my eyes, and they slowly start to refocus. My breath catches in my throat as I find myself gazing at theGlobe Theatre, less than a hundred feet away. Obviously, it’s not the originalGlobe Theatrethat burned down, was rebuilt, and then was later torn down by buzzkill Puritans, but the newGlobe Theatrethat was reconstructed with painstaking accuracy along the Thames.
“Wow,” I say, a note of wonder in my now awed voice. “There it is.”
Liam steps around me to stand at my side, smiling down as I turn my eyes from him back to the theater.
“Is there a show going on? Is it open to the public?” I ask.
“No, as a matter of fact, they’re closed for the night.”
“Oh.” I’m disappointed, but I do my best not to show it. It’s cool just to be here. To look at it. “It’s still fun to see it. Did you know that Shakespeare was part owner of the original theater? He invested ten pounds to put towards the lease, giving him roughly 12.5% ownership. And they used to hang flags outside the theater to let people know what kind of play was being staged. They flew black flags for dramas, red for historic plays, and white for comedies.”
“I didn’t know that,” Liam answers. “Were you an original owner as well?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I was. I forgot to mention when we met that I’m four hundred years old.”
“I’ve always been drawn to mature women.”
“Well then, you’ve met your match. I’m glad we finally have everything out in the open.”
Liam snickers and takes my hand, promptly ushering us forward. “In that case, we better get a move on.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, keeping my feet planted.
