I texted my best friend, but it was two a.m. on the East coast, so I wasn’t surprised there’d been no response.
Finally dismissed, I went to my shared dressing room and discovered Albina waiting for me.
“My God!” She pulled me into a hug but kept her torso away from my ruined costume. Without prompting, the Russian woman helped me out of it.
“You are all right?” She looked me over like she’d make that assessment herself, regardless of my answer. “Martin and I, we did not hear. Only the screaming, panic after.”
I gave her a slight nod. “Yes, I’m all right.”
She pressed her lips together, preparing for more bad news. “Guillermo says we might cancel the show.”
In between my many interviews, I’d thought about this possibility, but then pushed the thought away and focused on the bigger picture. I’d witnessed a murder. It was selfish to worry about my career tonight.
“Where you go? Home?” She checked the clock. “Don’t take the El. I’ll ask Anton to give you a ride.”
“No, that’s okay. I splurged on a room at the Opulent. I thought I was going to be too tired after the opening night party.”
Hanging on a rack beside my mirror was the garment bag that held my premiere party dress, the most expensive thing I’d ever bought. A celebration of my accomplishment. Sadness descended on me. Would I ever be able to wear it?
She gave me an empathetic look as I pulled down the bag and folded it delicately over an arm.
“I text you tomorrow.” She sounded like a worried mother. “You get a drink and some sleep.”
I gave her arm a squeeze. “Will do.”
Coming out the stage exit meant I could avoid the media I’d been told was camped out front. I kept my head down, fought thecold wind, and hustled across the street to the Opulent. It was no surprise the after party had been canceled. There was a tinge of relief because I wasn’t good at small talk, and the director had made it clear as a principal now I’d be required to mingle with the donors.
It was late, so I snatched up the keycard as soon as I was checked in and made my way to the elevators. The doors peeled back when I stabbed the button—and thank God for that. I stepped inside, put in my floor, and waited impatiently for the ride to start.
I was beyond ready for this night to be over.
“Miss?” A deep voice came from around the corner. “Can you hold the elevator?”
A man came into view, flashing a polite smile as he hurried toward me. He was dressed as if he’d just come from an important business meeting, even though it was the dead of night. Tall, with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes, his presence filled the elevator like he owned the place.
“Thanks,” he lobbed and turned to face the doors as they slid shut.
The elevator lurched upward. In the quiet, I fought a wave of exhaustion that made me want to close my eyes. He hadn’t put in his floor, though, so I pointed to the panel. “What number?”
“Twelve, like you.” He had a hint of a southern accent. “You in the wedding tomorrow?”
My face contorted, confused.
He gestured to the bag in my arms. “The welcome sign by the front desk said something about a wedding.”
My gaze dropped to my white garment bag. “No, it’s my dress for the CBC premiere party. I mean, was.”
“CBC?”
“Chicago Ballet Company.”
His expression went wide. “Thatone?”
Of course he knew. There was no way to get to the hotel and not see all the police and media.
I nodded.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Did you see what happened?”
