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Seeking some liquid refreshment, Freddie broke free of the disco inferno and spied his friends in a tight clinch. Alex’s hands were lost in Mark’s hair while his were claiming ownership of her ass.

“Oh, mmmyyyy!” Freddie slurred his best George Takei impression, a cheek-pinching grin spreading across his flushed face. He hugged Lucy, who let out a high-pitched squeal. Tipsy and teary, she began to hiccup with glee.

Thirty-Five

The evening Alex both dreaded and welcomed had arrived. Tonight—January 6—the first workshop since Olivia poured her bitter revenge all over Alex’s future.

She spirited away to the second floor of the National, her cold hands fiddling with the hem of her grey knee-length skirt and the nape of her neck, but her A necklace—her crutch—no longer hung in its faithful spot. Lost among discarded beer bottles and glittery cardboard hats somewhere on Freddie’s roof, the gift—along with the boyfriend who gave it to her—belonged firmly in her past.

She checked her phone. Only an hour stood between her and the big reveal. Only an hour left to rehearse what she wanted—no, needed—to say.

It didn’t help her nerves that the window behind her howled in distress. Heavy rain-soaked gusts bombarded the glass, prompting Alex to smother her white blouse with the coziness of her fuchsia cardigan. She inhaled deeply, hoping the incoming breath would hush the jitters that needled her chest and harassed her mind. Just fifty-five minutes now until her performance…actors to the stage, please. Take your positions…

“I wanted to wish you luck.”

Mark sat down and leaned in, delivering a trail of kisses along her neck while his fingertips stroked her arm. Alex’s whole body loosened with his touch. She closed her eyes and ran her hand through his tousled hair, begging him not to stop. His lips met hers urgently, coaxing her to abandon the laptop beside her.

A P.A. announcement regarding a platform discussion in the Lyttleton Theatre disrupted their smoldering reunion.

“Wish me luck? More like you’re trying to get lucky, not that I’m complaining. It actually made me relax a little.” She stroked his stubbly chin and smiled. Since New Year’s, time together had been limited. Mark was juggling his shifts along with a lead role in a BBC radio drama while Alex had been setting up her new computer and re-constructing the lost second act of her Waterloo Bridge play.

Their belated New Year’s kiss nearly didn’t happen. Fog had played havoc with flights departing from Dublin. After several delays, the airline finally cancelled Mark’s flight, offering him the option of flying out of Cork on Ireland’s southwest coast instead. They paid for his train trip and somehow got him on the last flight arriving at London’s Stansted airport at 11 p.m. He tried to call Alex and Freddie, but all the phoning around to arrange last-minute tickets had killed his battery.

When Mark slipped into the noisy party at 12:57 a.m., he stood silent for a minute just watching her wandering through the crowd, detached. She had no clue he was there, her gorgeous dress hugging every curve, inviting him to take hold and never let go. Their initial kiss stretched into a breathless twenty-minute snog until Freddie threatened to douse them both with a bucket of ice water.

Lucy offered to stay over at Freddie’s, allowing Alex and Mark the luxury of spending their first night together alone at the flat. The stubble burn on her face and elsewhere may have started to fade, but the dizzying memories of his lips exploring every inch made her want to surrender all over again. Once the workshop wrapped tonight, they could tumble back into bed and get reacquainted.

Mark held her hand. “You’ll be fine. I wish I could watch you kick some Kensington arse.”

Alex chuckled.

“Go ahead and laugh, but I totally believe in you. Look what you’ve achieved in the past few months: you moved abroad, found a new flat, got a job you love, and wrote two new plays.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Scoff all you want, but you’re the bravest person I know. Standing up to a bully is never easy. Just a few months ago you’d be having a panic attack at the very thought of it, right? But now look at you, you’re this close to taking back what’s rightfully yours.”

He brushed Alex’s bangs out of her eyes. “You walk in there with your head held high, okay? Grab Isabella alone during the break. Send me a text when you’re done. I’ll meet you.”

“I wish I could see myself the way you see me,” said Alex.

He squeezed her hand. “I had a snoop through your Pinterest boards …”

“Oh God…” Alex curled forward. “You must’ve hated that. Did you break out in hives?”

Mark scrolled through his phone. “Okay, here’s one. You pinned this quote from Yvonne Pierre—’Use what you’ve been through as fuel. Believe in yourself and be unstoppable’. See? That must’ve resonated with you if it’s in your collection.”

“Or was I just feeling sorry for myself one evening? I probably pinned a bunch of cupcake recipes and Whishaw photos at the same time.”

“Alex, don’t sell yourself short. Most people in your shoes would’ve been long gone by now, running for the hills. You’re my hero, no bullshit.”

She grimaced.

“You are! You’re so much stronger than you realize. You just have to recognize it, and believe in yourself. You can do this.”

Alex smiled and leaned her forehead against Mark’s. “Great minds…you can do this—that’s what I always tell myself, too.”

His fingers caressed her cheek. “There you go, then. Maybe the best inspirational quote is actually your own.”