No. It was Alex labeling me a fraud that made the marital house of cards I was trying to build with Ian collapse. I have always prided myself on being a sincere person, one who has integrity and stands behind her beliefs, but there I was planning a life with a man I didn’t love, thinking it was okay not to practice what I preach. Alex was right to call me out, even though I wish it had been anyone else on the planet who’d made me see the error of my ways.
“Yep. It was all me. I had this moment of clarity and that’s when I knew what I needed to do.”
“Stop wasting years of your life on commitment-phobes and omnisexual men?”
I guess my mother’s back to not pulling any punches with me.
“Yes. And to double down on that, I intend to stay single . . . forever.”
“Forever?” Viv looks aghast. “You realize the women in our family live to a ripe, old age, don’t you? My mother and her mother before her both made it past a hundred. That’s a very long time to go without male companionship.”
“I’d rather devote myself to my business than a man. Work has certainly been more emotionally rewarding to me than any relationship ever has.”
My mother and grandmother are exchanging a concerned look when there’s a knock on the door.
“Curtain in ten, Viv!” a male voice calls.
“Thank you, Daniel!” she trills. “You two need to clear out,” Viv tells us. “I have, ummmmmm . . .” Her eyes dart around her dressing room as if she’s searching for something. “. . . a pre-show ritual I must do.”
My mother’s brow creases. “I don’t remember you having a pre-show ritual when you did that revival of Blithe Spirit on Broadway in ‘89.”
“It’s a new ritual,” Viv claims.
“That’s an oxymoron as a ritual is something you do on a regular—”
Viv groans with feeling. “Just go! I need time alone to gather my thoughts before the performance. Eh!” She raises a finger of warning when my mother opens her mouth to speak. “If you say I have no thoughts to gather, Victoria, I swear to you, I will write you out of my will.”
Mom shrugs with indifference. “I don’t need your money. I’m sure I’m worth much more than you anyway.”
“And we’re leaving!” I take my mother by the shoulders and give her a push toward the door before she and Viv can start comparing bank statements. “Break a leg, Viv. We love you!” I blow her a kiss over my shoulder as I follow my mother out of the dressing room.
When we’re out in the corridor, I turn back around to close the door and see Viv muttering to herself while texting furiously on her phone, which is weird because Viv’s never been much of a texter. Who would she need to contact so close to showtime?
CHAPTER 44
Two and a half hours later my grandmother is onstage with an arm full of white lilies beaming as she, and the rest of the cast, receive a standing ovation. The thunderous applause soon turns into a chant of “Viv, Viv, Viv!” and she steps forward to bask in the collective love. Eventually, the noise dies down and we all take our seats where I dab beneath my eyes with a soggy tissue while smiling. Raindrops on Roses was that kind of a show—sweet, poignant, life-affirming, and above all, incredibly romantic. One minute the actors were making you laugh, the next you were swooning, then you had tears streaming down your face. Every member of the cast was wonderful, but Viv was the star and she shone brightly every time she stepped onstage. Her performance was so masterfully nuanced; I felt her character’s every emotion.
“You are too kind,” Viv tells the audience. “Thank you so much for sharing this magical evening with us. This has been an opening night we . . .” She gestures at her co-stars who are holding hands behind her. “. . . won’t ever forget. Our cast is honored to be involved in this production, to bring the beautiful words of our talented scribe, Claudia Lowry, to life; to be guided by our fearless director, Janine Bledsoe; to have the support of our hard-working crew; and for me, personally, to create alongside my fellow actors, all of whom have taught me so much. I’d especially like to thank my divine leading man, Mr. Treat Williams.” Viv sweeps a hand toward the salt-and-pepper-haired actor. “Pretending to be in love with him requires very little acting, I assure you,” she says, which gets a chuckle from everyone in the theater.
Sobering, she continues, “If there’s one thing I’d like you all to take away from this play, it’s that it’s never too late for a second chance and when life offers one to you, you should let the pain of the past go and embrace it. I know that’s easier said than done, believe me, but sometimes love is a winding road and you have to hit a few potholes and patch a couple of tires before you get there and realize you drove in a circle and ended up right back where you started because that’s where you belonged all along.”
“Someone should call the police. Viv just tortured that metaphor to death,” my mother snarks next to me.
Viv does seem to be rambling almost as if she’s stalling for time. Why does she keep glancing over to the wing space on her left? Does she think a curtain hook might suddenly emerge and yank her off stage? It could happen if she doesn’t get to the point of this improvised monologue soon.
“If you’re wondering why I’m so passionate about this subject, it’s not just because of the play. There’s someone near and dear to me who currently finds herself in a situation similar to my character’s. Maybe similar isn’t the right word because this person is a good forty years younger than Katherine and she’s not a widow, but she is at a romantic crossroads in her life and— Oh, thank heavens!” Relief washes over Viv’s face when she sees whatever it is in the wings she’s been waiting for. “Without further ado, I’d like to cede the stage to a young man who has something very important to say to a special someone, and I hope she’ll hear him out. Stick around, folks. This is going to be good!” With a flourish of her green maxi dress’s floaty, tiered skirt, Viv spins around and swans upstage.
“What’s she up to?” I mutter.
“I have no idea,” Mom replies in a hushed tone. “I suggest we make a break for it while we still—Ooof, too late.”
“Why—what’s—” The rest of the question dies in my throat when my eyes return to the stage and I see Viv giving a kiss on both cheeks to a handsome, suit-wearing blond I instantly recognize. “Alex!” I gasp.
“Viv was right. This is going to be good.” My mother unsnaps her purse and reaches inside.
“So help me God, if you pull out a pen and memo pad and start making notes for a Dr. Hart book, I will—” My threat goes unfinished because my ex starts speaking.
“Hi, everyone,” he says into a handheld mic since he’s not wired up like Viv and the rest of the cast who are still congregated in the middle of the stage, giving Alex an audience both in front and behind. Good thing public speaking’s never been a problem for him.
“My name’s Alex,” he introduces himself, dragging a hand through his hair, which is already attractively disheveled (he must have driven to the playhouse with the top of his convertible down). “And I’m here tonight to make something right that I screwed up four years ago . . . and again last week . . . and a few days ago. Clearly, I suck at this whole relationship thing.” The self-deprecating smile he punctuates that confession with elicits some laughter. One guy even shouts, “Same, bro, same!”
“But I’m doing my best to learn from my mistakes,” Alex asserts, “to grow and change so that I can be worthy of the girl who stole my heart when she unwittingly said something suggestive about a breakfast food, then blushed the prettiest shade of pink I’d ever seen. I was entranced. Still am, all these years later, because the sweet, funny, kindhearted young woman I fell for is now an amazing, accomplished boss lady who’s full of fire and sexy as hell. I admire her and well, I should probably bring her up here so that I can say all of this to her face. What do you think?”
The audience erupts with cheers and applause, which compels Alex to move closer to the edge of the stage where he squints into the dark
, trying to make out where I am. When he spots me on the aisle in the third row, he extends a hand and asks, “Nessa, will you join me please?”
It’s the please that gets me right in the feels. Declaring himself publicly like this takes guts and it makes my heart swell to see Alex relinquish control of the situation and show so much vulnerability. I feel a hand squeezing mine and realize it’s a supportive gesture from Dr. Hart herself.
I turn to my mother and am met with one of her rare smiles. “Don’t keep the man waiting,” she advises.
I stand on shaky legs and totter up the aisle on my strappy, high-heeled sandals, hoping I don’t pull a Bambi and wipe out in front of the hundreds of people in this theater. Thankfully, an usher appears at the bottom of the stairs to offer me a hand and assist me up the steps. I walk toward Alex, feeling excited and scared and like I might lose the peanut butter pie power bar I wolfed down for dinner.
“Hey,” Alex greets me huskily when I stop in front of him, his eyes shimmering blue in the reflected lights of the stage. “You look beautiful,” he says, taking my hand in his free one.
“Thanks.” I glance around from the cast of the play off to my side to the ticket buyers out in the theater. “This is weird,” I confess softly. “I’m used to arranging big, romantic surprises for other people, not being the recipient of one.”
Alex’s eyes stay glued to mine, but he lifts the microphone up to his mouth so that he’ll be heard loud and clear. “If you missed that, Vanessa is a romance concierge, an excellent one whose company, Straight from the Hart—that’s Hart with no ‘e’—sets up all kinds of unique, romantic experiences for couples similar to what you’re witnessing at the moment except she actually plans these things while I’m just winging it.” He smirks, and the dimple in his cheek appears.
Plugging my business in the middle of a romantic proclamation is such an Alex thing to do, I can’t help but adore him even more for it. “I think you’re doing very well,” I tell him with an encouraging smile. “And you did have some help from a Hart, didn’t you?” I raise an eyebrow and turn toward my grandmother who suddenly takes a great interest in a lighting rig hanging above her head. “Don’t try to play innocent, Viv. I know you texted him.”
“Only because she knows how miserable I’ve been since we had that fight in your office the other day. I thought we were over . . . for good this time, and it was all my fault because you lost faith in us and I didn’t know what else I could do or say to make you believe again. I called Viv and she took pity on me, inviting me over for martinis and a heart-to-Hart.” His eyes dance with amusement at the play on words while a few people in the audience groan at the cheesiness of it and the same guy from before yells out, “You’re better than that!” which makes everyone in the theater, including the two of us dissolve into giggles.
“So what did Viv say?” I ask after we’ve all collected ourselves.
“She told me to be patient, which, as you know, is not my strong suit. But she assured me that you would see the light regarding the matter I voiced very strong opinions about when we last spoke . . .” He lowers his eyes to my bare ring finger on the hand he’s holding so I know he’s talking about my engagement to Ian. “. . . and she’d give me the head’s up when that happened. I don’t think she expected me to act on the news right away and my client wasn’t thrilled about me leaving him to fend for himself with a very nosy reporter from Vanity Fair, but I really couldn’t wait another minute.”
“You bailed on business for me?” That is something I’d never in my wildest imaginings thought he’d do.
“Yep.” He nods. “I let work come between us once before and I swear to you, I will never make that mistake again. I was a fool to prioritize my job over our relationship and to think that making a real commitment to you would stop me from achieving what I wanted to professionally. These past few weeks have proven how wrong I was about that. You helped me with a client in a way no one else could have, and having you by my side to offer support and brainstorm with made my job so much easier. We make a good team, Nessa, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize what an asset you would be to me when I got that promotion years ago. But that’s in the past and I’m hoping we can move forward together.”
There’s an intensity in his gaze now and I hold my breath in anticipation.
“I love you, Vanessa Hart, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.” Releasing my hand, Alex reaches into the pocket of his charcoal-colored suit and pulls out a robin egg blue ring box that couldn’t have come from anywhere but Tiffany’s.
As much as I want to grab that box and shove whatever ring’s inside onto my left hand, I worry that Alex is proposing because he knows it’s the only way he can keep me. “Are you sure about this?” I ask in a voice choked with tears.
“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. I’ve been carrying this around in my pocket for almost a week.”
“A week?” I’m startled by this revelation. “You bought it before we went to Riverside?” I mouth the last word because that’s where the Js currently are and I don’t want this juicy tidbit getting back to the press.
“Why do you think I was so hot to go out of town with you when the opportunity presented itself? I thought if I could have you all to myself in a romantic place for a few days, I could win you back and make you see that we belong together.”
So he bought this ring of his own free will without any threats, tears, or ultimatums, before our weekend at the hotel, before we fell into bed, before I ran out on him, before I agreed (sort of) to marry Ian, which can only mean one thing—Alex really, truly wants to marry me.
“I can show you a dated receipt if you doubt me.”
“No.” I shake my head and wipe away a tear that spills down onto my cheek. “I don’t have any doubts.”
“In that case, I want to do this properly,” Alex declares. And with that, he starts to kneel, wincing about halfway down to the stage.
“No! Your bad knee!” I grab him by the elbow and tug him back up so that he doesn’t aggravate his old ACL injury.
“You remembered,” he says with a goofy grin.
“Well, yeah, it was my lap you always propped your knee on when it needed icing after a soccer game. And you’ve still got the scar.” Which I saw up-close when he was naked with me recently.
“Okay, I’ll do this standing then.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, betraying that he’s nervous about asking me this question.
As if I’d say no! Please. I’ve been waiting for this proposal for six years.
Looking deeply into my eyes, he says, “Vanessa, no one’s ever made me feel the way you do and I couldn’t forget you even when I tried. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and I want to live, love, laugh, and have lots of adorable, red-haired babies with you. Will you marry me if I promise to leave your middle name out of the wedding vows?” His tone is playful, but Alex’s actions are completely serious when he opens the blue box to reveal a stunning ring with a thick platinum band and a solitaire diamond that’s—
“You got me a heart-shaped diamond?” The tears are flowing freely now, and I don’t even try to stop them.
“Seemed fitting since you’re the Queen of Romance and Hart’s your last name. Do you like it? If you don’t, we can always exchan—”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like we’re the only two people in the theater and, as far as I’m concerned, we are. I’ve dreamed of this moment so many times, but the reality of it is infinitely sweeter.
Alex kisses me back with just as much fervor and we stay locked in this passionate embrace for several minutes. I’m vaguely aware of an initial roar of approval from the audience followed by lots of clapping and wolf whistles, then I feel the oddest sensation of something soft coming down on my head. Curiosity and the need for oxygen eventually lead me to break apart from Alex and I realize that there’s a shower
of rose petals raining down on the stage.
With a squeal of delight, I say, “This is fantastic!” and throw my head back so that the velvety petals are splashing down on my cheeks. The floor of the stage is quickly turning into a carpet of flowers and the air is perfumed with their lovely scent. “You even got the colors right! Red and white symbolize unity, new beginnings—”
“—and everlasting love, which makes it a great combo for proposals. Thank God I Googled that because my initial thought was to get pink since that’s your favorite color.”
“Pink would have been nice too.”
Alex chortles. “You couldn’t even say that without twitching.” He slides his thumb over the skin beneath my eye where a muscle just involuntarily spasmed. “Pink would have been wrong, and it would have bugged the hell out of you.”
Pink would have been so wrong. It’s the correct color if you want to tell a woman “Thank you” or “I have great affection for you,” but for a special occasion like asking someone to be your other half? Absolutely not!
“I would have appreciated this flower shower no matter what. It’s beautiful and incredibly romantic and I am totally going to steal this idea for Straight from the Hart. My clients will love it just as much as I love you.” I lean forward to press my lips to his in a quick kiss.
The roses have stopped falling now, but the two of us are covered from head to toe with red and white petals. This moment is surreal, magical, perfect. Finally I know how everyone I’ve ever planned a proposal for felt when their soulmate popped the question. It’s pure, unadulterated joy.
“Put the ring on her finger so that this engagement will be official!” Viv calls out.
“That’s right. You haven’t technically said yes. Do you want this ring or not?” Alex teases me by shaking the blue box.
“YES!” I shout loud enough for people in the back row of the theater to hear and stick my hand out.
With a chuckle, Alex tucks the mic under his arm, opens the box, and extracts the ring. Tears fill my eyes again when he slides the symbol of our love and commitment on to my left hand where the diamond glints and sparkles like it’s as happy to be on my finger as I am to have it there. I hear a loud pop and glance over my shoulder to see that Viv, along with several other members of the cast, have opened bottles of champagne, which are now fizzing out all over a stage that’s already buried under a blanket of petals.
Straight from the Hart Page 42
