by Lucy Parker
“I’ve been looking at this place for months. I can see fifty-pound notes layered over every square foot.”
“Luc.”
He relented and looked out of the wings as well, where the state-of-the-art lighting system illuminated the huge stage and the glimpse of rising balconies, beautifully restored carvings and the gold dome ceiling. “It’s not bad, is it?”
“Not bad? It’s fucking amazing.” She touched her palm to the wall. “You did this.”
“Me and about two hundred builders, restorers and architects.”
She smiled at him. “I’m so proud of you.”
He almost reached for her; she saw the muscles flex in his shoulder and his arm partly rose before he swore under his breath. “I’m not kissing you at work.”
“I should hope not.” She adjusted her headpiece. “I’m the future Virgin Queen. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Not much of one, but still…
She was not going to worry about the reviews right now. Performance first, then panic about the critical reception. Enjoy having this job before stressing about ever finding another one.
Luc checked his watch. “I have a meeting with Maria. You’re back on in ten minutes. Don’t miss your cue.”
“Have I ever?”
“You have been known to make an unexpected entrance. I’m still reeling from the impact of the first one.”
By the time they were halfway through the afternoon dress rehearsal, Luc’s responses were getting sharper and more monosyllabic. He was unusually impatient when Margo made a rare error and Lily caught him raising a hand to his temple.
When David finally held up his script and called time for the day, Lily gathered her skirts in one hand and joined Luc where he stood in the orchestra pit, making last notes into a spreadsheet.
“Here.” She held out a bottle of water and a box of painkillers.
“Hmm?” Luc automatically took the water she thrust under his nose, but barely looked away from the iPad he held in the crook of his arm. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Lily blinked. If there was ever a sign he was paying no attention to her whatsoever… She shot a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one else had heard that. Their relationship was the worst-kept secret in the West End—there was so much media attention now that a distant cousin in Ireland had called a couple of days ago to get the scoop firsthand—but they were at least trying to keep things professional in the theatre.
She cleared her throat. “Could you look at me for a second, please?”
He made another note, lifting the chilled water bottle to press it against his forehead. “What?”
“Eye contact. Could you make some?”
He finally looked up, frowning, and she saw the lines of pain around his mouth and the strain in his eyes.
“You have a migraine.”
“I have a headache.” He checked the time again. “And back-to-back meetings.”
“I went through a stage where I got hormonal migraines every month. I recognise the face. If you’re not in full-blown pain yet, you’re heading that way. You should have been lying down in a dark room an hour ago.”
“I don’t have time for a migraine. I can’t reschedule these meetings.”
“I don’t think you can reschedule a migraine, either.”
“It’s not a migraine. It’s a headache. You don’t look like you’re underwater, and I don’t feel like tearing my head off with my bare hands.” Luc noticed the box of painkillers she was still holding. “I’ll take a couple of tablets, drink some water and get a taxi. It’ll be fine.”
“Luc.” His chief financial officer, a striking grey-haired woman whose name Lily couldn’t remember, appeared in the stalls, looking impatient. “The meeting with Hannigan and Fischer is in twenty minutes.”
“Right.” Luc winced when his phone rang. Lily was beginning to hear his ringtone in her dreams. He answered it, his eyes still shadowed with pain. “Savage. Hold on a second.” He covered the speaker with his thumb. “Two more days and press night is over, and we’ll all be on a more regular schedule.” Even with a headache, his voice was different when he spoke to her. Warmer.
“You seriously think you can make what I assume are important financial decisions with a migraine?”
“It’s not a migraine,” he said again, and she shook her head. “I have to go.” He ignored his CFO’s foot-tapping. “Are you—”
“I’ll go back to my flat tonight.” She looked at him for a few seconds longer. “If you can still see well enough after the meetings—”
“I’ll be there.”
Three words she’d heard countless times in the past. The magical promise, confidently spoken. Easily broken.
*
Lily was lying on her bed, propped up against every pillow she owned and trying to concentrate on the TV, when a FaceTime call came through from her mother. She was always happy to see Vanessa’s face, even on a digital screen with a bad connection.
“Hi, hon.” Vanessa’s hair had changed colour since Lily had last seen her and was now jet black. Her movements were slow and fragmented, and there was a strange line bisecting her left cheek. “You look tired.”
“Long day. You look blurry. Where are you?”
“Sydney.”
The camera went out completely then, which was probably fortunate since Lily was fairly sure the feeling in her stomach was reflected in her changing expression. “Australia? I thought you said Austria.”
“I was in Austria, but I got an offer to do a last-minute performance here in Sydney. Some stock magnate’s birthday party. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s prepared to pay.” The visual came back; Vanessa rolled her eyes expressively. “Some people have money to burn.”
“That’s great.” Lily wound a loose thread in the quilt around her index finger. “When is it?”
“Saturday.”
“You’re not coming to opening night, then.”
“No. I’m sorry, darling. The guest list at this event—my agent thinks it could open up a whole new market for me.” Her mother rubbed at her nose. “But I’ll be back in London in a few weeks and I’ll definitely come to see you then. Every night that I’m there.”
It was a little harder to smile this time. “Sure. That’ll be great.”
“I mean it. A few weeks, a month tops, and I’m there. I’m so excited for you. I know how long you’ve wanted this.” Vanessa pursed her lips. “And from what I’ve been reading, we have a lot to catch up on. Luc Savage?”
The thread around Lily’s finger broke before it could cut off her circulation. She tried to will away the heat creeping up her neck before it could appear in her cheeks. “Yeah. Well. That’s been a bit—unexpected.”
“Dating your director? I’ll say.” Vanessa arched a brow. “Try a complete turn-around on your usual attitude. When you were five years old, you used to stand in my bedroom doorway, watching me get ready for dates and tsking. Until you started coming home from your dad’s house with bags of sweets you’d won playing poker, I thought I’d given birth to Queen Victoria. What happened to the golden rules?”
They’d fractured on an antique desk and shattered into pieces in a hospital waiting room.
Lily could only shake her head, unsmiling, and the trace of sarcasm disappeared from her mother’s voice.
“I met him once. For about five excruciating minutes at an opening. Small talk and questions on my side, zero personality and monosyllabic answers on his. It was like having a conversation with Siri.”
“Maybe he had a migraine,” Lily muttered.
“I hope you’re not getting in over your—” Vanessa turned her head, and Lily heard the muffled sound of another voice. “Shoot. I have to go. Call me on Sunday night, okay? I want to hear all about the first show. Jack’s going, I hope?”
Lily kept her face carefully neutral. “He says he is.”
“Good. That’s good.” The other voice spoke again and her mother blew a hasty kis
s at the camera. “Got to run. Love you.”
The screen returned to the desktop before Lily could respond.
Slowly, she flipped the leather cover closed and returned the iPad to the dressing table. She was reaching for the TV remote when the front door buzzed. It was just after nine, too early to be Luc. Frowning, she got up and pulled on her dressing gown, wrapping it across her chest as she padded down the hallway to check the peephole.
She took one look and immediately fumbled for the lock.
Luc was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He’d been pale earlier; he was now a nice shade of green.
Without opening his eyes, he said tightly, as if he didn’t want to open his mouth, “I’m—”
“I can see.” She slipped her arm around his waist, taking his weight as she tugged him away from the wall. “Come on.”
His hand came up to the side of her head. “You can say ‘I told you so’ at any time.” He was still speaking as if his teeth were stuck together.
“I never say ‘I told you so.’” Lily kicked the front door shut and steered him towards the bedroom. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people tend to find that annoying.” His face was alarmingly close in colour to a courgette. “Bedroom or bathroom?”
He swallowed before he answered. “Bedroom. I just need to lie down.”
She helped him to the bed, then hastily turned off the TV and the lights, leaving only a lamp on in the hallway so that neither of them walked into a wall if he needed the bathroom. He sprawled across the mattress, his arm shielding his eyes, and she stood looking down at him. Her heart twisted; it was a reaction that was almost physical.
Carefully, she unlaced his shoes and tugged them off, then undid his belt and pulled it free, and went to work on his shirt buttons. His stomach was taut above the waistband of his trousers; all his muscles were locked tight in defence against the pain. She stroked his warm skin with the backs of her fingers. “Can you lift up for a second?”
The protesting grunt came from deep in his chest, but he eased up enough that she could take his shirt off completely. He caught her hand as she went to put it on the chair. “Lily.” She could hardly see him in the dim light, but his grip was tight. “Thanks. I’m sorry about this.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom, she wet a clean flannel. She brought it back to the bed and climbed onto the pillow mountain behind him, and Luc rolled over to lie between her legs, resting his cheek against her thigh. He hooked an arm under her bent knee and mumbled something unintelligible when she pressed the cold flannel against his forehead.
“How bad?” she asked quietly, stroking his hair.
“Ready to rip my head off anytime now.”
He fell asleep after about twenty minutes, heavy against her legs. Lily sat in the near-dark, watching where the strip of light from the hallway touched his cheek. Even in sleep, he wasn’t relaxed, and she rubbed his back gently, trying not to wake him.
She leaned her head against the pillows and closed her eyes, listening to him breathe.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she woke to the whisper of her name in her ear and lips brushing hers. She opened one eye. The room was still dimly lit; she could see a glimmer of very grey light through the crack in the curtains. The lamp in the hallway had been turned off.
There was a crick in her neck. Kneading at the muscles there, she turned in the circle of Luc’s arm and blinked up at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, smiling down at her as he played with her hair.
“You’re up,” she said, and yawned. “How do you feel?”
“Lucky, grateful and intensely sorry that I have an early start and can’t express the first two emotions properly.” He bent and kissed her again, his mouth lingering on hers. His fingers stole underneath her pyjama top to caress her hip. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t have to thank me the first time.” She found it easier to fix her gaze on the base of his neck, where his pulse beat, than to meet his eyes. “I think it comes with the job description.”
“I’ve read your contract,” he said drily. “I’m fairly sure there was no clause that mentioned sitting up half the night with the semi-comatose.”
“Yeah. Well.” She put her hand over his where it rested on her waist. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay now?”
“Completely back to normal.”
His phone rang.
Lily sighed and pushed up on her elbows, dislodging his hold. She couldn’t keep the edge of irony from her words. “So I see.”
Chapter Twelve
Lily barely recognised herself.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing her hands over her hips, following the line of the thick brocade gown. The heavy gold velvet moulded over her corset and led into the stiff white ruff that doubled as a chin rest. The red wig was pinned so tightly that it was pulling up her forehead. She had to dig her fingers underneath and create a bit of give to avoid looking permanently shocked. She also had the cheekbones she’d always wanted, thanks to Leo, who had remained characteristically silent but overdrawn her eyeliner when she’d snuck Trix into the conversation.
She turned at a tap on the door. “Come in.”
The vibration of voices and flurried movement in the hallway and adjoining dressing rooms rose to a loud rumble. Padma came in with a clipboard tucked into her armpit and her arms loaded with flowers.
“Thirty-minute warning, Your Highness.” She smiled at Lily as she handed over three bouquets and a wrapped parcel. “You’re now in social media lockdown. Phone on silent, no internet, no psyching yourself out. House rules.”
Lily set the flowers and gift box down on her vanity table. She stroked the velvety petal of a red rose. “Did someone think I needed a reminder of that rule?”
Luc had addressed the whole company an hour ago, thanking them for fulfilling his every expectation—with a note of sarcasm directed at Dylan—but it was management policy to leave the cast alone to focus in the final stretch before curtain. He had to do the pre-show networking before he took his place in the lighting box to watch the first public performance. Before she’d come downstairs, he’d touched the back of his finger to one of her visibly trembling hands and said, “You’ve worked incredibly hard, you had one hiccup in the final rehearsal and recovered from it well, and you thrive under pressure. You’ve made this role your own. You can do this. Unless I see you checking Twitter before or during the show, in which case this is your understudy’s big night.”
“Luc may have mentioned something.” Padma ticked off something on her clipboard, then looked up and winked. “I believe his exact words were ‘If there’s something electronic in her hand, ask her how she feels about a new role picking popcorn out of seat cushions.’”
“Sounds about right.” Lily checked the card on the red roses and ran her fingers over Luc’s name. “I left the iPad at home and I’m about to turn off my phone.”
Padma gave her a thumbs-up and kept jotting things down on her sheaf of papers. “Final wardrobe check in fifteen minutes. First cue in twenty-five.”
“Got it.” She was still holding on to Luc’s card, and Padma tucked the clipboard back under her arm and looked at her understandingly.
“Nervous?”
“Eighty percent excited, twenty percent absolutely fucking terrified.”
“Enjoy the excitement, use the fear.” Padma nodded at the open bottle of water on the table. “And don’t drink too much water, because in that costume you’re going to need four extra hands and a pair of pliers before you can use the loo.”
“You’re not kidding,” Margo said from the open doorway. She gripped the wide skirts of her gown to manoeuvre inside the room. “It took me a quarter of an hour just to get out of the stall. If you haven’t gone yet, I think you’ll have to wait until intermission.”
“Right. I’ll leave you to it.” Padma paused to straighten M
argo’s bodice, then saluted them with her pen. “Break a leg, ladies.”
The noise level outside was still rising. People would be taking their seats now. The paparazzi had been circling the red carpet since late afternoon. The front-of-house staff had already reported the arrival of several of London’s toughest critics.
Lily pressed her palm against her tightly-bound ribs and took as deep a breath as the corset would allow. Level of terror: creeping up towards an even fifty percent.
Margo touched her arm. “You’re a few hours away from critical acclaim. This is the first night of a long, successful career in the theatre. And it’s the oasis between the rehearsal slog and the realisation of exactly how many more times we’re going to have to say these lines. This is the fun part.”
Lily exhaled. “Thanks.”
Margo grinned. “We’ve got this.”
“Amen, murderous cousins.” Freddy stuck her dark head into the dressing room and peered around. “Is this the royal gathering? Or is it half-sisters only?”
Lily laughed. It was difficult to catastrophize when Freddy was around. “Come on in.”
“All one big dysfunctional family here.” Margo shifted to make room for her. Luc’s architects had been reasonably generous with the dressing room space, but their clothing filled most of it.
“Cheers.” Freddy lowered herself to a stool, holding on to her waist. “Dylan’s in my room and if he makes one more suggestion about consummating our fake marriage, I’m going to have to cut straight to my second costume change. This dress is so tight that I’m just not sure what would happen to the vomit.” Her gaze fell on the collection of flowers. “Hey, nice haul.” She touched the bow on the yellow roses, then noticed the gift box. “Yes. Luc’s sent down his first-night presents. He gives the best ‘thanks for doing everything I said’ goodies. Last time, it was top-shelf bubbly and a very generous shopping trip to Harrods. My shoe collection wept with gratitude.”
“Another pair of Louboutins is in your future.” Margo adjusted her bodice again. “Champagne and gift cards are Luc’s trademark.”
