Adri started to say something, but before she could say anything, the theater doors banged open.
“Sorry, that took an eternity,” a voice said. Iris looked out into the audience but could only see a shadowy form heading down the aisle. “Their lunch crowd is getting out of control.”
Iris frowned, the voice somehow familiar. She squinted to see, but the figure was still a blur in the lights.
“No worries,” Adri said, eyeing Iris. “Gave us some time to get to know your girl.”
“My what?” the other person said.
“Their what?” Iris said at the same time. “I’m not—”
But then, the person—a woman with a curly shag haircut and amber-brown eyes—arrived at the edge of the stage, stopping next to Vanessa and staring up at Iris with her mouth hanging open.
“Stefania?” Iris said.
“Iris,” Stefania said back, her voice breathy and shaky.
They stared at each other for a second. Iris’s head swam. She never expected to see Stefania again—never wanted to, if she was being honest. Something flickered in the back of Iris’s mind, puzzle pieces of this whole bat-shit experience coming together—the way Adri and Vanessa seemed to know who she was, her name, this her they kept talking about surprising.
What the hell was going on?
She opened her mouth to ask exactly that, but then, as though she was lit abruptly on fire, Stefania dropped a paper bag on the floor, hopped onto the stage, and pulled Iris into her arms.
CHAPTER TEN
IRIS.
Iris was here.
At the Empress.
On stage.
Stevie felt dizzy, embarrassment clouding into her cheeks as she stared at the redhead she’d puked all over just seventy-two hours ago.
The redhead her entire friend group thought she was having sex with.
No, not just having sex with.
Dating.
Iris swam in her vision, and she knew she had to do something. Say something. Before she could really think through it, she dropped the sushi that took her nearly an hour to procure and ran up the stage steps.
Slid her arms around Iris’s waist and pulled her close.
“Please,” she whispered in Iris’s ear.
It was all she could think to say.
Iris was stiff, shocked, as she damn well should be, but she also smelled amazing, all ginger and bergamot, the fabric of her light sweater like silk under Stevie’s fingers.
“Please,” Stevie said again when Iris didn’t embrace her back. Which, Stevie knew, was a clear sign she should back off, but desperation to get out of this situation without her entire lie blowing up in front of Vanessa and Adri drove any other thought to the far corners of her mind.
Finally—thank Christ, finally—Iris softened and wrapped her arms around Stevie’s shoulders, but not without a “What the hell” whispered back into Stevie’s ear.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Stevie said. “Just let me—”
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Vanessa said, her voice floating up from the audience. “Right, babe?”
“Pretty cute,” Adri said, though her tone was decidedly more thoughtful. It jolted Stevie back into reality and she pulled away from Iris.
Iris met her eyes, fire in all that green.
I’m sorry, Stevie mouthed again. She could fix this. Explain it. Iris had tucked her into bed, for god’s sake. Surely she’d understand the need to save a little face in front of an ex.
Stevie cleared her throat and turned to face Adri and Vanessa, her fingers tangling with Iris’s. Iris let her do it, and she felt buoyed by the permission.
“Um,” she said. “So, this is Iris.”
“Yes, we know,” Vanessa said, grinning. “A romantic, if ever there was one.”
Iris snorted, her fingers tightening on Stevie’s to a painful degree.
Stevie laughed nervously. “Yeah, I, um, I had no idea she was—”
“I wanted to surprise Stefania,” Iris said, hand still squeezing Stevie’s. “And I think I succeeded.”
“Oh, you did,” Stevie said, squeezing back. “You definitely did.”
“Stefania?” Adri said, her thick brows lowering.
Stevie met her gaze. Swallowed. Adri knew all about how Stevie sometimes envisioned herself as a different person to get through a stressful situation. She also knew that Stevie didn’t go by Stefania—the name given to her in honor of her Italian great-grandmother—with anyone.
“Yeah,” Stevie said, lies unrolling onto her tongue. “When Iris and I met, I told her my full name. She liked it. Didn’t you?” She nudged Iris’s arm, and Iris glared at Stevie with enough fire to reignite a dwindling star.
“Right,” Iris finally said, biting into the final t so loudly, the sound echoed through the theater. “Give us a second, will you?” she asked Adri and Vanessa, pulling Stevie by the hand toward the stage steps.
“Of course,” Adri said.
“But don’t leave, Iris,” Vanessa said. “I’m sure Adri wants to talk to you about Beatrice.”
“Van,” Adri said sharply. “I’m the director here.”
“I know, babe, but come on. Have you seen a better one?”
“Wait, really?” Iris asked, pausing on the steps.
“Beatrice?” Stevie asked, but Iris was staring at Adri.
Adri flattened her mouth. “I admit, Iris, you’re perfect. I mean, we can do a reading with Stevie so you can get a feel for what it will be like with Benedick, but yes. You’re the best Beatrice I’ve seen in . . . well, maybe ever. No question.”
Iris blinked, a tiny smile on her beautiful mouth. But then it faded, and she looked at Stevie. “You’re Benedick.”
It wasn’t a question, but Adri’s resigned expression morphed into suspicion anyway. “You didn’t know?”
Iris sniffed in response. Stevie had to get her out of here. Fix this.
“We’ll be right back,” Stevie said, changing direction and tugging Iris backstage.
It wasn’t a huge space, a hallway mostly, full of pulleys and wires above, poured concrete below. Stevie didn’t slow down until they were in the small dressing room the entire cast shared on performance nights. There were four lighted mirrors, two on each wall, mix-matched chairs set in front of the vanities. A green leather couch sat in one corner, a coffee table covered in books and scripts and a Nintendo Switch.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Iris rounded on Stevie.
“What the actual fuck?”
“I know,” Stevie said. “I know, I’m sorry.”
Iris folded her arms, long, tangled hair draping over her shoulders. She was gorgeous when she was mad, her green eyes a bit darker, red hair like fire— Stevie shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus here.
“Who are you?” Iris asked. “Because you sure as hell aren’t Stefania.”
Stevie presented her palms. “I am. I just go by Stevie.”
Iris’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “Stevie.”
Stevie nodded.
“So why did you tell me your name was Stefania?”
Stevie dropped her arms. “It’s my name.”
“You know what I mean.”