“Well,” Iris said, all smirk and flirt, “I’m incredible too, so, yeah, I’m great.”
Then Iris turned away and went over to where Satchi was peering into a lighted mirror, asking to share the space. Soon the two were laughing and joking as Iris put on her makeup. Stevie kept eyeing Iris as she got ready herself, wondering what she was missing, but Iris never let that mask slip again.
THAT NIGHT’S PERFORMANCE was their best yet.
Everyone said so.
But Stevie didn’t feel it. Iris was lovely on stage. She was flirty and sly and vulnerable, but something still felt off about the whole production, every time Benedick and Beatrice interacted—a stiffness to Iris’s expression Stevie couldn’t seem to break through.
Now, in the private backroom at Nadia’s, champagne flowing and the lights dim, art donated by local artists on the walls and up for auction, Stevie couldn’t even find her girlfriend.
“What a night, huh?” Adri said, coming up next to Stevie. She looked gorgeous, dressed in a strapless black bandage dress, her mermaid hair pinned back on one side.
“Yeah,” Stevie said, taking a sip of her club soda. “You really pulled it off.”
Adri smiled, nudged her arm. “We pulled it off. That Seattle Times review sold all the tickets for this dinner, I’m pretty sure.”
Stevie shook her head. “It’s one person’s opinion.”
Adri nodded, eyes scanning the buoyant crowd. “Where’s Iris?”
Stevie finally spotted her across the room, standing with Claire and Astrid and looking gorgeous in a grass-green dress, straps as thin as thread hooked over her shoulders. Her entire friend group had come tonight, and Stevie saw Delilah wandering the room with Jordan, checking out the art. Simon, of course, was part of the company, so he was around here somewhere too.
“She’s with her friends,” she told Adri, then glanced at her ex. “Where’s Van?”
Adri’s expression slipped for a second. “She’s around.”
“You two okay?” Stevie asked.
Adri sighed. “I think so. I just . . . I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”
Stevie said nothing to that. She and Adri hadn’t really talked outside the play since Adri’s power moves in Malibu, and Stevie wasn’t sure she wanted to go there. Not tonight.
“I’m going to talk to Iris,” she said, then walked away before Adri could say anything else.
She wove through the crowd, nodded at Ren who was chatting with Nina and Satchi, not slowing down until she reached Iris’s side.
“There she is,” Iris said, her voice a little slurred as she looped her arm through Stevie’s. Her champagne glass was half full, but she still managed to slosh a bit over the sides.
“Okay, you’re cut off,” Astrid said, taking Iris’s glass.
“Ever the proper lady,” Iris said, wrinkling her nose at Astrid.
Stevie frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“She’s very drunk,” Claire said. “Sorry, I think she’d already downed like two glasses by the time we got here.”
“Sorry?” Iris said, brows shoved together. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Claire. I can get drunk if I want.”
“I know, honey, but—”
“No,” Iris waved a finger. “I am nearly orgasmic. Seattle Times says so.”
Claire and Astrid shared a look over Iris’s head, clearly befuddled by that proclamation.
“Baby, let’s get you some water,” Stevie said, trying to lead Iris to the table full of sparkling water in crystal glasses.
“Baby,” Iris said, narrowing her eyes at Stevie. “I bet you call all the girls baby.”
“What girls?” Stevie asked.
“All of them. The ones in New York,” Iris said. She swayed a little on her feet. “I need another drink.”
“Yes, water,” Stevie said, then pulled Iris toward the table. Iris went, but only because Stevie yanked her pretty firmly. They were halfway across the room, Stevie’s heart pounding, when she saw her.
Thayer Calloway.
Right there, smiling at Stevie from five feet away, resplendent in a black suit and silver tie.
“Stevie,” Thayer said. “I was hoping to catch you.”
Stevie swallowed, glanced at Iris, who regarded Thayer with a mixture of swaying curiosity and suspicion.
And she was right to be suspicious. Stevie could at least admit that, even if she was terrified to face every other truth she hadn’t said yet. This morning, after Iris had asked her about her next steps, Stevie had lied. She’d told Iris she didn’t know, and she felt horrible about it. Because just the night before, after Iris had fallen asleep, she’d sent Thayer Calloway an email.
Thank you so much for your offer. I can’t tell you how honored I am that you’d think of me for this role. I’m thrilled to accept. Please let me know next steps when you get a chance.
It had taken her six weeks to get to this point, to get to this yes, then another ten minutes to hit send on the email that would seal it. And all the while, Iris slept next to her, oblivious. Stevie had wanted to talk to her about it, but her courage only went so far. In truth, part of Stevie had always known she was going to accept Thayer’s offer—she’d known it the moment Thayer had asked her to be Rosalind. There was no way she could ever say no, no way she could ever live with herself if she passed up this chance. She was scared shitless, but she felt strong too. She knew she was good, knew she needed to take a chance if she was ever going to turn acting into a lasting career.
And being with Iris these last several weeks . . . she felt even stronger. More capable. More ready.
But she also had even more to lose. Her decision affected Iris too, she knew, but she also knew Ren was right—she couldn’t make her choice based on this relationship.
She had to choose herself and hope to god Iris understood.
This morning, she’d had every chance to tell Iris about the role, that she’d accepted it, but she chickened out. She told herself she was simply waiting until the play was done, the final night, so they could both enjoy it without New York hanging over their heads. She’d been determined to tell Iris tonight, once everything at the Empress was done, and she and Iris were tucked into bed together, close and intimate and safe.
But now, with Thayer right here and Iris drunk and acting so strange even before the play, Stevie was questioning every decision she’d made since hitting send on that email.
“Dr. Calloway,” Stevie said, her heart fully in her throat now. She had no idea that her professor would be here, but now that she thought about it, she should’ve prepared for this. Thayer was a big supporter of the Empress, financially speaking, and she wouldn’t miss a chance to bolster a queer theater in her own hometown.
“Excellent performance, as always,” Thayer said, then her eyes flitted to Iris. “And this must be Iris Kelly. I greatly enjoyed your Beatrice.”
Iris pursed her mouth, eyes glassy, and panic crowded into Stevie’s chest.
“I am Iris Kelly,” Iris said, words a little slurred. “And you are Thayer Calloway. You’re Stevie’s favorite professor.”
Thayer smiled brightly at Stevie, but Stevie frowned. She’d never told Iris that. She’d never told Iris anything about Dr. Calloway.