Evening Storm (Irresistible #4)

***

Simone rather liked going places by herself, and found silence and solitude crucial to her creative process. The humid summer air would wreak havoc on her hair, so she put it up in a loose roll at her nape, dressed in a black silk sheath and black sandals suitable for walking from the Fashion District to the Delacorte Theater, zipped her ticket into the lining of her purse, settled her sunglasses on her nose, and set off uptown.

It was a lovely night for a walk, the city coming alive as the sun set and eased some of the brutal heat. Restaurants were full of people having drinks after work, or a meal, their laughter spilling onto the sidewalks through windows thrown wide. She wasn’t hungry, though, so she kept a steady pace walking with the lights until she came to the entrance of Central Park at Fifty-Ninth Street, following one of the interior paths until she came to the Shakespeare Garden on the west side of the Belvedere Castle. She had a few minutes to kill before she could take her seat, so she climbed past the rustic benches in the Shakespearean flower garden to Belvedere Castle’s platform overlooking Turtle Pond and the theater.

The theater was set in a bowl of mature trees, the branches and leaves spreading shelter to the north, and two or three stories of black fabric hiding the performance from anyone who was standing on the Castle’s overlook. Banks of lights poured down on the stage, and Simone watched as the set dressers laid out props and double-checked the sound. Clumps of people clustered near the theater’s entrances, waiting for the moments when they could go in and take their seats. The Great Lawn filled with families playing Frisbee, office workers listening to the clank of aluminum bats against softballs as they strolled home from their day, couples spreading out picnics on the green grass and settling in to enjoy a classic Manhattan summer night.

When the bell rang, Simone hurried back down and followed the path around to the entrance to the theater. She presented her precious ticket to the usher, who directed her to the seat three rows back in the very center section. Stéphane had outdone himself. She would be close enough to the actors and actresses to see the expressions in their eyes, not just what the stage makeup conveyed. Around her the seats were filled with the cross-section of humanity, Fifth Avenue matrons in Chanel sheaths, business types, youngsters without the money to afford a Broadway show but the free time to sit in line for the hottest ticket in town. She recognized two clients; both smiled and waved. She waved back and was in the process of turning to face the stage when she made eye contact with Ryan Hamilton.

An electric jolt of recognition ran through her body, nearly stopping her heart. His jaw was braced on his bent fingers, his elbow on the armrest, and based on his lack of response when their eyes met, he’d been watching her for a while. He was sitting off to her left, near the back of the first section, four seats in from the edge. While there really wasn’t a bad seat in the house, he and the woman sitting next to him were not in the best possible seats to see the performance. She was a little surprised, because Ryan would certainly have the connections to pull off two front and center seats if he’d wanted them. He wore his suit, but without the jacket and with his top button open, his tie loosened in deference to the heat. The woman sitting next to him, an up-and-coming model that Simone knew only by reputation, was engaged in an animated conversation with the woman to her right.

After the scene at Bouley, she should cut him deader than dead, but all she could think was that he looked tired. Thinner. Vulnerable. She swallowed, then gave him a very slight nod. The corners of his mouth lifted in response, an attempt at a smile that nearly broke her heart.

The automated recording welcomed everyone to the performance, announced a couple of substitutions, and then asked everyone to turn off their mobiles. There was a bit of wrestling and shuffling as people found their various devices and turned them off. Then the main lights went down and the spotlights came on, and the performance began.

Simone wasted no time comparing the performance to previous ones she’d seen in London. Not even the sound of traffic outside the park, or the occasional jumbo jet roaring overhead on its way to landing at LaGuardia, could ruin the sheer perfection of the night. The play was lighthearted, and Daria’s performance as Beatrice was pitch perfect. Unlike so many superstars, she worked well in an ensemble, perfectly willing to act as the straight woman so that other characters could get their laughs and their limelight.