And Iris could only nod as Ren left, wondering what the hell she was going to say to Stevie when she saw her, how she was going to look her in the eyes.
She wandered back to the bed, staring down at her laptop, all thoughts of Tegan and Briony like nebulous vapor right now. No way she could get back to writing. She could barely even breathe.
Love.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a familiar hurt crowding around her heart. Because now that she knew about Stevie’s offer, she couldn’t unknow it. She couldn’t ignore it, and neither could Stevie.
New York.
Three thousand miles away.
But New York. The Delacorte. Even Iris knew that was huge.
Life-changing.
And Stevie . . .
Iris didn’t know what to think or feel. Instead of trying to figure it out, she dug into her overnight bag and pulled out her iPad, crawling back to her spot on Stevie’s bed. She opened up her “S & I” folder, then tapped on a blank file. For the next two hours, until she had to start getting ready for the last time she’d ever play Beatrice on stage, she drew.
She drew a curly-haired woman, amber eyes bright, arms outstretched and a beatific smile on her face, standing alone on a New York City street.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE EMPRESS WAS packed tonight. Adri had agreed to sell extra tickets, bringing in more chairs to line against the back wall, and Stevie could feel the cast’s energy the second she stepped into the dressing room backstage.
“Listen to this,” Jasper said, dramatically flipping a newspaper in his hands. Stevie saw Seattle Times written across the front page.
“?‘With a diverse and queer cast that thrusts the Shakespearean classic into a new and erotic light,’?” Jasper read, then flicked his eyes to Stevie, “?‘it is Stevie Scott as a secretly tender and wounded female-identifying Benedick that sets this interpretation apart. Alongside newcomer Iris Kelly as Beatrice, the couple emanates a nearly orgasmic tension on stage.’?”
“Let me see that,” Stevie said, grabbing the paper from Jasper. She reread the review, which also had lovely things to say about the direction, as well as several other principals’ performance. Still, her cheeks warmed, seeing her and Iris’s names side by side in the Seattle Times. She’d been reviewed in papers before, but this one felt particularly glowing. She couldn’t wait to show Iris.
“Can I have this?” she asked Jasper.
“Yes, fine, take it to your girl,” he said.
“Nearly orgasmic?” Peter said, slicking mascara onto his lashes. “Just once I want to be described that way.”
“Can’t bring it to the finish line, huh, Peter?” Zayn said, pursing their lips.
Peter flipped them off. “I mean my stage performance, asshole.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
They were still bickering back and forth when Iris finally stepped into the room. Stevie felt her entire body relax a little at the sight of her.
“Hey,” she said, working her way toward Iris. The dressing room was small, and every chair was already taken.
“Hey,” Iris said, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Stevie frowned. “You okay?”
Iris nodded, set her bag on the couch. “Just tired. I worked this afternoon.”
“Did you get a lot done?”
Iris nodded again, not meeting Stevie’s eyes. Stevie’s stomach immediately clenched up, worry fizzing into her fingertips. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Iris looked at her then. Stared, really. She canted her head and narrowed her eyes, as though waiting for Stevie to answer her own question.
“Yeah,” Iris said finally. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”
Stevie squeezed her arm. “Well, take a look at this.” She handed the paper to Iris, pointing at the review for their Much Ado.
Iris’s eyes scanned the words, a small smile on her mouth as she read. She glanced up, meeting Stevie’s gaze.
“?‘It is Stevie Scott as a secretly tender and wounded female-identifying Benedick that sets this interpretation apart,’?” she said out loud, her voice small, almost awe-filled.
Stevie waved her hand. “It’s one review.”
“It’s amazing, Stevie. You’re amazing. You know that, right?”
She said it so quietly—almost sadly—that Stevie frowned. “I think I—”
“No,” Iris said, grabbing Stevie’s hand. “You’re incredible, full stop.”
Stevie searched Iris’s eyes, which were a little glassy-looking. “Are . . . are you sure you’re okay?”
Iris inhaled deeply then smiled. And right there, Stevie saw it—that mask Iris wore, the one Stevie hadn’t seen in over a month, slide over her girlfriend’s expression.
“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.