She laughed. “I gave up on that long ago.”
They both kissed her cheek, and Darren reminded her once more about the couch before she closed the cab door and gave the driver her address. On good days she lived close enough to walk to work, so the cab ride was short. It gave her just enough time to text her best friend Carina.
Last show went well. Good audience. Tired. No galas tomorrow. I’m sleeping the dark day away.
Carina texted her back almost instantly.
Tired too. Late lunch tomorrow?
Brianna stared at the text, and knowing her best friend wasn’t one to take no for an answer, she typed back.
Late. Late.
Okay, sweetheart. Text me when you wake up. Give Broccoli my love.
Brianna snorted at that.
Really?
No, not really. Pezzo di merda. That was sarcasm. Look it up. Got to run. Next set.
Brianna laughed again, staring at the texts, knowing Italian for piece of shit when she saw it because Carina often used that term when referring to Brianna’s husband. Either that or Broccoli, which wasn’t any more endearing, because the two of them had decided when Brianna first got involved with David that he was like human broccoli, not very exciting, but good for her.
Boy, had they been way off with that.
Brianna wished she could’ve stuck with her hot-fudge sundae, even if he was the epitome of bad for her. Not that she’d had a whole lot of choice in the matter.
She shoved that thought down as quickly as it formed, thankful when the cab pulled to a stop, and she had the distraction of paying the driver. She left a big tip, a habit she’d picked up from Carina, despite lacking the deep pockets to support the generosity like Carina did.
She made the run to her apartment building without opening the umbrella and then stood wiping her shoes on the mat, dripping and probably looking like a drenched rat.
“Evening, Ms. Darcy,” the doorman, Greg, greeted her.
Brianna pushed her hair back, wishing she had tied it up after she washed her face in her dressing room. “Evening.”
“How was the show tonight?”
“Great,” she said with a smile. “Good audience.”
“Dark day tomorrow.”
“I know.” She sighed longingly as she fished her keys out of her pocket. “And I’m ready for the day off.”
“Is the foot still bothering you?”
Brianna stood on her toes as she opened her mailbox, testing the strain on her right foot, wondering if the injury from last month was contributing to her uncharacteristic bout with exhaustion. It hurt a bit from the lingering tendonitis, but that could just be shelved into ordinary dancer aches and pains.
“I think I may just be a little burned out.” She shrugged as she put the mail under her arm and gave Greg another smile. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
It wasn’t until she was in the elevator and she felt the dark, familiar pit opening up in her stomach that she knew her exhaustion didn’t have anything to do with work and everything to do with the absolute mess of her life outside the theater.
But she hadn’t become a headliner by shrinking back from the unpleasant things in life. Perhaps to her detriment, Brianna could suck it up and make sure the show went on better than just about anyone.
She opened her door, silently praying David was sleeping. Instead she found him sitting at the kitchen bar of their one bedroom, drinking a glass of wine. Blond hair disheveled, his broad shoulders still tense, but his Irish complexion was ruddy enough to tell her he’d drunk just enough to be an asshole, but not quite enough to make him easy to dismiss.
Fuck.
“How was the show?”
His voice was casual, which had her relaxing a bit as she closed the door and locked it. “It was fine. Tomorrow’s a dark day,” she reminded him as she set her umbrella by the door. “I need the break. Desperately.”
There was a note of pleading in her voice that she hated. She didn’t care that David had managed to lose a sizable inheritance that should’ve kept them wealthy until they died. Now, despite the two of them making more than enough to afford this apartment, they had somehow missed paying rent on the first. The one good decision she’d made in this marriage was to keep their finances separate, because they had known from the get-go their marriage was more of a business arrangement than a real partnership. She paid her half, but he wasn’t coming up with his, and she was generally ambivalent about it. At this point David’s money problems were the least of her issues with this marriage.
She had a place to stay if they got evicted. Her best friend had more money than God. Carina’s two-bedroom apartment was an obnoxious wasted space in Midtown, and the two of them had been happy roommates once before.
And that was what she reminded David of before she’d left for work this afternoon. She was done covering his ass. If he couldn’t come up with his half, then they could just part ways.