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He handed me an envelope. “What is this?”
“It was given to the box office. I think it’s from a fan.”
I’m getting fanmail already. I pushed down my flash of giddiness. I would have time for this later, when I wasn’t about to march onto stage and sing the most important song of my life. I turned around and began to toss the letter onto a nearby equipment crate…
And then I saw the script on the outside of the envelope.
Nadia
Flowing cursive letters written in thick ink. Exactly like the note the saboteur had written to Tatiana.
No. It can’t be.
I cocked my head to catch a bit of Braden’s song. I had another 30 seconds before my cue.
With trembling fingers, I tore open the envelope and removed the letter. There was only a single sentence written.
My heart sank as I read it.
55
Ryan
I climbed the stairs to the balcony section, where an usher guided me to my seat. Even though I knew where I was going, I let her do her job and thanked her when I sat down. The old man in the seat next to me glanced over, and I nodded at him and adjusted my dress tie. I rarely wore these fucking things, and this one wouldn’t stay straight.
Coming back here made me feel bitter, especially on opening night with a packed house. But I had to support my friends. Especially Nadia after everything she’d done to get here. That’s what friends did for one another: they supported them when they needed it.
Nadia isn’t just a friend.
My feelings had only accelerated since I’d been fired from the theater, like a bobsled gradually picking up speed. Being with her around the townhouse, drinking coffee and eating dinner and listening to her sing on the roof? It made me borderline infatuated with her. Nadia was the last thing I thought about when I fell asleep, and the first person to pop into my mind when I woke up.
I’d never heard of a friends-with-benefits arrangement like that.
“Who are the flowers for?” the old man next to me asked.
I glanced down at the bouquet in my hand. “They’re for a woman named none of your fucking business,” I snapped.
The man rolled his eyes and buried his nose in his program.
I glanced up at the catwalks. The other reason I was here had to do with paranoia. I had a lingering dread about the theater and the show in general. Probably since the saboteur had never been discovered. He was still out there somewhere. Hell, he was probably here, watching the show.
“Why are you here?” I asked the man next to me.
He lowered his program. “Because of nun.”
“Nun?”
“Nun,” he repeated dryly. “As in, none of your goddamn business.”
“Touché,” I grumbled.
Me simply being here wasn’t going to deter anything bad from happening. And I doubted that I would notice something screwy in time to stop it. But being here made me feel like I was in control. The illusion of being able to do something.
Hopefully it doesn’t mean I’m just a spectator to disaster.
From my spot up here in the balcony I had a level view of John Vandercant’s box to the side. He was wearing a gaudy white suit that made him easy to spot, even if I hadn’t already known it was his booth. He left the box and sat in one of the seats overlooking the theater, alongside a younger man in a suit. I squinted. The younger guy looked familiar, but it was tough to tell from here.
The lights dimmed and Andy’s voice came over the loudspeaker. I gave a start when he announced that Braden was back in the show.
