Piper would never know how much Olivia wanted to do exactly that. “It . . . would be better if you told him.”
There was a long pause at the other end. “All right.”
She couldn’t keep from asking. “How is he?”
“He’s not in great shape,” Piper said bluntly.
“Did he get sick? He was in the water so long, and the Chicago River isn’t exactly clean. He shouldn’t have jumped in. He— Is he all right?”
“He’s not sick. He’s quiet. I’ve never seen him quiet. Earlier today, Coop went to check on him. He said Thad looked like hell. Also, he was wearing something like bike shorts with a plaid dress shirt and black tuxedo shoes. You know that’s not right. Coop almost took him to the emergency room.”
Olivia gripped her phone tighter. “Would you . . . Maybe you could . . . I don’t know. Invite him to dinner or something?”
“It’ll take more than a dinner to fix what’s wrong with him.” Olivia heard papers rustling in the background. “Olivia, I like you, but Thad has been my friend for a long time, and I owe him my first loyalty. You’ve hurt him badly.”
But not as badly as she’d hurt herself.
She walked home from the coffee shop with her head down, eyes on the sidewalk, wishing she were invisible.
* * *
She warmed up her voice in the humidity of her shower the next morning. She tested her low range, her high, not pressing too hard, merely exploring. Unlike her heart, her gut and diaphragm felt strong and steady. She searched for the constriction that had stolen her breath. She found sadness, despair, but none of the tightness that had strangled her voice.
She got to the theater early, unable to shake the feeling that the gains she’d made would be stolen from her at any moment. She went to the piano and assessed her voice. Still steady. Maybe . . .
She finished hair and makeup. By the time she was done and on her way back to her dressing room, she was resolved. Tonight, she would give the performance she should have given on opening night. Tonight, she would reclaim herself.
And then she turned the corner.
Unlike Piper’s description, Thad looked perfectly put together—blazer, dress shirt, pants, shoes—all coordinated.
He wasn’t alone.
Sarah Mabunda, striking in her white gown as Aida, stood with him. Or rather in front of him. Or rather, between him and the wall.
Both of them turned to look at Olivia, their glances smug and dismissive. They returned their attention to each other. Sarah snaked her arms around Thad’s neck. Thad snaked his arms around Sarah’s waist. And the two of them kissed.
Not a little peck on the cheek. This was a full-on, mouth-to-mouth, grind-it-out, passionate kiss. Sarah Mabunda and Thad Walker Bowman Owens.
They made a beautiful couple.
Too beautiful.
Of all the—
* * *
The orchestra concluded the overture. Radamès and Ramfis sang about the aggression of their enemy Ethiopia. Ramfis exited, leaving Radamès alone dreaming of leadership, victory, and his beloved Aida. His beloved “Celeste Aida.”
Olivia stood in the wings, heart pounding, waiting for her entrance. Unlike Amneris, she understood exactly who Radamès loved.
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He hit the high B-flat that finished his aria, and she swept onstage, a royal princess accustomed to having whatever she wanted. She sang of her love, her passion, for this beautiful warrior. She sang from the bottom of her heart.
But all he wanted to talk about was war.
She stomped her foot. Amneris stomped her foot! She’d never stomped her foot at this particular moment before, but now she did. She was giving him her heart, and all he wanted to talk about was leading his team to victory.