Page 96 of Dream Girl Drama

Front row, of course.

Truthfully, Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted Sofia and Harvey there at all, but she didn’t currently have the energy to stop them. Or construct the boundaries that had been a long time coming with her mother. She would be erecting them soon, though. Oh yes, that day had arrived. It arrived as soon as the realization sunk in that her mother had eloped to keep her from Sig. Because while Chloe had abhorred the idea of hurting Sofia, her mother hadn’t given her the same consideration, had she? No.

So, yes. As soon as Chloe could think straight, she’d put some sturdy walls in place and keep them clearly marked.

Grace had gone to Amsterdam, leaving Chloe the keys to her penthouse, so she could continue to practice on the Harp of Destiny, which she’d come to think of as her own. Not that she’d be mentioning that to her mentor, who’d sent her a picture in the middle of the night of a cello case propped against her bedroom wall, a bra hanging from the neck. Had she reconciled with her girlfriend? It appeared so. And Chloe was happy for her, in a my-chest-is-hemorrhaging kind of way.

She was the last remaining musician on the stage now, silence settling over the rows of black leather seats. Her gaze tracked up to the chandeliers glittering above, the statues of angels and saints tucked into the ceiling’s perimeter. It was a glorious place. The hall where she’d always dreamed of performing—and she’d gotten there through sheer force of will. She’d stopped ignoring the possibilities in front of her and reached. Taken hold.

For the life of her, though, she couldn’t imagine her first performance without Sig watching from the audience. She couldn’t really imagine any performance without him present, first, tenth, or five hundredth. As much as she sharpened her craft since beginning her mentorship with Grace, she couldn’t deny there was something missing.

She played perfectly. Didn’t miss a note.

But she played without a soul.

It had been sucked clean out of her body.

Living without it—without Sig—grew more difficult by the second. And she was coming very close to slipping. Taking the train to his neighborhood and showing up at his door.One more time. I need you one more time.Or... asking him to his face if he’d been serious about Sweden. Although wouldn’t their reputations and identities follow them there? Wasn’t Sweden more of a placeholder for the concept of running away together?

“I can’t ask him to do that,” she whispered.

And she couldn’t. No more than she could disappoint Grace, the orchestra that had welcomed her with open arms. Herself. She’d earned this, hadn’t she?

Chloe rose from the stool and wandered backstage, not registering a single step. She found her purse in her assigned cubby, smiling at a group of string musicians who were congregated nearby. One of them waved her over and she held up a finger, indicating she’d join them in a moment—a moment she used to scroll through her camera roll, tapping on her favorite picture of her and Sig together. She’d taken it the first time he showed her how to use the train. He was holding on to a pole, arms crossed, quizzing her on how to make transfers, which stop would take her to the conservatory. He looked so serious, so worried, yet also... confident in her, too. Determined to help.

This love was going to break her.

Maybe it already had. And she desperately needed to feel whole again.

So she slipped.

She texted him in a rush of heartbeats and lack of breath, unable to go cold turkey.

Would the world end if she just saw him in person from a safe distance?

My first performance is Saturday night. I wouldn’t be here without you. I don’t want to be here without you. Will you come?

She hit Send and her knees almost buckled.

Just the act of reaching out to him was like being revived.

Would he answer? Would he come to the performance?

When her text hung there for a full two minutes without a response, she hurriedly tucked her phone into her purse, took a deep breath, and went to go join the group.

SIG COULDN’T BREATHE.

He cradled the phone in his hands like a glass slipper, reading and rereading the text from Chloe. Christ. She’d broken first, in terms of contacting each other, anyway. He’d driven past her apartment building a dozen times since the day of the bombshell phone call from Sofia. Not to mention, he’d called the landlord every morning to make sure she’d come home safely after walking Pierre. He’d barely managed not to call or text or show up at her door, as if he needed any more proof he should leave Boston ASAP.

His instinct was to reply to her text immediately.

To say,I’ll be there. Of course, I’ll be there.

But he had a meeting in Los Angeles on Saturday. With a potential new team.

Sig set the phone aside on his coffee table and started to pace.

Dug his knuckles into his eye sockets as deeply as they would go without blinding him.

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