As far as I’m concerned, Toby can carve his initials into that front table. A few posts from his social media accounts, and Pemberley’s due to become the place for every techie and creative who can deign to be seen outside of Brooklyn on weekends.

I arch a brow. “Change your mind about separating business and pleasure, Andrea?”

“Never,” she says. “But he can at least explore the room. How are things down here?”

“Great,” I say, and thank Diva as she fills my glass. Jane emerges from his warm-up space in time to be handed the final flute, and suddenly all eyes are on me. Tonic turns down the music, and my butterflies still for a moment.

“How ’bout a toast from our fearless leader?” Jane suggests.

“No speeches,” I warn. “I’ll start crying and it will be ‘Rainbow Connection’ all over again.” I cast my attention around the room. “Thank you for being part of this. It’s literally a dream come true, and it wouldn’t have been possible without you. I adore you all, even if you’re kind of nasty.” This gets everyone chuckling, and I raise my glass before the tickling behind my eyes results in anything detrimental to my eyeliner. “Pop a pastie!”

“Pop a pastie!” they chorus, and we all drink.

“Alrighty.” I turn to Jane. “I’m going upstairs, but I’ll be back in time—”

“Oh, we’re not done with you yet.” Jane pulls me to his side, free arm linking with mine, and I realize that no one else has gone back to their preshow routine.

“It turns out that Ming doesn’t cross-stitch,” Jane continues. A memory flickers at the edge of my awareness. Cross-stitch?

“But,” says Ming, “Tonic does.”

Tonic steps forward holding a leopard-print gift bag. It’s long, probably meant for a bottle of wine. “It wasn’t any trouble,” she says, handing me the bag. “The challenge was finding a frame the right size.”

I nod, still clueless, and push past the pink tissue paper to pull out something in a gold-colored frame. Behind the glass is a cross-stitch with letters in the same blue-green we used to tile upstairs, the words surrounded with tiny flowers of blue-green and gold.

“Dance like nobody’s watching.” The words are a tight fit around the sudden lump in my throat. “Live like a giant piece of metal could crush your skull tomorrow.”

“Did I get it right?” Jane asks. “I was pretty muddled, but I wrote down what I could remember the next day. It felt worthy of preservation.”

“I—” I’m at a loss. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Kitten,” says Tonic. “For this opportunity. Especially after . . . everything.”

“Your costume is my thank-you,” says Ming. “But thank you, also.”

“You’ve done something special here, Kitten,” Andrea says, martini aloft. “I’m honored to be part of it.”