“I only brought an overnight bag. Arrogance,” she said as she picked up the leather tote. “I was sure we’d be on a plane by dinner. Now, it seems, I have to see if Cordina has something sensational for me to wear to opening night.”

“You’re staying.”

“Of course. Think I can wheedle a room at the palace?”

Eve gave her a bone-crushing squeeze. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

* * *

Hours later, Eve sat at the laptop computer in her sitting room. The day had gone quickly, filled with problems to be solved, but the evening had dragged. Alexander hadn’t come back for dinner.

Bennett had been there, but even with his jokes and easy manner he had obviously been preoccupied. Reeve and Armand had also been absent. It was a family meal, with Gabriella and her children, Bennett, Eve and Chris—and the empty chairs where the rest of the family should have been. The moment the meal had been over Bennett had excused himself. The tension even his casualness hadn’t disguised remained in full force.

When Eve mentioned the work she still had to catch up on, Chris accompanied Gabriella upstairs to tend to the children. Back in her rooms, alone, Eve tried to fill the rest of her evening with work.

Her four scripts for the upcoming productions had been destroyed, but new copies had been secured before noon. There was no reason to look over them. She knew every word, every bit of staging. If it had been necessary, she could have filled in for any of her actors on opening night.

The opening was only days away, and though the cast had been understandably edgy that afternoon, rehearsals had gone well enough. The second production was almost as polished as the first, and rehearsals on the third play would begin the following week. If there were no more incidents.

The house was sold-out for the first three performances, and ticket sales were mounting steadily. Pete had even managed to come up with the props she had asked for.

She’d thought about reviewing her budget, but the idea of tallying figures had been anything but appealing. She had looked at her watch, soaked in the tub and checked the time again. It had been nearly ten when she’d sat down at the computer, telling herself that Alexander was safe and well, probably asleep in his own bed after a difficult day.

She would work. Her own plays had been destroyed. She could only blame herself for not making extra copies. Maybe it was just as well. That’s what she told herself. The first one had been too emotional and flowery in any case. The second—well, that had taken her six months and she’d barely gotten out of Act One.