There’s outrage in his tone, not all of it directed at Mr. Stewart. I can’t bear to look at Jamie’s face, not wanting to see injury there, hurt that will cause me to drift off the line.

Mr. Stewart’s face is a landscape of changing scenery and shifting planes—the flattening of the hill of his nose, the widening of the crag of his mouth. His gaze shifts to me and becomes thoughtful. “No, it doesn’t. Still, it’s not an easy life. Constant travel can be hard on the constitution. The women Charlie employs are as tough as alligators.”

“Valora’s tough, and she works harder than me. She can do an aerial somersault on the tightrope, forward and backward. She was born for the stage.”

Jamie’s words trigger a surprising flood of emotions in me, which collect in a warm pool in my stomach. I flash him a grateful smile.

“If you came with her, there would be no question. But Valora alone? No offense . . .”

The only sound is, strangely, Crawford, stirring the ice with the bottle. I suppose a good valet knows when to be silent and when a little noise is needed.

A shield-shaped mirror reflects my worried expression, my lips a hardening drip of sealing wax, my eyes almost squinting. Here it is, the chance to pull Jamie through the door, to get what I climbed through a cargo hatch for. Jamie doesn’t want to go, but he won’t refuse, not with my destiny on the line. I feel more than hear him draw a breath, as heavily as if it were dragging an anchor. Finally, the key has been presented to him, not the key to unlock Ba’s future as in my dreams, but mine.

But an almond twisted from the tree before it’s ready will always be bitter. That bitterness will seep into our relationship, eating away at it until we’re nothing but angry words and icy glares. Then we might lose each other for good. I could never let that happen to us. Maybe I have been acting like Ba. I thought what was best for me was best for him. I didn’t listen to what he wanted.

Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living. But juggling is not an act of holding tight. It’s an act of letting go—of giving the people you love the time and space to find their own orbit. And it’s an act of catching. I’ll always be there for Jamie, just as he’ll always be there for me.

The floor shifts, and the walls creak, sounding like the screech of a stage curtain slowly pulling closed.

“I—” Jamie begins, but I put a hand on his arm.