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Back No Going Back: a Novel Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Part 1
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. Part 2
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. Part 3
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. Part 4
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. Part 5
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. Part 6
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. Acknowledgments
  82. About the Author
  83. Also by Sheena Kamal
  84. About the Publisher

I’m about to try my luck at the service entrance around back when I see a young woman approaching the club, rolling a cello case behind her. Her sleek updo is half-unraveled, but she’s in so much of a hurry that she doesn’t stop to fix it. It takes me a split second to make a decision while the bouncer is momentarily distracted by a couple in evening wear.

I reach the bottom of the stairs at the same time she does and grab the bottom end of the case.

“I got it,” she says stiffly.

“You’re late, so let’s get this over with.” I go up the stairs with my end of the case, and she has no choice but to follow.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m helping with this evening’s entertainment. I was told to wait for you.”

“Really, I can handle this.”

We bicker like this all the way up the steps and past the bouncer. I give him a breezy “We’re with the band” on my way past. He’s about to say something, about to reach out with his hand to stop us, but the cellist is closer to him and she’s wearing a silky evening gown under her open jacket. He doesn’t want to chance ruining it. It’s in this moment of hesitation that he gives up. I’m inside so fast that the cellist has trouble keeping up with me in her low heels. Once we reach the corridor I stop and pass over the case.

“Is this the right way?” she asks.

I shrug. “Sure.”

I walk away before she can protest. Like the bouncer, she misses her chance. I wish I had thought to bring a clipboard with me, because there’s nothing as invisible in a crowded room as a woman with a clipboard who is taking notes, but I had stupidly relied on Nolan to get me through this somehow.

No matter. If anyone asks, I’m prepared to tell them that I’m with the band.

No one asks, because as soon as the cellist comes striding through the door at the other end of the room, shedding her coat on an empty chair, the room goes hushed. She takes her place with the band, a rather stripped-down affair, actually. There’s the pianist, the cellist, and a female singer. From their dress and the theatrical nature of the singer’s makeup, I can tell we’re about to be treated to some opera. Looking around the room, which is filled with the most elegant people I’ve ever seen in my life, this seems fitting.