Preston plucked two of the glasses from Kit’s hands and went into the front of the box. The two women were whispering but quieted as the men approached. Kit handed a glass to Lottie and retook his seat. He allowed himself one last look at Alice, who watched the play as if memorizing it, before he turned to his companion for the evening.

Edging closer, he put his lips near Lottie’s ear. “Forgive me. I was a bit out of sorts this evening, but that was not a good excuse for ignoring you.”

“You are forgiven.” Lottie smirked as she placed a hand on Kit’s thigh. “But you’ll have to make it up to me during the second half.”

He forced a smile and dropped his voice to a deep rasp. “I do love a challenge.”

Chapter Fifteen

The best time to sneak into the Fifth Avenue Hotel’s kitchen was around ten o’clock in the evening. Supper service had dwindled by that hour and the staff generally had more free moments to spare. Besides, Alice’s mother took her laudanum at eight, so by ten Mama was sleeping like the dead.

Angelo knew to expect Alice almost every night, unless she had a social engagement, and he usually had a plate of food waiting. Either an old favorite or something new he wanted her to try. She loved talking about the flavors and ingredients, trying to guess what he’d included in the recipe.

It was the one place where she could relax and be herself. And in the three days since she’d run into Kit at the opera, the kitchen was the only place she found respite from her misery.

At first, seeing him had caused her heart to swell, as if the organ had shriveled like a raisin in his absence. But he hadn’t attended alone. And once she learned where he was sitting, she hadn’t been able to stop staring as he flirted with the beautiful woman at his side. Watching had seemed like a necessary torture, one that would finally convince her heart that any feelings for him were absurd. Ridiculous. Unrequited and pathetic.

And when he left with his companion midway through the second act, Alice felt like said heart had been ripped out of her chest and stomped on by a heavy boot.

Forget him. Know your worth.

It had become her mantra. Someday it would sink in and make her feel better.

She pushed through the door at the back stairs and entered the kitchen.

“Buonasera, signorina!” Angelo called when he spotted her. In his early fifties, Angelo was shorter than most men but had more energy than anyone she’d ever met. His hair had started to gray at the temples since he moved away from Boston, so she liked to tease him that New York was making him old.