“I suppose I did,” she replied, floating forward and reaching toward the gift. Her hand paused, just short of the stems, her eyes falling on the card.
It was a vellum card, she realized. It was familiar to her.
The sketch on this one was not the Brighton shore, but the rough shape of Ship Street, with her theater boldened in double ink, wedged between the shops on either side of it. Where the card on the mantel back at Starling’s Rest readBrighton, this one, instead, readOdalisque.
“Jasper…” she breathed, her fingers touching the sides.
“Yes, love?” he replied, frowning as he noted the tremble in her fingers.
She lifted it, turning it around, hoping against hope that this one might say something a bit more concrete than simply,Felicitations.
She released a little gust of breath. A little shake of her shoulders.
This one said one word as well.
Brava.
“That’s nice, isn’t it?” her betrothed said to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her waist. “Who’s it from, you reckon?”
She swallowed and set the card back in its place, there next to the door.
“It’s from Willa,” she said. She felt the surprise reach through him, jolting through the wrap of his arm against her body. “I think I will leave it here for tonight. I think it is for considering tomorrow. After we celebrate.”
He did not ask her to explain.
He did not point out that Willa Selwyn was dead.
He only nodded and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“All right, love,” he said, stepping away only to retrieve her coat and wrap it around her shoulders. “Whatever you think best.”
She smiled up at him and released a little laugh of wonder, shaking her head. “I thinkyou’rebest, Jasper Townsend. I think you’re best for me.”
“Good,” he replied, moving to open the door. “Because you’re stuck with me now, Lib. And forever.”
Part X
A Rose by Any Other Name
Epilogue
One Month Later
Libba had beenlooking forward to closing night for the very first time in her entire life. Now that it had passed, complete with an encore run of four additional performances, she wasn’t sure she knew what to expect anymore from her most hated of all nights.
This one had been different, she considered, staring up at the ceiling in her new flat, listening to Jasper breathe next to her, steady and slow.
This one had not felt like finality. It had felt like a slope, a gliding path to the next thing she was looking forward to. It had felt like momentum rather than an abrupt halt.
And she liked that very well.
She eased from the bed to put the kettle on, sliding on her old, pink robe and knotting it about the waist. She passed by the new framed collage in their living room, leaning against the sofa just now, because Jasper wanted to swap out the playbill for one of the ones that had“Encore Performances until October 1st!”inked over the original show’s run.
She agreed. The encore flyers were a better souvenir.
She moved a stack of stage plays from the kitchen table as she arranged the teacups, yawning behind her hand as she fished the milk from the larder and blinked at the hazy morning sky.
Jasper had not enjoyedZaïreorFidileo. She loved him more for his good taste. He had enjoyedCinderellavery well, though,and thought they could adapt it to something without “all the singing,” come spring.
