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“So do I.”

Chapter 24

Emilia

By the next morning, the news had made its way through Blackwood Hall. I was not surprised.

The proposal had been witnessed by an orchestra, a cast, and enough production staff that something so joyful was never going to remain private for long.

Margaret was waiting near the landing with a folder she had no intention of opening. She had clearly chosen the spot deliberately, which was perhaps the most Margaret thing about the entire encounter. When she saw me, she allowed herself a smile that lasted no more than a few seconds before professional composure returned.

“Dr. Rossi,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m very happy for both of you.”

“I appreciate that, Margaret.”

Blackwood Hall did not celebrate the way other places did. Nobody made a speech. Nobody organized a celebration. The Hall simply carried the happiness from one person to the next until, over the course of a single morning, it seemed everyone had quietly shared a little of it with me.

The café staff had my coffee waiting before I reached the counter. I thanked the barista, lifted the cup, and stopped. Instead of the usual leaf, someone had poured a small heart into the foam. I looked up.

The barista smiled. “Congratulations, Dr. Rossi.”

I laughed softly. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

The little heart disappeared beneath the first sip before I reached the eastern corridor, but the kindness behind it followed me through the rest of the morning.

A cellist I had spoken to exactly twice stopped me in the corridor to shake my hand with great seriousness, as though we had just signed a treaty. A retired conductor found me outside the Fellows’ Dining Room, seized both my shoulders, said “Excellent” with tremendous force, and walked away without further explanation. One of the gardeners lifted his hat to me from across the lawn. I had never spoken to him in my life. By then, every small kindness seemed to land somewhere dangerously close to tears.

By ten o’clock I had been congratulated by eleven people and had retreated into the nearest stairwell to regain possession of myself. I was succeeding only moderately when Charlotte found me, because Charlotte always found me.

She came down the stairs almost at a run, still wearing her coat, her reading glasses pushed into her hair, and carrying enough momentum that I barely had time to smile before she reached me. She didn’t say a word. She simply wrapped her arms around me and held on. The hug was fierce, entirely Charlotte, and lasted just long enough that I understood she was trying not to cry, which was making it increasingly difficult for me not to start.

When she finally stepped back, she looked at me for a long moment. “You didn’t call me.”

“It was late.”

She looked entirely unimpressed. “Emilia Rossi, that is not a defense. That is an aggravating circumstance.”

I laughed. “I thought you might have been asleep.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I was asleep.”

I smiled triumphantly. “Exactly.”

She pulled me in for another hug. “I’m still ridiculously happy for you and Alexander.” She stepped back just far enough to look at me. “Now, tell me everything!”

I told her about the rehearsal. About the orchestra. About sitting in the Blackwood Box while The Phantom of the Opera unfolded beneath us. I told her about the proposal, and somewhere in the middle I realized I was smiling so much my face hurt all over again. When I finished, Charlotte was quiet for a moment before her eyes dropped to my left hand.

“May I?”

I laughed and held it out to her. She took my hand carefully, turning it just enough for the sapphire to catch the light.

“Oh, Emilia…” she whispered. “It’s beautiful. I knew he would make the entire proposal unforgettable.” She shook her head. “I’ve written nine novels. I don’t think I could have invented a man who would think of something like that.”

“I’m beginning to think neither could I.”