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“I think I’ll wear it tonight.” She smooths her hands across the fabric without looking at me.
“Well, I guess I should get ready too, then.” I stretch and climb out of bed to make my way to the closet.
As I pad past her, she grabs my hand. “Come with me.” Her eyes meet mine this time, with just one finger curled in a request for me to follow.
I begin to question her meaning, but she pulls me toward the door before I can ask. She grins like she’s hiding a surprise, and my legs move me forward, keeping pace with her as she retreats.
When she pushes open the door to my bedroom, a long hallway is revealed, like one from a hotel. It’s out of place, but I don’t give it a second thought. I let her guide me across the burgundy and gold carpet down the doorless corridor.
She isn’t watching me anymore. She’s focused down the hall, and when I look over her shoulder, I see where we’re headed. At the end of the long passage is a single mahogany door with an old brass handle.
Heather turns her head just enough so I can see her profile. “Chase me,” she giggles. And then she slips her hand out of mine and begins to run. Her white dress billows behind her, much like it did when she spun. I hesitate for just a second before grinning and picking up my feet to match her speed, racing her down the hallway.
She’s all laughter and playfulness as she gets to the door first, flinging it open and disappearing behind it as it closes. I grab the handle and swing it open too, expecting to see her on the other side. But it’s just another hallway, even longer than the first, with another single door at the end. Heather is already halfway down, still giggling as she runs.
I dash through the door and pick up my pace to catch her again. But she’s still faster. The same scenario plays over again as I almost grasp her hand before the next door. But just like before, she darts through without me, and I’m left to cross through alone, only to find her halfway down the next corridor again.
“Heather!” I call out to her, hoping she’ll give me a chance to reach her.
“Catch me!” she giggles over her shoulder as she opens the next door.
Hallway after hallway, we race forward. Each time, I almost catch her, but with every new door, she grows further from my reach again, and I begin to panic, wondering where she is taking me and why she is so eager to stay out of reach.
I almost yell her name again, but finally, I fly through a door to find a different setting.
I’m in a large ballroom lit with candles. Intricate gold accents adorn the walls. The floor is a cool grey marble, reflecting the flickering light from the flames. My eyes move slowly across it, taking in its expansiveness until they land at the center of the room, where a couple stands locked in an embrace.
I squint and walk quietly forward, trying to make out their identities. He’s tall. He wears a suit. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they kiss. She’s small. She wears a white sundress.
I freeze. It’s Heather’s dress. But it isn’t Heather. There’s something different about this girl. I step closer, but a heavy fog hangs in the room, preventing me from seeing who they really are. Her hands travel up his arms and to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands trace down her hips and across her gentle curves, fingers digging into the soft white fabric of her dress.
When I’m finally near enough, I notice her hair. It’s red. It falls in gentle spirals on her shoulders. It touches on a memory, but not a memory of Heather.
When they break the kiss, she turns to me. It’s an agonizingly slow reveal of her identity as she tucks her hair gently behind her ear and meets my gaze. Her big brown eyes stare apologetically up into mine.
It’s Sophie.
“I’m sorry…” she whispers.
Numbness overcomes me. It’s a sensation I remember well. It’s a sensation that has robbed me of my ability to truly feel. It’s there again, so clear and recognizable. I tear my eyes away from her and look at him. He smiles deviously with his eyes, the color of a mildly cloudy sky, all bright and dim at the same time.
Nick.
My eyes fly open, and I sit up straight in bed, breathing heavily. When I confirm I’m surrounded by my familiar hotel room in New York, I wipe my hand across my damp forehead.
I look at the clock. It’s four in the afternoon. I simply laid down for a quick nap, but I’ve never dreamed that deeply during a short stretch of sleep. And never about Sophie.
I shake my head and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I haven’t thought about Heather consciously in weeks. This project has given my mind somewhere else to go, far away from her. And even then, it wasn’t Heather herself who plagued me when the depression and anger set in. It was her betrayal. It was the way she tore my heart to pieces. It was the trauma I felt deep inside. It was the fear that it might someday happen again.
So then why was Sophie there? And why Nick?
I stand up and straighten the sheets, trying to distract myself from further dissecting my dream.
We’re two weeks into rehearsals, and I’m honestly really impressed with everyone in the cast. George and his team have put together an amazing set of talent. We’ve run through the whole show at least ten times now, and though we’ve skipped the intimate scenes so far—George wants to save the chemistry—things are feeling pretty solid.
Sophie and I run lines together in the evenings sometimes. We either meet at the studio or in my hotel room, which surprisingly, doesn’t feel awkward at all.
Tonight, the cast and crew are having a Christmas party. It’s set to be a formal, elegant event, much to the dismay of many of us who wished for a simple, casual get-together. But production has planned an upscale evening at a fancy hotel venue down the street, and with all the free food and drinks up for grabs, none of us have much reason to complain. It’s our last big group event before we all have a week off for the holiday. I’ll head home to Chicago to be with my family, and then we’ll all pick back up on rehearsals just before the new year.
