“You rebuilt the theater.”
“A great many people rebuilt it.”
“You led them.”
She looked at him.
“You are becoming alarmingly generous with credit.”
“My courses continue.”
The cast began chanting her name.
Milo leaned through the curtain.
“If you do not come out, I will tell them the chandelier almost killed me during rehearsal.”
“It did not almost kill you.”
“It expressed a strong opinion.”
Evelyn stepped onto the stage.
The applause struck her like warmth.
She saw actors, technicians, donors, neighbors, museum representatives, police officers, former creditors, and women from the costume guild. She saw her mother’s old friends crying in the second row.
In the royal box sat Mara Quinn, who had refused formal clothing and attended in a leather jacket.
Beside her was Inspector Reed.
At the end of the first row stood Silas.
He did not hide in the shadows.
He did not watch from another platform.
He stood where she could see him.
Evelyn raised one hand, and the theater quieted.
“For many years,” she said, “the Lyric survived because people loved what it had once been.”
She looked toward the restored balconies.
“But buildings cannot live entirely in memory. Neither can people.”
Silas held her gaze.
“This theater has witnessed comedy, tragedy, betrayal, courage, and more terrible singing than any historic structure should be required to endure.”
The audience laughed.
“It survived because every time someone tried to close its doors, another person arrived carrying a hammer, a costume, a cheque, a legal appeal, or an unreasonable amount of hope.”
She touched the sapphire at her shoulder.
“My grandmother said a wounded stone remembers light. I think old theaters do too.”
Applause began again.
Later, after the audience left and the final champagne glass was collected, Evelyn found Silas alone on the stage.
The ghost light burned between them.
He held two train tickets.
“Florence?” she asked.
“Paris.”
“Why Paris?”
“You said you wanted to study the costume archive at the Palais Garnier.”
“That was a passing comment.”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
“There is the alarming quality again.”
“Our train leaves tomorrow afternoon.”
“You bought tickets without asking me?”
His expression changed.
Then he held them over a candle flame from the prop table.
Evelyn seized his wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Correcting a mistake.”
“You could simply ask whether I want to go.”
“Do you?”
She took the tickets from him.
“Yes.”
Relief softened his face.
“Then the mistake is corrected.”
“Partly.”
“What remains?”
“You selected first-class seats.”
“I have standards.”
“You have habits.”
“I have survived significant financial losses. Do not deprive me of legroom.”
Evelyn laughed and placed the tickets in her pocket.
Silas looked around the empty auditorium.
“Do you ever regret staying in Greyhaven?”
“Sometimes.”
His gaze lowered.
She touched his face.
“But I no longer confuse regret with a wish to change everything.”
“And Daniel?”
“I regret what happened to him. I regret what he did. I regret what fear made of him.”
She looked toward the dark seats.
“But he left enough truth behind to stop Julian. That matters.”
Silas nodded.
“What about us?” he asked.
“We are still inconvenient.”
“I can manage inconvenience.”
“You attempted to purchase my theater, my debt, and my sapphire within one week.”
“I was emotionally unprepared.”
“You were criminally unprepared.”
“Technically, only some of those actions were criminal.”
“Your courses have failed.”
“I will request a refund.”
She smiled.
Silas reached into his pocket and produced a small brass key.
Evelyn eyed it suspiciously.
“What does that open?”
“The house on Mariner’s Hill.”
“You bought a house.”
“I bought it before remembering that decisions should be made together.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Silas.”
“It has a costume studio.”
“That is manipulative.”
“A large costume studio.”
“Extremely manipulative.”
“And a kitchen with blue cabinets.”
She tried not to appear interested.
“Why blue?”
“They resemble the sapphire.”
“That is sentimental manipulation.”
“The garden also has a separate entrance, so theater employees can visit without crossing the main rooms.”
Evelyn folded her arms.
“You planned this carefully.”
“Yes.”
“Did you plan to ask me to move in?”
“Yes.”
“Are you asking now?”
Silas looked at the key.
For a man who had negotiated shipping agreements beneath threats of war, the question appeared to terrify him.
“I would like the house to become ours,” he said. “Not because you require rescue. Not because I need to protect you. Not because I purchased it or because I believe money settles the future.”
Evelyn waited.