“I want to wake beside you,” he continued. “I want to argue about furniture. I want your costumes in every room and your actors eating everything in the kitchen. I want you to tell me when I am becoming my father. I want enough ordinary days that they stop feeling borrowed.”
The ghost light trembled slightly as air moved through the theater.
Evelyn took the key.
“I choose the furniture.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“I have several valuable antiques.”
“You have several enormous black chairs designed to intimidate visitors.”
“They are effective.”
“They are leaving.”
Silas looked pained.
“May I keep one?”
“We will negotiate.”
He exhaled.
“A contract?”
“No.”
She slipped the key into her pocket beside the train tickets.
“A life.”
Silas looked toward the auditorium where, twelve years earlier, he had watched her perform from the rear balcony because he was too afraid to approach.
Then he looked at the woman standing before him.
Evelyn was not waiting to be rescued.
She was not a debt, a weakness, a widow, or a memory preserved for his return.
She was the owner of the Lyric Theatre.
A designer.
A survivor.
A woman capable of loving two imperfect men in different seasons of her life without belonging to either of them.
Silas understood that being chosen by her was not victory.
It was responsibility.
He extended his hand.
Evelyn looked at it.
“No disappearing?” she asked.
“No disappearing.”
“No secret payments?”
“No secret payments.”
“No armed guards without discussion?”
“Unless there is an immediate threat.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Then discussion immediately afterward,” he amended.
“No making decisions because you think you know what is best for me.”
“I will struggle with that.”
“I know.”
“But I will try.”
She placed her hand in his.
“That is all anyone can promise.”
Together, they crossed the stage.
Behind them, the ghost light continued to burn.
Ahead, Evelyn opened the stage door.
Morning had begun to reach Greyhaven. The storm clouds were breaking above the harbor, and pale gold light spread across the wet streets.
The city was still imperfect.
So were they.
But like the fractured sapphire resting against Evelyn’s heart, they had survived the darkness without forgetting the light.