Rebel Romeo (Shattered Hearts Trilogy

Book 2) Katana Collins

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/rebel-romeo-shattered-hearts-trilogy-book-2-katana-c
ollins/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Break You Hard (Rebel Hearts, Book 1) Michelle Hercules

https://ebookmass.com/product/break-you-hard-rebel-hearts-
book-1-michelle-hercules/

Wicked Beauty (Wicked Trilogy Book 2) M. James

https://ebookmass.com/product/wicked-beauty-wicked-trilogy-
book-2-m-james/

Easy (Forever Family Trilogy Book 2) Kiki Clark

https://ebookmass.com/product/easy-forever-family-trilogy-
book-2-kiki-clark/

Thief's Pride: Solar Hearts Book 2 Jenn Allen

https://ebookmass.com/product/thiefs-pride-solar-hearts-
book-2-jenn-allen/
Romeo: Book 2 M/M Mafia Romance: I'm No Gentleman Sky
Mccoy

https://ebookmass.com/product/romeo-book-2-m-m-mafia-romance-im-
no-gentleman-sky-mccoy/

Unhinged Love (Mafia Brotherhood Book 2) Elizabeth Knox

& Whiskey Rebel

https://ebookmass.com/product/unhinged-love-mafia-brotherhood-
book-2-elizabeth-knox-whiskey-rebel/

Endeavor Trilogy 2 - Starbreaker Amanda Bouchet

https://ebookmass.com/product/endeavor-trilogy-2-starbreaker-
amanda-bouchet/

The Sunset Shores (Small Town Hearts Book 2) Ivory

Fields

https://ebookmass.com/product/the-sunset-shores-small-town-
hearts-book-2-ivory-fields/

In Darkness Waits Desire (Nocturnal Hearts Book 2)

Elliott Rose

https://ebookmass.com/product/in-darkness-waits-desire-nocturnal-
hearts-book-2-elliott-rose/
Copyright © 2024 by Katana Collins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Photographer: Emma Jane Photography
Cover Model: Myles Clohessy
Cover Design: Katana Collins
Edited by: Rachel Mason
For my Patreon Members! You are the superfans and I love you for it! Becca, Melissa R., Briana, Josh, Lori, Shalah, Dawn,
Abby, Melissa M., Diamond, Jenn, Katie, Jennie, Dean, Janet, Lee Ann, Mandi, Courtney, Cathy, and Carey!
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37

About Katana
Also by Katana Collins
 CHAPTER ONE

NOT ONLY HAS Holden James broken my heart and shattered my confidence, but he also ruined Romeo and Juliet for me.
I used to think Romeo was a hero for the ages. A romantic icon. An amorous prince. When I was a kid, I’d drag my dad’s
ladder up to my bedroom and balance precariously on the top rung, reciting Juliet’s balcony scene monologue to my teddy bear,
all the while imagining who my real life Romeo would be.
If only I could go back in time, tug that naive little girl down from the ladder, and tell her the truth: Romeo was nothing
more than a recently-dumped, mushy emo-bro waxing poetic.
And Juliet was his rebound.
Juliet was level-headed before he came into her life. She was grounded. Maybe even a little cynical about love. And then
Romeo ruined her.
He didn’t mean to… but he did.
And now for the first time in my life, I stand outside of a theater dreading entering the building for our production meeting
and rehearsal.
A low voice purrs my name from behind me, pulling me out of my memory. “Katherine.”
Holden. My very own personal Romeo.
He didn’t set out to betray me… but that’s just what he did.
Twice.
I stare at the stage door. I’d already fallen on that dagger once for Holden James back in college because I believed he’d
taken the poison, too. But he hadn’t. And now, it was time for him to sacrifice.
“Katherine,” he says again. “You don’t have to come to this production meeting. My dad’s going to be there. Missy will be
there⁠—”
“I can handle your dad.”
The muscle at his jaw jumps and I can tell he’s not pleased. “What about Missy?”
I try to keep my expression neutral but he catches me with his honeyed brown eyes. The air between us crackles, igniting as
it always does when we’re around each other. Whether it’s sizzling with anger or passion, love or hatred, the strength of
emotions stir the molecules around us. The helix of anticipation braids us into one and hums below the surface like the soft
rumble of a storm in the distance.
“What about her?” I challenge.
Missy. His ex. The woman he apparently got back together with right after kissing me.
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Tell me, I silently implore. Tell me it’s not real.
“She’s over at the cafe getting a smoothie right now, but she’ll be back any minute now.”
“Great. I can’t wait to get to know her better,” I sneer.
I sound like a snotty brat and I don’t even care. I’m about to enter a production meeting for my first ever Broadway show. A
Broadway show where the director is my first love from college who broke my heart. And the producers are his father and
Holden’s girlfriend.
I’m walking into a lion’s den completely unarmed.
“Tell me something,” I say. “Did you know you were getting back together with her before or after you went down on me?”
“Katherine,” he growls a warning, but I don’t heed it. Not this time. “You know the answer to that.”
But I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore. I step further into his body, narrowing my eyes at the man that used to melt my
heart with a single, heated glance in my direction.
“Your grandfather’s ring looks good on her,” I say, glaring at him. We both know what that ring symbolizes for him. The
memory from my freshman year of college comes rushing back to me.
I giggled and took his hand, pulling it close to my face to examine his ring closer. “So, what kind of heirloom is this?
Are you going to, like, give this to the woman you plan to marry someday?” I glanced up and caught the heated way he
stared down at me from where I bent over his hand.
 My heart lurched as I skimmed my fingers gently across the back of his hand, pretending, if only for a second, that he
was mine. That this was my hand to hold.
He snorted a laugh that was anything but humorous. “This hideous thing? The only way I’d give this to a woman as a
gift was if I secretly hated her.”
The very ring Missy now wore on her thumb was the ring he’d told me he’d only give to a woman he secretly hated. That
couldn’t be a coincidence. He couldn’t have forgotten.
His gaze flashes as it snaps to mine and our breaths syncopate for a long moment before he says, “You know what that ring
means to me.” And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a tilt to his lips.
It’s not what he’s saying, but what he isn’t saying that increases my suspicions.
Whatever this is with Missy, it’s not what it appears. I don’t know why he’s in this fake relationship with her or why he
can’t just tell me right now that we’re here alone, but something’s up.
And I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Even if the truth pulverizes the already broken shards of my heart into pure dust.
 CHAPTER TWO

HOLDEN SITS STRAIGHT and tall at the head of the production meeting table. “What if I refuse to be an actor in my own show
I’m directing?” He stares straight at his father.
Though it’s not exactly a question, one brow lifts in a subtle display of challenge. He pauses, with a quick look at Amy, our
composer and playwright. “You might have found a loophole in Amy’s contract that forces her to change her script. But I
combed through my contract last night and it’s ironclad.” A confident smirk splays on his face and he folds his hand on the
table. “Thanks for the lawyer recommendation, Dad.”
Senator Erik Dorsey, Holden’s dad, doesn’t shift his expression. Like the stone-faced man I’ve always known, he keeps his
cards close to his vest.
The silence at the table is tense.
After a slow sip of his coffee, Senator Dorsey quietly arranges a stack of paperwork beside him into a pile, before looking
Holden square in the eyes. “If you’re not going to act in your show, then how do you propose we fix that very public punch you
delivered to your leading man’s face last night?”
I slide a glance at Nolan sitting next to me and note the swollen purple and red bruise that bloomed overnight on his tense
jaw. The muscle jumps like he’s gritting his teeth and I slide my hand over his beneath the table and give it a friendly squeeze.
Nolan blinks and looks at me, his eyes softening. I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way.
On one hand, Holden shouldn’t have punched him.
On the other hand, Nolan shouldn’t have kissed me after our performance without my consent.
But he apologized. And what’s more, I believe his apology.
We also still have to work together for the foreseeable future. Especially now that I officially signed the contract. I’m stuck
working for Holden as his leading lady for a minimum twelve-week performance run… or until the show ends. Whichever
comes first.
I’ve seen Broadway shows close within a week if the reviews are bad.
Please, God, don’t let the reviews be bad.
As terrified as I am to work so closely with not only Holden, but his girlfriend, Missy, I’m more terrified of having to go
back to slinging coffee as a barista at the coffee shop.
Yep, working with Holden as my director is hard enough. But God help me if I also have to act alongside him again. Being
on a stage with Holden as my leading man nearly shattered me once.
This time, I’m sure it would ruin me.
My fears are interrupted by my blaring ringtone and the entire production table goes still, glaring at me as I dig my phone
out from my bag. My sister’s name lights up my screen.
Mallory’s calling me? That’s weird. She hardly ever calls me.
I silence it, placing it face down on the table beside my tea. “Sorry,” I mutter.
Fury flashes in Holden’s gaze, before he turns back to his dad. “Well considering that story didn’t seem to make it into any
of the news outlets today, I think we’ve pushed them off the scent. For now, at least.”
“Right,” Erik Dorsey says, narrowing his eyes at his son. “Because they think it was part of the show. When they find out
you’re not actually in the show, I’d bet a thousand bucks pictures of that punch will surface again.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Holden says and something in his voice catches, making my pause. “But even if it did, by then⁠—”
Bzzzzzzz. My phone vibrates against the table and even though I technically turned the ringer off, the buzzing is somehow
even louder than the actual ringtone.
“Shit,” I say and silence it once more.
Senator Dorsey points to the door. “Go,” he snaps. “Take it outside.”
Not wanting to argue or cause more of a scene, I slip out the door and answer my sister’s second call. “Mallory, this a
really bad time,” I say as I shut the door behind me.
“Dad’s in the hospital,” Mallory says, cutting me off.
 My heart turns to ice in my chest. “What?” I gasp. “What happened?”
I suddenly feel like I’m standing at the top of a mountain, with high altitude and very little oxygen. I gulp in as deep a breath
as I can, but I can’t seem to fill my lungs.
In the background, my niece, Avery, cries and my sister shushes her. I can almost picture her, baby bouncing on her hip,
pacing in the lobby of our small emergency room in Indiana.
“He’s had this cough for a long time,” she says. “Like, a really long time. Mom’s been badgering him to get it looked at.
Late last night, he started coughing up rust-colored blood. They admitted him really late and found a spot on his lungs.”
Mallory’s voice trembles and I hear the faint sounds of sniffling as she pauses.
“Cancer,” I whisper.
Those fucking cigarettes.
I begged him to quit smoking. For years. Decades even. Mom banned smoking from the house. Forced him to only smoke
out in his shed.
“And even then, I’d better not smell a damn trace of nicotine on you when you come inside!” she’d yell. He even bought
himself a smoking jacket. Like some sort of villain from the 1800s.
“We don’t know that yet,” Mallory cried. “We don’t know it’s cancer.”
“Like hell we don’t. It’s fucking cancer, Mallory. The sooner we all admit it, the sooner⁠—”
“We?” Her laugh was a bitter cackle. “In order for this to be a ‘we’ situation, you’d need to actually be here.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper. “He’s still my dad, too. Even if I’m halfway across the country.”
“Yeah. Well, he’s having a lung biopsy this week, if you want to actually be here for your family.”
This week.
I have rehearsals almost every day. I’m working equity hours, for equity pay now and I don’t have an understudy yet. I
didn’t even know if I could take the time off. New shows like this were volatile, even with an ironclad contract, which mine
was certainly not considering I’d signed it on a whim without having a lawyer look over it.
Which means I’m pretty sure that if they found a good reason to, they could still replace me. That’s how Sutton Foster got
her start. She was the understudy who filled in on a preview night. And she was so good, the original lead got the boot and no
one ever looked back.
“When is the surgery?” I ask.
“We don’t know. He’s on some list for the next available surgeon, but they want to do it as soon as possible. Maybe later
today or tomorrow.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to think. I could at least afford the plane ticket home now that the show covered my
rent for the year.
It’s simply a matter of whether or not Holden will give me a couple days off. “I just—I have to talk to my boss and see if I
can take a couple days off.”
“I’m sure the coffee shop can manage without you.”
My heart bottoms out to my stomach. “Mom didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m in a show. A big show. It opens on Broadway in a few weeks.”
The line goes silent for a few breaths and if it hadn’t been for the sounds of Avery playing in the background, I would have
thought our line disconnected.
After another second, Mallory finally says, “I didn’t know that was… still happening.”
Real. She was going to say real, but caught herself.
“Well… it is. But I’m going to try, Mal. I swear. I’m going to try to get down there.”
Even though she doesn’t sigh, I can hear the urge to in her voice. “It’s fine, Kate. Just… come visit when you can. Soon.”
“I’ll talk with—” I almost say Holden, but stop myself. Mallory knows all about Holden. Or rather, too much about
Holden. And I don’t want to get into that right now. “I’ll talk with my director and get back to you today. But can you text me
Dad’s room number? I want to call him.”
“Yeah. I’ll text it to you.” She pauses. “Kate? Really try, okay. It would mean a lot. To everyone.”
I hate her implication that under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t really try. But then again, getting home to the town I ran
away from and the family I’d disappointed has never been much of a priority for me. So I guess I also can’t blame her for that
statement. “I’ll try, I swear. I’ll do everything I can.”
After we hang up, I slowly make my way back into the theater and I’m shocked to find the meeting already over. Nolan’s on
stage, warming up with Amy.
“Katherine,” Holden’s voice booms from the back row of the seats. “You’re late.”
“How can I be late to something that didn’t have an official start time?” I challenge, grabbing my bag and warm tea from
the since abandoned production meeting table.
I take a sip of the lemon-ginger black tea, letting the much needed hit of citrus and caffeine encase me like a security
blanket.
“Our official start time was after the meeting ended. And you weren’t here for that. According to equity guidelines, you get
docked for fifteen minutes of pay, even if you’re one-minute late.”
I narrow my eyes, my grip on the paper cup tightening. “You know, I think Actor’s Equity Alliance would like to hear about
the standards of which these rehearsals have been running.”
Because the truth is, even though I wasn’t yet contracted with the show for the previous two weeks of rehearsal, Holden
was working me longer than Equity guidelines allow without breaks.
And based on the flash in his amber eyes, he damn well knows that fact, too.
Senator Dorsey appears between us, with a briefcase clutched in his hand. He wears his slimy politician smile as easily as
he wore his Brooks Brothers suit. “Oh, Holden. I think today’s rehearsal was an extenuating circumstance wouldn’t you say?
We can let this lateness slide. Just this once.”
With that, Senator Dorsey glides out the door. I glare after him as the door shuts behind him. Sliding in to pretend he’s a
good guy saving the day for me? His tactics don’t fool me.
He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing and Holden and I both need to keep our eyes on him.
Holden’s jaw ticks, the muscles taut like a pitbull’s. “Start warming up with Nolan,” he says. And with that one statement,
I’m dismissed.
I give a curt nod, dropping my things in a chair in the audience before turning to head to the stage.
“And Kate?” He doesn’t wait for me to turn to look at him before saying, “Don’t be late to another one of my rehearsals
again.”
I don’t know what brought about this aggressive change in his tone toward me. But it sure as hell is going to make asking
for a couple days off from rehearsal that much harder.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, my voice so low, I’m not sure he hears me.
After a long beat, he responds, “No. It’s a fact.”
 CHAPTER THREE

HOLDEN
Five years ago…
My mother was talking to Katherine outside of her dorm rooms. My mother. With Katherine. After Katherine
mysteriously quit our show and was trying to transfer out of the class entirely.
No. This couldn’t be happening to me again. My parents promised after Megan that they would never interfere with my
love life again—and my mom didn’t know half the shit my dad pulled with that relationship. I hadn’t believed them, either
of them, which was why I avoided anything other than a random hook up here and there.
But here we were again. Despite the fact that my mom had drunkenly expressed such regret over how she treated Megan
just a few days ago.
It was all bullshit.
Typical Dorsey political manipulation, even with their own son.
Maybe especially with their own son.
How did my mom even find Katherine? I’d been so careful not to mention any girl in my life…
Shit. That conversation with my mom. She’d been drunk but I’d talked about a friend in my theater class. A talented
freshman. We only had two freshman girls in that whole class… Bailey and Katherine.
What were the chances my mom found Katherine this fast?
The chances were better than these two running into each other accidentally, that was for sure.
Seeing red, I marched over to them not sure of what I was going to say. Hell, I wasn’t really thinking much of anything.
“Take the check,” Mom said.
“I don’t want your money,” Katherine snapped. “I don’t want another penny from your family.”
I nearly stumbled over the sidewalk at that. Another penny from our family? Had she taken a payoff from my mom
before? Or did she know? Did she know I was her secret buyer, asking for things from her that I should never want, let
alone be paying her for.
“In fact,” Katherine said, continuing. “I had quit the show with Holden this morning, but just because you thought you
could buy me off? I’m emailing the professor right now to rescind my resignation.” Katherine yanks her phone from her
purse and starts typing.
“You have to trust me, this is for your own good,” my mom pleaded with her. “This is one part. One class. All you need
to do is stay away from my son⁠—”
“Mom!” I shouted and she jumped, nearly tipping over on the kitten heels she was teetering on.
“Holden!” Mom clasped the collar of her silk button down shirt. “You scared me.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, stepping between her and Katherine.
Her eyes darted between Katherine and me. “I-I’m here to see you, of course!” Mom held out her arms to hug me. “I
wanted you to see I was okay despite our little chat the other night.”
“Uh-huh.” I let her hug me regardless, though I didn't hug her in return. Instead, I yanked the check from her hand and
held it up between us. “And what’s this? What was all that talk the other night about your regrets? About how much you
wished I would find someone special?”
I glanced at the check, written out to Katherine Harris for ten-thousand dollars.
Holy shit.
The fact that Katherine didn’t take that money, when I knew how badly she needed it, spoke so highly of her character. I
had no doubts Addison would have taken that check in a heartbeat, just like Megan did.
Mom winced as I threw her own words back in her face. “I did mean that. I do regret what we did to Megan and I want
you to find someone.”
“Just not me,” Katherine said, deadpan, folding her arms. Then she looked at me. “Like mother, like son, huh?”
I did a double take at Katherine. “One crazy thing at a time, please.” Then I turned back to my mom. “Go home, Mom.
Go back to dad and to your martinis and your club and stay out of my love life. And feel free to pass that message onto
Dad, too.”
Mom looked briefly hurt. “Your father doesn’t know I’m here. But trust me, be happy I’m the one here and not him. He
won’t be nearly as generous with his offer.”
I glared at my mom. He didn’t just give Megan money. He destroyed her. He wanted me to see once and for all just how
untrustworthy she was…
And he proved his point well. Too well.
Because it also revealed how truly awful he was.
I glanced back at Katherine, holding up the check. “Do you want this?” My throat burned with the question. I wouldn’t
blame her if she took it. She wasn’t Megan. And Megan didn’t only take a payoff. She broke my fucking heart; she and my
dad obliterated me, ensuring we’d never ever get back together again.
“No,” Kate hissed, her blue eyes like ice.
Relief twisted through my core, but I held in my sigh. Instead, I tore the check up, tossing the pieces at my unflinching
mother. “Well, there’s your answer. And next time you’re too drunk to function, call someone else to take care of you.”
“Holden—”
Mom’s voice broke, but I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”
Like a dejected child, Mom turned and walked back to her car, leaving Katherine and me standing there outside her
dorms.
I turned back to face Katherine, ignoring the loud engine of my mom’s BMW as she started the car and peeled away
from us. The breeze caught her long blond waves and whipped them across her face. Tentatively, I reached out, brushing the
errant strand from her face and tucking it behind her ear. She shivered with my touch as I asked, “Were you really going to
quit the show?”
She blinked, slowly looking up at me. “I was, yeah. Until your mom offered me money to quit. Stupid pride.” She
paused, holding up her phone to show me the email she’d just sent to McCay asking if it was too late to reverse her
quitting. “I should have taken your mother’s dingdang money for something I was doing anyway.”
I smirked. “But you don’t like being told what to do.”
Her cheeks tinged pink. “No, I don’t.”
Unless it involves me bossing her around and buying her panties, I thought.
To date, I’d paid her over two thousand dollars for various sexy things. And she liked every second of it, even if she
didn’t realize I was her secret buyer with a drawer filled with her used panties beside my bed.
“Don’t quit,” I pleaded.
Great. Now I was reduced to begging. Fucking begging Katherine to stay on as the lead in this show with me.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you were born to play this role. Because you are Big-Juliet-Energy if I’ve ever seen it. Because if you quit,
I’m going to be forced to act with Addison as my Julie.” Right then, something occurred to me. She didn’t quit because of
my mom… which begged the question, “Why did you quit in the first place?”
Her gaze snapped up, flames flickering in the center of her eyes. “What did you say?”
“I asked why you qui–”
“Not that. About Addison getting my part.”
I sighed. “Yeah, Addison is now officially your understudy. So if you quit, I have to do this whole show with her as my
Juliet.”
She wasn’t my Juliet. She would never be my Juliet.
Kate’s nostrils flared and she nibbled the inside of her cheeks as she looked down at her phone and pressed the send
button with her thumb. The email sent with an airplane whoosh sound. “Fine. I won’t quit.”
“Because you’re jealous.”
“No,” she snapped.
I fought my smirk and lost. “You are. You’re jealous at the thought of Addison and me doing these scenes together.”
“I’m protective of the part I’ve grown to love. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh. What’d you expect? You’d quit and they’d cancel Keith’s show entirely?”
I waited for her to answer, but before she did, it came to me. “Wait… you thought I’d quit, too, didn’t you?”
She spun a hundred eighty degrees and booked it upstairs toward her dorm. I was on her heels, following up those
stairs taking two at a time. “Come on, talk to me. If it wasn’t because of my mom offering you money, why’d you quit?”
She whipped around, glancing over each shoulder to make sure we were alone. “Bought any good panties lately,
Light?” she hissed, using the username I created to secretly buy her panties from her.
It was my turn to go white as a sheet. I stood there dumbfounded. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” she whispered, then leaned in closer to me. “You’re a liar. A disgusting liar.”
 She knew.
She not only knew that I was her buyer… but she knew how fucked up and depraved I really was. This was why I didn’t
want to date her. This was why I tried to stay away and didn’t even want to be her friend. Because I desecrate everything
that comes in my path. I ruin things. Destroy them. And what I manage not to ruin? My family will.
“Kate, I’m sorry,” I croaked as shame heated my face. “I wanted to tell you, I swear⁠—”
But she didn’t let me finish. She shouldered open her dorm door and scowled deeper at me. “I’ll see you at rehearsal
Holden.”
Then she slammed the door in my face.
 CHAPTER FOUR

REHEARSAL WAS GOING WELL. Was being the operative word.

Nolan and I are right in the groove. Our eye contact was unflappable. Partially, I think all my extra rehearsals and late
nights have paid off and partially, I think we’re both so relieved that Holden won’t be written into the show, acting with us that
we’re even more on top of our scenes than usual.
I don’t know how he did it, but Holden had talked his dad out of that plan while I was outside taking the call from my sister.
My bare feet brush the cool floor of the stage and I’m so grateful that Maggie sweeps and mops before every rehearsal.
Since the show is supposed to mostly take place in our apartment, we rarely wear shoes, opting for the realism and comfort
most people have in their own homes.
Our lines are natural, our movements fluid. If you didn’t know us, you wouldn’t even guess we are acting.
As Nolan reaches out a hand to brush the hair off my face, the back door of the theater slams open, hitting the back wall
behind it.
We both startle at the sound and break character, looking out into the audience as the click of stilettos grow louder and
louder.
Missy.
In a skintight purple dress that matches the hue of her eyes, Missy stands at the edge of the stage, staring up at us with a
smirk on her scarlet painted lips. After taking a long slurp of her smoothie, she says, “Keep going. Don’t mind me.” Shaking the
empty cup, she drops it into the trashcan at the front of the stage, then takes a seat in the front row.
Nolan’s jaw twitches as he looks back to me. He’s noticeably bothered by her being here, but the moment he touches my
face again, the stress recedes from his features.
Just like that, he’s back in the scene.
God, I envy him.
With a sad smile, he recites his next line. “You’re still beautiful to me. Even with red rimmed eyes and tears staining your
cheeks.”
I maintain his eye contact and fight the urge to fidget with my fingers. Instead, I busy them by gripping Nolan’s waist.
It’s not a movement that Holden gave to me in this scene, but it’s grounding me to hold onto him. To clutch him. To remind
me that I’m not Kate standing in a theater with my ex-boyfriend and his supposed new girlfriend.
I’m Skyler. A woman who struggles with intimacy on every level.
Shit. That’s exactly why she—I—wouldn’t grasp onto Nolan in this scene.
I immediately release my hold from his hips and drop my hands at my sides once more.
There’s a soft noise that comes from Nolan… the tiniest clearing of his throat.
It’s supposed to be my line. Dammit. I know it’s my line and yet here I am biding way too much time between.
“You say that n⁠—”
A soda can cracks open and the noisy fizzing interrupts me mid-sentence. I stand there, mouth still open with no words
coming out.
The sound of Missy taking a long, slurping sip from her Diet Coke grates against my nerves.
I slide a glance at her, sitting in the front row beside Holden. Diet Coke in one hand while the other slides up his thigh.
My eyes lock on that hand as my heart twists sharply in my chest. Jealousy’s a monster that rarely rears her ugly, green
head, but I hate the gnawing feeling, as foreign as it is.
My gaze lifts to meet Holden’s eyes, the devastating heat in them more familiar than they should be. Goosebumps lift on my
body as his tongue darts out and he wets his lips.
“It’s your line, Katherine,” he says knowingly. The quiet rasp of his voice rumbles across the acoustics of the theater. Low
and growly, it’s sexy in a way that isn’t trying and it burrows inside me, curling around my spine.
The fact that he can still turn me on without laying a finger on me, even with another woman’s hand on his thigh, pisses me
off to no end.
 Except it’s not Holden I’m mad at. It’s me. The fact that I let him get into my head. The fact that I let him affect me—affect
my performance.
Tension twists through my gut, but I grit my teeth and force my attention back to Nolan. “You say that now,” I try again with
my line, but it’s stilted. I’m stilted. Holden and Missy are in my head and I’ve lost the raw, natural emotion that Nolan and I
had in this scene two minutes ago.
The curtain has dropped. The magic has fallen.
I clear my throat and rub my hands over my eyes and try again. “You say that now, but when is weakness ever beautiful?”
Fuck. It’s not good acting, but at least I got my line out.
I hate how easily I’m distracted. I’m flappable. I hate how when one little thing goes wrong in the audience, my focus
completely shatters.
Did I expect for a full Broadway audience to be silent throughout our entire performance? No. Of course not. There would
be whispering and laughs and gasps and, hell, probably even a few cell phones going off.
That’s what live performances are all about. I used to be able to act through anything. I used to have intense focus.
Until Holden.
Holden ruined it.
Ruined me.
Nolan pulls me closer to him and I both envy and admire him for being able to stay with the role so easily, especially
considering Missy is his ex-girlfriend, too. “Crying isn’t weak. If anything, being vulnerable is the bravest thing you could ever
do.”
I’m supposed to wriggle away from his hold as Holden had staged for me to do.
But it doesn’t feel like enough.
Not for the pain and jealousy and anger bubbling deep inside me. The anger and resentment of having to see Missy and
Holden together every day if I want my dreams of performing on Broadway to come true.
It’s not fair.
It’s not fucking fair.
With a frustrated growl, I yank my arms away from Nolan and shove his shoulders.
Hard.
Too hard.
He isn’t ready for the intense change of blocking and he stumbles backwards, his heel catching on the corner of the bed.
“What the—ow!” he shouts.
He falls to a seat on the bed and cradles his foot.
“Oh my God.” I rush over to him, falling to my knees. “What have I done? I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“What the hell, Slugger?” Nolan laughs as he speaks, but he can’t hide his wince either. As much as he’s trying to not show
it, it’s obvious he’s in pain.
I glance down at his heel to find a massive splinter poking out.
Holden is on the stage beside me in seconds.
“What the fuck was that, Kate?” he asks as he drops to kneel beside me in front of Nolan. “You were supposed to pull away
from him and cross stage left. Not shove him halfway across the room.”
“I’m fine,” Nolan says. “It’s just a little splinter.”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, standing up. “I was… I was trying something.”
It’s a lame excuse. I know it. Nolan knows it. And Holden knows it, too.
Holden sighs and without looking at me, steps back as Maggie and a couple other people race up the stage with a first-aid
kit in hand.
I follow him by backing up. They definitely don’t need my help in this.
I feel horrible. What sort of novice idiot shoves her acting partner without him being ready for it?
I scan the room and Missy is still in her seat. She’s the only person who hasn’t gotten up to check on Nolan.
It’s dark in the audience and I convince myself that I’m not seeing the smirk that I think I do on her face.
Up until Missy arrived, I’d been doing so well. Even with all the curveballs. Even with my dad.
But right now it feels like I’m back at square one, and Holden’s disappointed glare confirms as much.
I look back to Nolan just in time for him to catch my eye and give me a soft smile and a quick wink. His way of letting me
know he’s okay and no hard feelings. But it doesn’t make me feel much better.
Especially not when Holden takes my elbow and guides me offstage into the wings. “Kate, come with me.”
Kate.
Not Katherine.
Kate.
Funny how him calling me by my full name used to be such a trigger for me… now I look forward to it. It’s like a little hit
of dopamine every time he calls me Katherine. Like our own secret language of praise and intimacy.
“What the hell was that?” Holden asks once we’re out of sight and earshot of everyone else.
“Like I said, I was trying something.” I do my best to hold firm; to stick with my story. I can’t let him know how much he
and Missy are affecting me.
But just like every other moment, Holden knows me. He knows me better than I even know myself most days. And the
undercurrent of tension and anxiety is palpable within me.
“You can’t do this,” he cautions, raking his hands through his hair. With a pause, he goes to touch his grandfather’s spinner
ring, his nervous tick, but it’s no longer there on his finger.
It’s on Missy’s.
And we both go still as the moment washes over us.
Tension knots in my shoulders and even though I do my best to release my breath slowly, it comes out as an impulsive huff.
“Fine. I won’t improvise my blocking. Happy now?”
“That’s not what I mean. You can’t let Missy’s presence throw you off like that again. It showed. It showed too much.
Between that and you being late to rehearsal⁠—”
“I was late because I stepped out to take that call that your dad told me to go outside and take! How was I supposed to
know you had finished the meeting and were beginning rehearsal? Maggie could have come and gotten me.”
“That’s not the point! You can’t put me in a bad situation like that. I can’t treat you differently because we’ve…” His words
fade and with a cough, he tries again. “Because we have history.”
He’s not wrong. And it pisses me off to no end. “I’m not expecting any special treatment,” I grind out through my clenched
jaw.
Aren’t I, though? I was planning to ask for a couple days off to visit my dad in the hospital before this little kerfuffle
happened. Does that fall into the ‘special treatment’ category?
My stomach churns and somehow, impossibly, I’m both hot and cold all at once.
“Kate?” Holden’s voice may sound concerned and his eyes may hold pity, but I can hardly see either with the tunnel vision
closing in around me.
He grabs my hand and holds it tightly within his. “Katherine, Focus.”
Katherine.
My name on his lips is a balm for my soul.
“I need you to get back in the scene with Nolan,” he continues. “To put aside whatever is going on in your life and focus.”
“Even if it’s you?” I whisper, then lift my gaze slowly to glare back at him. “Even if you are whatever is going on in my
life?”
His gaze is steady. Unflinching. “Yes. Even then.”
Emotion rises in my throat, clogging it. “What if I can’t pretend that I don’t have feelings for you? That I don’t know exactly
how you like your coffee? That I haven’t stayed awake just to watch you sleep or that this little line of stress appears when
you’re deep in thought.” I reach up to run my fingertips across the crease in his forehead.
For the briefest moment, Holden’s eyes drift closed and he leans into my touch, a shiver clenching his body. And despite
everything, despite how utterly pissed off I am, I still find myself wanting to lean forward, close the gap between us, and kiss
him.
Shuffling and noise from the stage tells me that Maggie and Nolan are wrapping up their first aid and Holden pulls back
from me, abruptly, his voice harder than his jawline. “You have to, Katherine. You have to move on from me.”
“And what if I… what if … I-I… can’t.” The words are short and breathless coming from me. I’m not sure what a panic
attack feels like, but I’m pretty sure I’m having one right now.
Holden glides his hand in reassuring strokes up and down my forearm. “Breathe with me, Katherine. Come on. You can do
this. In, two, three, four…”
My heart slams into my ribcage as I attempt to inhale with him.
“Hold, two, three, four,” he says, repeating my own breathing exercise back to me that I’d taught him years ago.
I blink as a blurry Missy comes into view from over his shoulder. She still sits in the front row, sipping her Diet Coke, with
her eyes trained right onto me.
Onto us.
Glaring with hatred.
“Out, two, thre–”
“No.” I wrench my hand out of his grasp and even though I’m still a little lightheaded, I step away from him. “Are you
seriously walking me through the exact breathing exercise I taught you?”
I want to add, In front of your judgy girlfriend? But at the last minute, I decide not to. How the hell am I supposed to act in
this show with Holden as my director while she’s here scrutinizing my every move?
Holden’s expression sinks, genuinely confused. “You said that breathing exercise worked for you. That you would use it to
center⁠—”
“Well, that was years ago,” I snap. “A lot has changed.”
“Clearly.” Holden’s nostrils flare and he pulls his hands away from me, clamping them to his hips. “Look, I don’t care how
you do it, but pull yourself together and get back out there. I’ll give you until the time it takes us to finish getting Nolan
bandaged up.”
He storms past me, his shoulder knocking into mine as he stalks away.
As he disappears off the stage, I don’t feel strong and independent. I don’t feel like I gave him any piece of my mind. I feel
like I’m right back to being the eighteen year old virgin again, chasing after the guy who’s so far out of my league, we’re not
even playing the same sport.
 CHAPTER FIVE

ALL IN ALL, the rest of rehearsal goes fairly smoothly considering how bad the first half was. I’ve certainly had worse, both
within this show and outside of it.
I even manage to ignore Missy, even though she’s in the front row and interjects her opinions constantly.
Should she really stand there?
Will Kate be in heels? She’s so much shorter than Nolan.
She’s going to need highlights before opening. The stage lights really dull her hair color.
And though it isn’t my most rousing performance, under the circumstances, I’m proud of myself that I was even able to
stumble through that scene amidst all of Missy’s snide comments.
Holden claps his hands together. "Okay, guys. I know that was a slog of a rehearsal, but I'm proud that we all got through it.
Go home and get some rest. We'll start again in the morning."
My feet cement in place. Does this mean I don't have a private rehearsal today?
In some ways, I should feel excited for this. It could mean that Holden finally sees how far I’ve come and that I don't need
the extra work.
But deep down, I know that's not true. Especially based on today and his reaction to my performance. If anything, today’s
rehearsal would have demonstrated just how much more work I do need.
My stomach turns because deep down I know that him canceling our private rehearsals has more to do with Missy being
here than anything about me.
I stay rooted at center stage for a long moment before Holden’s brows lift pointedly at me. “You’re dismissed.”
With those two words, he turns his back on me and crosses the stage to talk to Amy.
I’m dismissed.
Truer words have never been spoken.
Numb, I follow Nolan off the stage and grab my bag from where I’d left it in the theater. Inside, I pull out my phone to see
that there are nine new text messages that I missed while in rehearsal.
Most are from my sister. A couple are from my mom. And every single one of them makes me feel like the shity daughter I
am.
Because I know there is no universe in which I can ask for time off to visit without losing this opportunity of a lifetime.
But I also know that if I don't go down to see my dad, the guilt will eat me alive.
A feminine voice just in front of me nearly startles me enough to drop my phone. "You seem distracted today.”
I look up to find Missy towering over me, all long legs and flowing raven hair.
And me. Short, stubby, dull-haired Kate.
I can't help but feel inferior when I'm simply in the room with her. But being in front of her like this, the juxtaposition of our
differences is intensely jarring.
"Excuse me?” I ask. I’m not sure I hear her correctly. Because why in the hell would Missy Howl be asking about me in any
concerned way?
"I said you seem distracted today. Is something wrong?”
This a trap, right? It has to be a trap.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Since when do you care about my performance? Or me for that matter?”
"I don't care about you per se. I care about the show. And since this is my first time producing, I care about how it turns
out. Holden and I can't have our names on something that turns out to be a piece of shit. So I'll ask again. Is something wrong?”
I'm screaming inside. I want to shout at her that yes, something is definitely wrong. Obviously something is wrong. My
fucking ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend is watching my every move in my debut broadway performance and commenting on my
height and hair color and chemistry with her other ex-boyfriend. I don't know a single soul who would not be affected by that.
Instead, I simply smile.
It's tight and forced, but I manage regardless. "Nothing's wrong,” I say just as my phone buzzes with another text from my
sister. I glance down just in time to catch Dad’s room number at the hospital before the screen fades to black.
Lavender eyes assess me, and sweep down my body before meeting my gaze again. “It doesn’t look like nothing’s wrong.”
Missy says, crossing her arms. “Is this about Holden and me getting back together?" The tiniest smirk curves against her ruby
lips, but I’m not sure if she meant for me to see it.
She knows exactly what she's doing. She's calculating and shrewd and vengeful and if I didn’t hate her so much, I might
even be impressed.
Of course it fucking bothers me that she and Holden are back together. My eyes land briefly on Holden's grandfather's ring
on her thumb. The ring that I know symbolizes all that he hates in this world.
So why the hell does she want me to admit that their dating bothers me? Is she really this sadistic? Whatever her reasons, I
can't let her get the satisfaction of seeing this bother me. Not for a second.
I roll my shoulders back, and stand taller.
Hell, even if I were wearing four-inch heels, I would still only come up to her chin.
I may not be as tall as her. I may not have as much experience as her. Hell, I may not even be as confident as her, but I can
sure as hell fake it.
Fake it.
Isn’t that what Holden’s been trying to get me away from? Disingenuous, fake acting. All this time, all this work has been to
delve into the core work. The truth. The vulnerability. How can I play Skyler authentically when I don’t live authentically?
Holden claims I have problems being vulnerable. And that's my greatest downfall as an actress. Maybe he's right. Maybe I
need to work on that.
And maybe now is the perfect time to start.
“I’ll admit I was surprised to find out you and Holden were back together—,” I say. Okay, so that’s not exactly the entire
truth… but baby steps.
“Are,” she corrects me. “We are back together.”
It’s truly a fucking miracle that I’m not cracking a molar with how tightly I gnash my teeth together. “Right,” I correct. “But
that’s not what’s bothering me. I found out today that my dad isn’t doing well and he's having major surgery this weekend. And
since we only have a few weeks of rehearsal left until opening, it doesn't even feel right to ask for the time off to go see him."
My voice trembles, and holy hell Holden was right. Vulnerability is not my forte. But I did it. I allowed myself to be
vulnerable. And I have to admit, I feel a little bit lighter and a little less jaded by admitting this to the person I trust the least in
the whole world.
In the few seconds it has taken me to tell her this, Missy’s face has softened. Her brows tilt in, and if I'm not mistaken, there
is the slightest bit of moisture brimming against the edges of her lavender eyes.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She gives a soft clear of her throat, breaking eye contact with me for what feels like the first time
all day. "Do you know what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
"We don't have an official diagnosis yet. But, typically speaking, exploratory surgery for a spot on the lungs of a lifelong
smoker means one thing..."
"Cancer." Missy says, her frown deepening.
I nod, solemnly.
"It's this weekend?” Missy asks again and I nod. " Let me talk to Holden, Amy, Maggie, and the rest of the team. Maybe we
can come up with something to make it so you can go visit him without delaying or hurting the show."
The shock on my face must be apparent.
I’m so shocked, I can’t even form the words to say thank you.
Missy rolls her eyes. "Well, you don't have to act quite so surprised. I'm not a total bitch. Only someone really evil would
keep you from seeing a dying parent.”
I wince at her harsh words and press my lips together to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.
“Sorry,” she says with a sigh. “I… I didn’t mean that. Look, my mom had a heart attack the preview night of Les Mis. I was
too scared to ask for time off."
I try my best to not react with the shock I feel over her confession. “I'm so sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Despite us being
drastically different people, I might have made the exact same choice as she did in that moment. We work our whole lives for
this sort of break and in our business, it’s rare that you get two lucky chances. “Did she…”
"She pulled through, thank God. But I never would have forgiven myself if she hadn't."
From across the theater, Holden calls out Missy's name. Maybe it was the overhead lighting, or maybe it was the
challenging rehearsal we’d all had… but he looks rough. Dark circles bruise beneath his eyes and his skin isn't the normal
golden luminous it usually is. Instead, his coloring is gray. Sallow. Exhausted.
"I'm coming, babe,” Missy responds.
Babe.
The word roils in my stomach, turning over like spoiled leftovers.
 She shifts her expensive purse to her other shoulder and switches a stack of papers to the crook of her elbow.
Within those papers is sheet music.
My sheet music for this show.
Why the fuck does she have my sheet music in her fancy, manicured hands?
Once more, my breaths comes out in short, sharp bursts and my racing thoughts are only interrupted by Missy’s soft voice,
adding, “I'll be honest, when I came aboard as a producer, I had every intention of making your life a living hell."
Her words are like a needle piercing through my skin. Such a tiny weapon, but it can cause so much pain. I blink, unable to
lift my gaze from that sheet music.
Why is it only my sheet music? Why not the entire show? Nolan’s solos? The orchestra parts?
“And now?” I manage to croak a response.
The softness in her face marbleizes, turning hard once more with that Machiavellian smirk. "I still have every intention to
make your life a living hell.”
"Then why let me take the time off to go see my dad?”
"Because I told you, I'm not a monster. I can make your life hell without using your family against you.”
The moment clicked in place. “And if you did tell me I couldn’t visit my father, publicly you would come out looking like
the bad guy. You can’t have that as Broadway’s little miss perfect, isn’t that right?”
She smiles and hikes her Versace purse higher on her shoulder, her thumb brushing the hideous ring from Holden’s
grandfather. With a scrunch of her nose, she says, “Maybe you’re not as green as I thought you were.”
“Is that story about your mom’s heart attack even true?”
Just then, Holden glances up from where he’s talking with our playwright, his eyes snagging mine from across the theater.
Like a vacuum, all the air leaves my lungs. For the briefest moment, his expression is deeply lined; etched with the same scorch
marks I feel in my heart. He’s so achingly beautiful and melancholy, I can’t look away.
“I guess you’ll never know,” Missy says. With a sway of her hips, she crosses to Holden and in a motion so subtle, so
quick, his mask is back up. He’s no longer sad Holden, staring at me longingly. He’s indifferent. Cool. Simply a director
observing his theater.
Well, two can play at that game.
His eyes flick back and forth from me to Missy as she saunters her way to him, then greets him with a long kiss. He’s stiff at
first, but then quickly relaxes against her, his hand sliding into the back pocket of her jeans to pull her closer.
Am I wrong about them? Maybe this isn’t some weird ruse. Maybe Holden isn’t just pretending with her. He’s a good actor,
but he isn’t that good.
I tear my eyes from them as the pain in my chest increases. Maybe it’s better this way. Holden and I were born actors—
whether it’s on the stage or in our everyday lives. We each have our roles. The greatest role I’ve ever played isn’t Skyler in
this show. It wasn’t Juliet.
It’s Kate.
Right here and right now.
And for the past five years.
This indifferent woman, so unaffected by Holden and Missy, this will be my greatest role. And if I do it right, no one will
ever know.
As McCay would say: Find your center. Make an unexpected choice. And go.
 CHAPTER SIX

HOLDEN
Five years ago…
It wasn’t until I walked into class on Wednesday morning to find Katherine sitting there in the front row that I finally let
loose the knot that’d been bunched in my shoulders.
Even though she said she would be here, I still breathed a thick sigh of relief that she came back to class… back to the
show.
The way she was bent over her lap, I thought she’d been reading; or studying her script, but then out of nowhere, she
tipped her head back and laughed as Nate popped up from where he’d been laying at her feet on the floor.
Irrational jealousy clutched at my heart, squeezing it until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“You got her back.” McCay’s voice behind me caused me to whip around, nearly spilling my to-go cup of black coffee.
All the way at the back of the theater, no one in the class seemed to notice either of us there.
“What?”
“You got her to come back to class. I got her email Monday right after you ran out of rehearsal.”
Oh. Right. “I guess I did. But I was also the reason she tried to quit in the first place.”
“I figured.” McCay raked her fingers into the massive pile of dark curls and flipped her hair part to the other side.
“It’s that obvious?” She didn’t answer me with anything other than a raised eyebrow. “Why the hell did you cast me as
Romeo? Any number of the guys in this class would kill for the opportunity to play him. Why me?”
Her shrewd gaze darkened as she assessed me. “Because a good Romeo should never want to be Romeo.”
With a scoff, I swiped my hand down my face. What the actual fuck was she talking about? Before I could pose the
question, though, she kept talking. “And I’ve seen more raw talent in your acting these last few weeks than I’ve seen in
years of training the next generations of actors. You’re wasting it on the football field, Holden.”
We stood there in silence as the door opened and four of my classmates walked in the theater. They spared us a quick
look, then scurried down to the first few rows, thankfully leaving us to talk. “Katherine has raw talent, too,” I whispered.
“I never said she didn’t. But Kate’s been acting for a long time. Since she was just a kid. And there’s some unlearning
that girl needs to do before she can achieve greatness. You? You’re a blank canvas.”
My face screwed into a frown. Somehow, that didn’t feel like the compliment that she meant it as. “But Katherine⁠—”
“Holden,” McCay spun to face me straight on. “Trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time. And I know when an actor is
faking their vulnerability. Kate fakes it. Or rather…” McCay tilted her head. “She fakes it with everyone but you.”
I started to object again, but McCay cut me off. “Fine. Don’t believe me? Watch.” She turned away from me crossing
down the center aisle of the theater clapping her hands together. “Okay, everyone, take your seat. We’re doing something
slightly different today.”
I followed her down the center aisle, taking a seat in the front row across from Kate. I could feel her angry gaze boring
into me, but I ignored it. Ignored her eye contact. I had a feeling that whatever pissing match I’d accidentally started with
McCay this morning was about to come down as a rainstorm onto Katherine and I was already regretting the part I played
in initiating it.
McCay hopped up on stage as Keith came in the side door near stage right. “We’re going to push today’s rehearsal to
next week,” McCay announced, “And instead, we’re going to do some scene work away from Remy and Julie. I think it will
help you all grow to find something new. And give those of you in the ensemble scenes to work with, too.”
McCay opened a binder, quickly flipping through some pages before pulling two stapled packets out from within it.
“Everyone in class is going to get a chance to do a scene today that you’ve not seen and have very little time to prepare for.
In auditions, you’ll find directors will do this a lot. Sometimes to see if they can intentionally throw you off, sometimes
because they’re unprepared. Sometimes because they want to test and see if you can take direction. In today’s class,
everyone will come up in pairs to do random scenes of my choosing. To start, Kate, why don’t you come up here and read
Eliza. And for Higgins, let’s see…”
 McCay’s voice trailed off and her eyes scanned the theater, pausing briefly on me as she said, “Nate. Come on up and
read the part of Higgins in Pygmalion.”
My spine bristled hearing his name. Of course, I knew she wouldn’t choose me. The whole point was that she was trying
to prove something to me about Katherine. Something I needed to see from the audience.
She handed each of them the script, then descended the stairs and sat down… right next to me in the front row.
Keith gave us a curious look from the opposite row, probably wondering why his secret girlfriend chose to sit next to me
instead of him. “Now,” McCay called out to them from beside me. “Go ahead and give it a try. The scene begins after Eliza
just won the bet for Higgins and she’s gotten no recognition for it. Now that she speaks like royalty, Eliza has no place in
her old world. But she still doesn’t fit in this new world and can’t stay among the upper class. She’s fallen in love with
Higgins, but he refuses to let himself love her back.”
After a couple breaths, Katherine and Nate begin the scene and it seemed fine to me. A little boring, if I was being
honest, but that seemed more like an issue with Nate. He played Higgins like a comically older man even though he himself
was only twenty-one.
As the scene ramped up, a few tears spilled down Katherine’s face. She didn’t bother wiping them away as she yelled
back at Nate, standing tall and ramrod straight as Higgins. “I sold flowers!” she cried. “I didn’t sell myself. Now you’ve
made a lady of me, I’m not fit to sell anything else. I wish you’d left me where you found me⁠—”
“Stop!” McCay shouted, holding up her hand and standing.
Katherine and Nate both shifted uncomfortably on the stage as McCay perched herself against the proscenium, turning
out to face the rest of the class in the audience. “Who believed Nate’s performance as a fifty-something man?”
I snorted to myself, folding my arms across my chest. A couple of students in class raised their hands.
McCay looked back at Nate from over her shoulder. “Now granted, you’d never be asked to read Higgins at your age.
But for the sake of this class, don’t be a caricature of an older man. Be the older man, Nate. A man in his early fifties isn’t
hobbling with a cane. This is a wealthy, aristocratic man. He hasn’t worked a day of manual labor in his life. If anything,
he has an old polo injury. Maybe slight back pain from sitting too much. Maybe he’s too proud to wear his glasses so he
squints a little. Make a choice and commit to it. And don’t underestimate the sex drive of an older man.”
Ew. My face twisted into a frown. It wasn’t anything I didn't already know, thanks to my father’s insatiable sex drive
that led him to have multiple affairs. But still… gross.
Pausing, McCay looked back out to the class once more, her eyes locking onto me. Panic gripped my throat. “Holden.
Did you believe Kate’s tears?”
My body went hot. Why the fuck was she calling me out like that? Just as Katherine and I were going to have to get
back up on stage together at the next rehearsal. “Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
McCay’s eyes went to slits and her glare intensified onto me. “You believed those were real tears?” she repeated,
emphasizing the question by pointing at Katherine. “That the performance Kate just gave was open and honest and how a
real woman in that scenario would act?”
“I… um…” I shifted, uncomfortably in my seat and glanced up at where Katherine’s gaze pinned me. “I think the script
is cheesy and that’s not her fault,” I said. “I thought her acting was good for the material.”
“Hmmm.” McCay tutted and paced in front of the stage. “That wasn’t the question. You all are going to be given cheesy
material a lot throughout your career. In fact, the line, ‘Help me help you,’ from Jerry Maguire is extremely cheesy. Terrible
writing, right Keith?” She barely waited for him to nod before she continued. “And yet, Tom Cruise won an Oscar for that
part and that became one of the more quoted lines from the entire film.”
“Actually,” Keith cut in, “That film swept the Oscars. It won Best Actor, Best Original Screenplay, and Best Picture…
among others.”
McCay nodded. “Exactly. Tom Cruise’s acting was so good that he elevated cheesy writing to a place where it won for
best original screenplay.”
I blinked, a little blindsided by her wording. Keith went back to ducking his head in his laptop, even though McCay
steamrolled right over him. Did she always do that to him? How many ideas did she take from him only to teach as her
own?
I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the guy and I almost zoned out, ignoring the rest of her speech completely. It
wasn’t until McCay pointedly cleared her throat to get my attention once more and said, “So let me rephrase the question
for you, Mr. Dorsey: In your experience, when someone cries, do they just let it all out? Or while they’re crying, are they
trying to hold back their tears?”
I swallowed hard, noting the way Katherine chewed on the inside of her cheek, suddenly avoiding my eyes, staring at
her flip flops. “I guess they try not to cry.”
“So it’s logical to think that if Eliza did have some tears slip out, she wouldn’t sob in front of Higgins. But she might
have a couple tears fall that she quickly swipes away. Or she might turn away from him to try to hide those tears.”
I cleared my throat and turned my own glare to McCay. She was embarrassing Katherine on purpose now just to make
some fucked up point to me and it wasn’t fair. “Fine. I guess so.”
“Great.” McCay whipped around to face Nate and Katherine. “Do it once more. This time, if you cry, I want it to be
because you can’t not cry. And as the scene progresses, tensions rise, touch each other. It wouldn’t be proper in this time
period of course—and you can’t kiss in this scene. But without yelling or raising your voices, I want this scene to be so
heated that we all leave this theater fanning our faces. Eliza, you want nothing more than for Higgins to take you as his
own. Higgins, you want that, too, but this beautiful, young creature is worlds away. The notion is ridiculous, no matter how
much you want it.” McCay stomped back toward the seat next to me. “And for fuck’s sake, find an interesting choice that
will surprise us as an audience.”
McCay took her seat beside me again, calling out, “Find your center. Make an unexpected choice. And go.”
As the scene started, she leaned into me, whispering, “See what I mean? Those bullshit tears? Years of bad theater
training taught her that. She needs to unlearn acting and relearn how to tap into the real emotion.”
“Real emotion is messy,” I whispered back. “ No one wants to relive those moments.”
“Exactly. The people who refuse to tap into their vulnerability will never be great.”
“Katherine can tap into it. I know she can.”
“She can tap into it with you,” McCay said. “But do you think she can do that with Nate?”
My jaw clenched. On one hand, I wanted Katherine to prove to McCay that she was wrong about her. I wanted
Katherine to accomplish everything. She was great. And I’d seen her be vulnerable.
But deeper down, a primal part of myself, didn’t want to watch it happen with Nate… or anyone other than me. “And
you think I’m somehow deeper than Kate? That I can tap into this bullshit?”
“You’re missing the point, Holden. You are an untapped resource. That’s what’s so beautiful about your performances.”
I sucked in a breath as Katherine turned her back to Nate and lifted all the hair off the nape of her neck, tilting her chin
so that he had full access to that delicious slope of her throat. “Will you take these to your room and keep them safe?” she
asked.
“Hm,” McCay sighed, brushing her index finger across her top lip.
“What?”
“Your girl made an interesting choice there. Usually Eliza rips her jewelry off and flings it at Higgins. But she’s⁠—”
My throat went dry and I scanned my eyes down her body as she arched subtly, pressing her ass against him as he
mimed removing her necklace. “She’s making him undress her.”
“Pretty clever, I have to admit.”
“So I guess she can take direction,” I sniped back at McCay. Even though the last thing in the entire world I want to
watch is Nate undressing Katherine, I was proud of her.
Katherine’s gaze lifted, catching mine. In a movement so swift, her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. It was so sweet.
So innocent. So pure that I felt like a goddamn creeper as my cock twitched to life in my pants, imagining those wet lips
parting for me from her knees.
But then, Nate’s hands slid down her bare arms, caressing her. And from the front row where I was sitting, I could see
the gooseflesh rise on her skin and the tips of her breasts tightening to points beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt.
Nate caused that. Not me.
Fucking Nate.
And yet, I couldn’t force myself to look away. It was like I wanted the torture.
The svelte line of her throat tightened as she swallowed and a single tear fell down the bridge of her nose, her eyes still
trained on me. Quickly, she turned her head upstage and swiped it away.
One single tear.
Then it was gone.
Her eyes, back on Nate.
A single, frigid chill radiated up my spine at the haunting expression I’d seen, if only for a second.
I caused that.
I fucking caused that tear. I caused her suffering. So much so, that she’d almost given up a dream role.
Every part of my soul wanted to rush the stage and knock Nate out of the way to scoop her in my arms. I wanted to
drape her with my body. Kiss away every tear on her cheeks. I wanted to consume and absorb every ounce of pain I’d
caused.
But then, McCay leaned into me, whispering, “That moment was quite beautiful, wasn’t it?”
“I think we both know that wasn’t acting.”
With her lips pressed together, McCay hums. “Wasn’t it? Whatever you two are doing, it’s making Kate a more well-
rounded actor.”
“I’m breaking her,” I whispered, more to myself than to McCay. “I want to stop, but I can’t.” A searing pain flared in
the back of my throat and the heat of unshed tears pricked the back of my eyes.
“Not all broken things are ruined, Mr. Dorsey. Besides, I suspect that she might be breaking you.”
I shook my head, all words lost in my throat.
You can’t break something that’s already demolished.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

I MANAGE NOT to fall apart on the subway ride home. The entire ride and walk up to my apartment, I’m strong. Fortified.
Until I tell Jill about my day. I crumple into her arms and sob.
I didn’t realize until that moment how much of my fortitude was relying on this lie I’d told myself. That Missy and Holden
were fake. That he was lying.
It couldn’t be real because if it was, then it meant I fell for his lies all over again and was right back where I’d been five
years ago.
Duped.
Alone.
Used.
I’m not sure how long we sit on the couch with her holding me, comforting me, but she doesn’t seem to care. That’s the
beautiful thing about Jill. She’ll do whatever it takes to be the best friend she can be to you.
I only hope someday, I can make it up to her. Be there for her as much as she has for me.
After what feels like forever, I sit up and sniffle, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.
Jill stands up, crossing into the kitchen. She grabs the coffee pot and fills it with water.
“Maybe I made a mistake signing that contract,” I say over the sound of running water. “I could be working with Keith right
now. I could be back as Julie in his show, never having to see or work with Holden, Missy, or Senator Dorsey again.”
Jill pokes her head into the living room. “Sidebar: How long are you going to call him Senator Dorsey? You’re an adult
now… colleagues even, some might say. Call him Erik.”
“Erik,” I try his name out, tasting it like a new flavor of candy and immediately cringe. “Hell no. That feels weird.”
“Regardless, don't you dare talk that way,” Jill scolds me. “You have fought Holden’s dad in the past and you can do it
again."
I fiddle with the remote control on the coffee table. “Yeah, I fought him and I lost. I was lucky to graduate from that school
with my soul, let alone my degree. By the end of my freshman year, he had McCay and that whole program in the palm of his
hands. Even without Senator Dorsey, I think McCay would have been happy to kick me out of the program freshman year.”
Jill comes back in holding two steaming mugs and sits so that she's only a few inches away from me on the couch. “But she
didn’t. That’s what matters. You were so damn talented that she knew cutting you from the program would be impossible
without raising any red flags.” She hands me one of them mugs. “Even though she hated you since the moment you found Keith
feeling her up in the janitor’s closet⁠—”
“This really isn’t helping,” I grumble.With the mug of much-needed caffeine cradled in my hands, I leaned my head on my
best friend’s shoulder.
I take a sip, and the coffee is so strong that it eases some of my stress away. For most people, drinking coffee in the evening
might be a bad idea. But for me, it's the only time of day I can really enjoy it without worrying about what the dairy will do to
my voice.
“I had just as much dirt on Professor McKay as she had on me,” I said. “The fact that she was sleeping with her grad
student was enough to get her fired.” And that was nothing compared to the other secrets I’d uncovered about her throughout my
freshman year. “But that didn’t stop her from making my life hell so that I would quit the department.”
Sounds pretty familiar. History repeating itself and all that.
“Well you showed her.” Jill reaches across and squeezes my knee.
“Yeah. Look at me. I really stuck it to her, huh?” I snort a self-deprecating laugh.
“Okay, but you didn't quit,” Jill says. “You put up with four years of misery dealing with her. And Missy is no McCay.
She’s not smart enough to be as diabolical as your old professor. Besides, this time it’s only for a few weeks until the show
opens, right? Then you don’t have to see the producers once the show is up and running.”
“That’s true.”
“You did it before for years… you can do this again for a few weeks.”
 I nod, even though I’m not sure that’s true. Those four years nearly broke me. A few more weeks just might.
“Besides, you don't really know what was in McCay’s head back then. You’re just making assumptions.”
I shrug and after another sip of coffee, I set the mug down on the table. “And I never will.”
Jill’s eyes flash and she whips around to face me, tucking her feet under her. "Why not? Why can't you reach out and ask her
why she was so damn hard on you in undergrad?”
"Are you crazy? I never want to see that woman again if I can help it.”
"Is that realistic? I mean, you’re on Broadway now with her golden boy student. It seems probable that she’ll come see this
show. His directorial debut⁠—”
“And I’ll suck just as much at being vulnerable on stage now as I did back then.” I groan and flop over on the couch.
Jill’s brows lift. “Isn’t this why Holden gave you his journals from college?”
“I guess. Or maybe it was his copout way of trying to apologize without actually apologizing.” When he gave me his
journal from college on my first day of rehearsal to read as ‘preparation for my role as Skyler’ I wondered what questions it
would hold the answers to. But the emotional weight of reading his innermost thoughts from our time together was harder than
I’d expected. I’ve been having trouble reading more than one entry every night.
I kick my feet up on the table and stretch my legs out. “I have more important things to worry about than McCay. I need to
find a way to visit my dad.”
“Missy said she was going to help.”
I snort. “Yeah. That’s what she said.”
"We still haven't talked about the other elephant in the room."
I curl into the corner of the couch and hug my knees to my chest. "What elephant?” I can feel her stare on the side of my
face, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, I know she’s still sitting there glaring at me.
“You know what elephant. The handsome, sexy, larger than life elephant named Holden James.”
"What about him?"
“I thought you two were back together... or at least on your way to getting back together.”
Flashes of the night of the party invade my thoughts. The way he kissed me. Dropped to his knees and put that sinful mouth
of his between my legs.
A shiver tumbles down my spine.
“I thought so, too,” I admit to Jill. She might be the only person I would ever admit that to. “But he's back with Missy, and
whether it’s real or fake, there’s nothing I can do about it,.”
“You can fight for him.” Jill leans back on the couch, as though this is the simplest idea in the world.
"I've been fighting, Jill. I’ve been fighting for him for five years. When does he start fighting for me?”
For a brief moment there, I thought that I was finally getting everything I wanted. A leading role in a Broadway show. And
another chance with the man who had broken my heart.
"But she's wearing his grandfather's ring, right?” Jill reminds me… as if I could forget. “That has to be a sign, right? Like
his way of telling you this isn't real.”
“I thought so too, at first. But then I saw them together at rehearsal. Saw them kiss…” I exhale heavily. “I don’t know now.
Why in the hell would he be faking a relationship with her?”
Jill throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! You’re the one who told me his dad is a nutjob. A total control freak. Maybe
it’s because of that. Just… don’t rule it out yet. Keep an eye on them. If it truly seems like they’re back together and happily in
love, sure. Maybe it’s time to consider moving on. But for now, keep your head down. Do the work. You earned that part.”
It doesn’t feel like I earned it. I felt dirty. Like this part was Holden’s pitied apology for how I got screwed over in
undergrad.
I sigh. “I just wish I could talk with him. Have a few minutes alone to find out what the hell is going on.”
Jill’s smirk widens and she sets her mug down, reaching for her phone.
“What?” I ask.
Only she doesn’t answer me. She just keeps grinning in that terrifyingly maniacal way. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“Relax,” she says, pressing her phone to her ear. “I have a plan.”
 CHAPTER EIGHT

HOLDEN
Five years ago…
I should be celebrating. I should be getting drunk, partying, and getting laid by some girl I won’t remember in the
morning because we’d just won our football game. But all I could think about was Katherine.
Her eyes.
Her hair.
Her fucking panties.
Because she’d been here at the game. I caught her eyes in the stands.
What the fuck was she doing here? She hated sports, especially football. She’d made that loud and clear many times.
Was she here to taunt me? Tease me?
Sitting on one side of her was Jill. And on the other side, Nate.
Fucking Nate.
I hated that they were friends.
I hated that I spied them together at the coffee shop and cafeteria grabbing lunch after class.
I hated that he was becoming familiar enough with her that up there in the stands, they shared sips of a soda and
nibbles of popcorn. How often did his knuckles brush hers in that popcorn bucket? Did he slide his hand around her waist?
I pressed my heels into my eye sockets and let loose a frustrated growl.
McCay had cut us some slack and spent the week working on scenes that didn’t focus on us together, thank God.
Our interaction consisted of five sentences all week.
After the game, I got out of the shower, towel tied around my waist and grunted as I pulled my jeans up.
Duncan clapped a big, meaty paw to my shoulder. “Going to Jack’s house tonight for the party?” I was about to say no
when Duncan added, “I heard your girl’s gonna be there.”
I didn’t need to ask him who because we both knew which girl he was referring to. When it came to me, there was only
one. “Where’d you hear that?” I muttered, suddenly very interested.
“Jack’s roommate is a poetry major. He and that hot redhead friend of hers have been talking, so I assume they’re both
going to the party.”
I narrowed my eyes at Duncan. “If you’re lying, I’ll slice your balls off in your sleep, you know that, right?”
With a laugh, Duncan took a step back. “Easy, dude. I’m not guaranteeing she’ll be there. Just relaying what I’ve
heard.”
I finished getting dressed, then slammed my locker shut. “I’ll see you at Jack’s,” I grumbled as Duncan’s grin stretched
wider. “Don’t fucking gloat,” I added. “I was planning on going anyway.”
A total fucking lie.
And Duncan knew it, but didn’t bother calling me out on it.
I pulled up to Jack’s house that he shared with five other guys. Music blasted through the open windows as people
spilled out onto their front lawn, red Solo cups in hand.
I parked and made my way through the sea of people, noting at least a dozen students that I recognized as freshmen.
They were definitely not 21.
Then again, neither was Kate and she was the whole reason I came to this fucking party in the first place.
If the front lawn was crowded, then inside the house was downright packed with people. There were clumps sitting on a
couch, people making out in corners and up against the walls. Writhing bodies dancing to the pounding bass of the music.
I squeezed past a group of three girls eye fucking me as they danced up on each other and made my way to the keg
where Dave was pouring some beers for people.
“Hey,” he said, with a jerk of his head.
“Hey.”
 He handed me a beer and I sniffed it. “Belgian?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah. Jack’s older brother is starting a microbrew in the area.”
Fucking rich, ivy league kids, man. We didn’t waste our parties on the cheap shit.
“I meant to tell you that I’m sorry about Kate,” Dave said, gently nudging me with his elbow. “Didn’t know you two
had a thing when I asked her out.”
“We don’t have a thing,” I said, my voice gravelly and rough. “It was Duncan who gave you the red flag.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah, but c’mon. We all saw you two at that table. The eye contact and shit was intense between you
two.”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing between us. We’re not dating. We’re just…”
What were we? Friends? Hardly.
Business associates? Sort of… though not anymore now that she found out I was the one buying her panties and she
closed shop.
“We’re just… acting together,” I opted for. “She’s free to date whomever she fucking wants.”
Somewhere in the crowd there was a high-pitched shriek and then some high fives echoing over the music.
“Well, I guess that’s a good thing,” Dave said, pointing across the room to where Nate and Katherine walked in through
the front door.
A frown pulled at my lips. They were with a bigger group of people from our Method 101 class, but I had tunnel vision,
only seeing Nate’s arm, draped around her shoulders, possessively.
I turned away from the sight of them, the plastic cup nearly cracking as my grip on it tightened.
This was a bad idea coming to this party. What was I thinking? That I’d fucking babysit her? Stalk her on this date like
a goddamn psycho?
Then again, why the fuck did she bring Nate here? To my game? Surely she knew what she was doing, teasing me like
that.
I threw back the rest of my beer, finishing it in a few gulps, then thrust my hand out toward the keg for a refill.
It was going to be a long night.

FOUR BEERS LATER , I was just on the other side of tipsy.

But I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way Kate and Nate kept snuggling up together. Kate and Nate. Even their
fucking names were perfect for each other.
My eyes narrowed in on the way their elbows kept brushing. How he found little ways to touch her, his hand at the small
of her back and her shoulder and her hip.
And what was worse, she let him.
She leaned into that touch.
Smiled up at him, blinking those frosty blue eyes.
I’d taken up residency on the couch halfway across the room from where they were playing in an epic beer pong
tournament. And they were winning.
Katherine had only had one sip of beer so far in the three games they’d won. Nate was a fucking pro…
Way to pick ‘em, Kate. You found yourself a guy who was so good at drinking he was undefeated in the shittiest frat
house game ever made.
I felt the couch dip beside me, but didn’t look up. It wasn’t until I felt the trail of a long fingernail on the side of my arm
that I glanced to my left.
“Addison,” I grunted in way of a hello.
“How long are you going to pine for a freshman who doesn’t want you?”
I snorted. An ironic statement coming from a girl who kept hitting on me despite the fact that I clearly wasn’t interested.
But even several beers in, I wasn’t a big enough dick to say that to her.
A squeal cut through the ambient noise of the party, echoing over the blasting music. Nate and Katherine had won
another round of beer pong and were celebrating. She put her hands in the air for him to high five… only instead of
clapping his hands to hers, he scooped her into a hug and twirled her around in victory.
An ugly heat unfurled in my stomach at the sight of them. Nate’s booming laugh crawled into my chest, shredding my
insides.
Addison’s hand curled into mine and before I knew what was happening, she had pulled me to my feet, guiding me
across the room, only pausing once to grab the bottle of tequila. She tipped back and took a swig right from the bottle
before handing it to me to do the same.
 Fuck it. I didn’t want to remember tonight, anyway.
I took a healthy chug from the bottle, not noticing where Addison was dragging me to until my toe hit the leg of a table.
A ping pong table to be exact.
“Next game is ours,” Addison said, then held up the tequila bottle. “Care to make it a little more interesting?”
“Addison, no—” I started to object, but was promptly cut off by Kate.
“How so?” she asked.
“We make half of the cups beer, and the other half, tequila shots.”
Nate’s hand slid protectively to Kate’s lower back. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Oh come on, Natie-Poo,” Addison said, shaking the bottle of tequila so it sloshed in their faces. “It’s just a game.”
“Kate,” Nate bent down to whisper in her ear. “You don’t have anything to prove to either of them.” She shivered as his
lips brushed the shell of her ear.
That ear that’s the most sensitive part of her body. An accidental discovery I’d made in rehearsals.
Oh fuck this. I didn’t have to stand here watching their fucking foreplay. I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned
to walk away. “Yeah, no thanks⁠—”
“We’ll do it,” Katherine snapped, ignoring Nate.
Her words halted me midstep. I slowly turned, glancing at her from over my shoulder, locking eyes with her heated,
angry glare as she added, “And we’ll still kick your asses even with tequila shots.”
I snorted. “You’re making a bad choice, freshman.”
Katherine stepped forward, getting in my face. Behind us, Addison dumped out half of the beer cups, filling them
instead with tequila. “Maybe,” Kate whispered, her brows slamming down. “But it’s my bad choice to make.”
I growled and swiped my palm down my face. “Please don’t do thi⁠—”
She spun away from me, sashaying back over to her side of the beer pong table. Addison pulled me to our side where I
faced off across from Katherine.
Nate went first, bouncing the ball into my cup… beer not tequila. Amateur move. You want to get your teammate drunk
the fastest, so you should go for tequila cups first.
Glancing up, competition gleamed from Nate’s eyes like I’d never seen before. Game on, motherfucker. I took the ball
out of my drink and downed the swallow of beer in a single gulp. Then I sank my ball straight into one of his cups and
rocked back on my heels as Nate grumbled and tipped back the shot of tequila.
Katherine went next and her ball bounced off the rim but landed in Addison’s cup. Like a pro, Addison drank the tequila
quickly tossing the cup away behind her. Before she’d even swallowed, she tossed the ping pong ball into one of Kate’s
tequila cups.
My heart sputtered as I watched Katherine grimace and drink the shot.
Nate’s turn again. This time, his ball sank into another cup on Addison’s side.
Even though Nate annoyed the shit out of me, I still wanted them to win. So I put my competitive streak aside and
intentionally tossed the ball a little wide, sending it bouncing off the table. The people watching groaned.
Addison glared at me, whispering, “You did that on purpose.”
I shrugged, because what the hell was the point in trying to lie?
Unfortunately, Katherine was onto me because livid heat poured into her cerulean eyes.
I shook my head slightly at her, but when she threw the ball, she tossed it right between my eyes, hitting me in the
forehead. She didn’t even try to hit the cups.
Message received. If I don’t try, she won’t try. I had no choice but to play the fucking game. And if I played to my full
ability, Addison and I would annihilate Katherine and Nate.
We were sinking balls left and right and soon enough it was down to only one cup left on their side. And five on ours.
As predicted, Kate was tipsy as fuck.
Swaying and dizzy, she leaned against the ping pong table to balance herself. With one eye closed and her tongue
darted out at the corner, she focused hard on a cup on my side. But when she tossed the ball, it didn’t even come near the
cup. It whizzed by my shoulder.
I’d been intentionally missing every time I threw the ball, but unfortunately, it was Addison’s turn and her ping pong
ball landed dead center into Kate’s cup.
Nate reached for the cup to drink, but Addison stopped him. “Nuh-uh. That’s her drink and you know it.”
“Addison, come on. She’s had enough,” Nate said.
And for once, Nate and I agreed on something.
“Those are the rules,” Addison snapped. “That cup is on her side. It’s hers to drink.”
“Would you back the fuck off?” I sniped back at her.
But Katherine wasn’t having any of it. She snatched the cup out of Nate’s hands and drank the last of her beer, cringing.
“Oh God,” she groaned. “Why does beer taste so bad? At least the tequila loses its bite after a while, but beer? Blech.”
With the game officially over, she slammed the empty cup down. “There. Happy?”
Addison folded her arms and shrugged. “Kind of, yeah.”
Stepping back from the table, Kate stumbled, the skirt she wore twisting around her hips slightly. Immediately, Nate and
I were both at her side, catching her. She slapped us off of her, shoving me away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re drunk. Drunk and a really sore loser.” I caught her once more around the waist as she swayed
between me and Nate.
“I’m falling because of these stupid heels, not because I’m sloppy drunk.”
Despite her protests, she wasn’t fighting me as I slid my arms around her. If anything, she sighed, leaning more into my
side than Nate’s. I dipped my nose into her hair and inhaled that sweet scent of roses that I’d missed so damn much.
Addison came stomping over in her platform fuck me heels and too short skirt and cropped halter top. “I think Nate’s
got her, Holden.”
I looked over at Nate, but even he looked a little green. He’d had at least three more shots of tequila than I did during
the course of that game. I lifted my brow at him. “Are you okay?” I asked him.
He might not be a freshman, but he didn’t have the tolerance I’d built up during the years either.
“N-not really,” he said. “I think I need a bathroom.”
He spun around and took off down the hall as Addison pressed herself against me. “Let go of the freshman, Holden,”
she threatened.
With Addison slinking her body against mine, it gave Katherine the chance to shimmy away from me. She stomped off
toward the front door, phone and keys in hand.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered and took off after her, yanking her keys and phone from her grip.
“Hey!”
“Where are you going?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m calling an Uber!”
“Like hell you are.”
I’d listened to my fair share of true crime and there was no way I was letting Katherine get into a car with a stranger
while tipsy.
I opened her text thread and fired off a quick message to Jill that I had Kate and was taking her back to the dorms.
Before I could finish the text though, Kate was already storming past the rest of the party goers and out the front door.
“Kate, stop! Would you fucking stop already?”I ran after her as she stomped off in the direction of her dorm, which
admittedly was only a few blocks away. But still, it was after midnight and she was drunk. Not exactly the safest conditions
for walking around downtown.
“Why do you care?” She looked over her shoulder, throwing the words at me like stones. “You want me, then you don’t
want me, then you want me again, then you show up here with Addison⁠—”
“I’m not here with Addison!”
“Coulda fooled me! With her stupid crop top and big boobs and⁠—”
“You’re one to talk! You came with Nate. To my fucking game.” Her eyes widened, a quick panic swirling in the blue of
her irises. She spun away from me and continued walking away. The noise of the party was well behind us. “Nuh-uh! You’re
not walking away from this one. Because don’t think I don’t know you did that on purpose, showing up to my game. Sitting
up in those bleachers snuggling and sharing your fucking popcorn, crossing and uncrossing your legs in that short skirt
you’re wearing⁠—”
“I wasn’t flirting with Nate! I have to keep shifting my stupid legs because these stupid fluffing panties you bought me
are so uncomfortable.”
I skidded to a stop and my throat went dry, the ember of jealousy that had been simmering in my gut flamed like a pint
of gasoline had been thrown on it. “You wore the pearl panties I bought you tonight?” My voice came out so low, it was
nearly a growl. “You wore them for him?”
It wasn’t often my confidence wavered like this. I fucking hated it. Hated that she could make me feel this way.
She stopped walking, whipping around to face me again, only this time, her face was horror stricken. Wide eyes were
panicked. “I didn’t wear them for him.”
All the oxygen fled from my lungs and my spine went ramrod straight. “Then who, Katherine?” I stepped forward,
crowding her, herding her around the corner between the buildings where we were shielded from passersby. “Who did you
wear those panties for, if not Nate?”
I stepped closer to her and she jerked back, pressing against the brick wall behind her. I must have lost my damn mind
because next thing I knew, I was crowding Kate against that wall until our hips met. It was like knowing she was wearing
those pearl panties I had gifted her released an animal instinct inside of me.
The lust I’d been controlling for several weeks splintered, tearing through my body like shrapnel. I wished I could
reach inside of myself and rip out the shards. I hate myself a little more for the thrill that pulsed inside of me.
 “Show me,”I grunted, pressing our bodies together. I cradled the back of her head gently in my hand as I nudged her
thighs wider with my knee, spreading those pretty little legs apart.
Not once did I take my eyes off of her. Never in my life had I seen anyone so goddamned beautiful. The rich blue of her
shirt matched her eyes almost perfectly. The golden light from the streetlamp almost made it look like her hair was
glowing.
Like she was a fucking angel.
And I was the devil sent to desecrate her.
She was utterly delicious looking from head to toe, but her lips, fuck those lips, were glossy and parted. Wet and red and
swollen, like she’d just finished eating fresh cherries. And her eyes, usually so wide and alert, drifted slowly shut. Hooded
lids lowered as I lifted my knee just barely grazing the pearls and pushing them against her pussy.
“If the panties don’t feel good,” I rasped, dragging my nose up the line of her throat to her ear, “Then you’re wearing
them wrong.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You seriously think I’m wearing panties wrong? That’s not possible.”
“It is with these. Especially if every step isn’t making you cream down your thighs.”
She sucked in a breath as her sharp blue eyes flashed to mine.
Each breath labored, matching mine as the air between us grew heavy. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
I groaned, forcing myself to pull away from her. This was wrong. So, so wrong. But before I could back up, she grasped
her delicate hands around my biceps, stopping me with narrowed focus. “Show me.”
My entire body went still at her request.
No, not request. Demand.
I shook my head, but I also couldn’t seem to make my feet move. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not as think as you drunk I am.” Humor flashed in her eyes, but I merely rolled my eyes at the old joke.
“I’m not falling for that.”
“Seriously.” Her fingers started to move against my arm. “I’m tipsy. Not drunk.”
I searched her face for the truth in her words. “I thought you hated me?”
“I did.” A pause. “I do.”
“But?” I pressed her further.
“But…” She licked her lips, but she had no further answer to offer me.
I dipped to bring my eyes almost level with her. “Let me help you out with that answer, huh? You hate me, but I still turn
you on more than anyone you’ve ever met, don’t I?”
The svelte line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed whatever objections might have been rising there.
I skimmed my mouth across her jaw, barely touching her as I whispered. “Say it. Say that I turn you on.”
Her eyes clamped together. “You… you turn me on.”
Fuck.
My cock went rigid, pressing painfully against the zipper of my pants. “More than Nate?”
With a whimper, she nodded. “More than Nate.”
“Very well, Juliet. You just won a little lesson.” She gasped as I reached into the waist of her skirt and tugged each lace
side of her panties higher on her hips. Looking down, I groaned at the sight of lace straps riding high above her hip bone.
“The pearls should be pressed against you so that with each step, the beads roll over your sweet, wet clit.” Then I
glided my knee up the inside of her thigh, applying the slightest bit of pressure between her thighs.
I slid my knee to the side, shifting the pearls back and forth over her clit. My cock, swollen and hard, pressed into her
soft belly as she moaned, her cherry wet lips popping open.
I released the gentle grip on the back of her head and dragged my fingers down the curve of her flushed throat, my
mouth watering for just one taste of that flushed skin, so smooth. So flawless. So perfect.
Her thighs began to quake against where they’d settled straddling my knee and her small, sweet tits shuddered up and
down with a strangled breath she released.
“H-Holden,” she gasped.
“Tell me to stop and this ends right now. I swear,” I muttered thickly. And I meant it, too. One word from her and I’d
back the fuck off.
Her eyes danced over mine, glittering like jewels, but she didn’t ask me to stop. Even still, I knew enough to realize that
not asking me to stop also wasn’t consent. And suddenly I needed to hear the words directly from her mouth.
“Tell me, Katherine,” I said, shifting my knee back and forth once more. “Tell me that you want me to continue or I’ll
stop. Say the words.”
I froze my movement, waiting. It only took a second of not moving against her for her to whimper and writhe over my
knee, churning her greedy hips for more. “Holden, please⁠—”
“Words, Katherine. Say it.”
 “Please make me…” the words faded on her tongue. It was too graphic for her non-swearing mouth to say. “Please…
show me how to use the panties,” she rephrased it.
“Good girl,” I praised. I was totally in control. The picture of restraint. Discipline.
I didn’t take her mouth in a kiss.
I didn’t squeeze those tight, perky tits in my itchy palms.
I didn’t drift my hand up her skirt or peek at the ripe fruit beneath.
I stayed perfectly still, my hard cock pressing into her soft belly as I resumed moving my knee back and forth.
Dampness coated the leg of my pants and I groaned as her breath grew faster and trembled.
“Does it feel good, Katherine?” I growled in her ear. “Does it feel good rubbing your sweet, greedy clit on me?”
“Y-yes.” Her head fell back against the brick, eyes drifting closed, the column of her throat on display to me like an
offering.
Fuuuuuuck.
I picked up the pace, pressing harder against her. Faster. And her hips circled over me frantically, seeking release.
“Open your eyes,” I demanded. “Look at me.”
With a shy nod, she looked directly at me.
Shy.
She looked fucking shy as if she wasn’t grinding her drenched pussy, riding my knee like a cowgirl while my rigid cock
grew with each pulse of her hips. Lust flared in her stunning eyes as she pulled that bottom lip between a clamp of white
teeth.
I gripped her hips tightly, taking the straps of the thong, still peeking out from the waist of her skirt and tugged them
firmly higher.
A surprised mewl grunted from her parted lips. “I-I’m c-coming. Holden, I’m coming.”
The dirty word tripped over her lips like a foreign language on her tongue and she heaved a shallow breath, her body
trembling over top of me and fuck me if I couldn’t feel the ripples of her pleasure against my thigh.
It was the most beautiful fucking thing I’d ever seen, watching her come undone. Watching sweet, reserved,
conservative, goofy Katherine turn into a sexy, writhing kitten. Watching her cream down her thighs.
I was so hard, it hurt.
It fucking hurt.
I dropped to my knees in front of her and still not peeking, not touching the sweet forbidden fruit between her thighs, I
reached up beneath her skirt, hooked my fingers into her panties and dragged them down her legs, pocketing them quickly.
I shouldn’t.
I knew I needed to stop.
But I’m so fucked up, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I was totally and utterly addicted to Katherine.
Boneless, she leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and watching me carefully. “What was that?”
That was perfection.
I want her.
I want to keep her.
But I’m a Dorsey. And I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to win a girl’s heart without playing dirty.
I didn’t know how to do anything without playing dirty.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fight these feelings I had for her. My resolve was cracking easier than the sugar
topping on creme brulee.
I couldn’t be relied on to walk away.
I didn’t even know if I wanted to anymore.
“That’s called lust, Katherine,” I said, my voice graveled and rough.
“Lust.” She blinked, innocently and adjusted her skirt around her thighs. “Is that all?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Truly, I don’t. I’m not sure I can stay away from you. You’re fucking addictive.”
“Like cocaine?” she joked sarcastically, but I shook my head.
She wasn’t cocaine. “More like sugar.”
“So you want me, but you don’t want to want me? Is that it?” she challenged me.
My jaw ticked and I gave her a curt nod. “That’s about right.”
“So what now?”
“Now? Now you’re a thousand bucks richer.” Pulling out my phone, I opened the cash app and dropped the money into
her account. I barely hit the send button before her palm cracked across my cheek.
She stomped off toward her dorm and even though I knew she didn’t want me there, I still followed her the whole way
home, making sure she got inside safely.
An angel like Katherine needed to be protected.
But the one demon I couldn’t seem to protect her from… was me.
 CHAPTER NINE

“EXPLAIN THIS TO ME AGAIN ?” I ask Jill while inspecting my reflection in the full length mirror in our hallway. As I tug the
short hem of my strapless dress down, I nearly pop a tit. There simply isn’t enough fabric to cover all the parts that should be
covered.
Jill hooks her arm in mine and practically drags me out our front door, pulling me toward the elevator.
Without letting go of me, she punches the button for the first floor and the doors slide shut, locking us inside. She knows.
She knows that given the opportunity, I will one hundred percent about face and run back to our apartment. “Remember the
Kate Middleton tour?”
The ancient elevator groans and clanks as it descends toward the ground floor.
“Kate Middleton went on tour?”
Jill’s striking green eyes roll to the back of her head. “No. When Prince William broke up with her, she didn’t sit around in
her apartment wallowing. She put on the sexiest outfits she had and went out every night. She was photographed in every
magazine ‘moving on’ and reminding him what an idiot he was to dump her.”
The elevator gives a sickly ding and the doors fight to glide open. Jill drags me out the front door, onto the sidewalk
“So … this is my comeback tour?” I ask, still trying to understand.
“Exactly.” Jill pokes my cheek playfully.
Instead of turning the corner on 12th street and walking the four blocks to the subway station, Jill stops in front of a black,
unmarked town car parked in front of our building.
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
We might not be in the red now that Holden covered our rent for the year, but we definitely weren’t private car service
level rich or anything.
“Reinforcements,” Jill whispers.
Just then the window rolls down and Nolan pops his head out of the window. “Your chariot, m’lady.”
Jill clears her throat and Nolan’s gaze snaps to her, doing a double take. His eyes skim appreciatively down her body, then
back to her face pausing an uncomfortably long time at her lips. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “M’ladies.”
Jill doesn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze and instead she plants her hand on her hip. With an assertive nod of her head,
her red curls bounce around her shoulders. “Better.”
I gape at my friend. Is something going on between them? Or rather, does Jill realize that Nolan clearly thinks she’s a
hottie? “You called Nolan?”
“I told you, we needed reinforcements! Kate Middleton had a man on her arm every night. She wasn’t making out with them
or anything, but it added pressure to Prince William that she wasn’t going to be a free agent for long.”
My brows dip as Nolan scoots over in the backseat and Jill climbs in beside him. With a sigh, I follow her inside the car.
“Wow, you’re really going all in on this Princess Kate plan, aren’t you?”
“I’m telling you,” Jill says, reaching across me to shut the door. “It’ll work. Men are nothing if not predictable.”
I snort. “Holden is hardly predictable.”
“He is when it comes to being jealous of you,” Jill says, giving me a side eye.
I gulp. Well, she isn’t wrong there. I lean around her to look at Nolan. “And you’re okay with this? Me using you to make
Holden jealous?”
Nolan gives a playful shrug. “I have my own reasons.”
Missy. His ex. I scrunch my nose. “Please tell me you’re not trying to win Missy back. If you start dating her, I highly doubt
you and I will be able to remain friends.”
He scoffs and with a shake of his head, his eyes dart briefly to Jill once more. “No. God, no. I don’t want her back. But I
also don’t want her to get what she wants either.”
“What she wants… as in, my part in the show?”
“That. And…” His lips press together and an exhale hisses through his nose as he says, “Holden.”
 Holden. Of course. “But she’s already got Holden.”
“Does she?” Nolan asks.
I fall back on the plush leather of the seat and click my seatbelt into place. “Fine. So where are we going?”
“Curt’s band is playing tonight.”
I gasp. “Jill, no! We are not going to see Creepy Curt play in his greasy, weird band!”
“Creepy Curt?” Nolan repeats, a touch of concern in his voice.
Jill sighs. “He’s our manager at the coffee shop and admittedly, he does tend to stare at our boobs from time to time⁠—”
“From time to time?” I repeat her incredulously. “I once caught him wiping drool from his chin as he stared down my top.
Literal drool, Jill!”
“You’re being dramatic. He’s not that bad.”
Nolan has the decency to look concerned. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to this show of his. There’s like hundreds of bands
playing gigs in this city every night. I’m sure we can find⁠—”
“No,” Jill interrupts. “I told Curt we were coming already. Did you know he writes his own music? He took poetry classes
in college.”
My jaw falls open. Oh no. No, no, no. Jill’s always been a sucker for a poet. The amount of deadbeat hipster assholes she’s
fallen for through the years all because they can rhyme some stupid words and recite Whitman.“Wait. Wait. Was Creepy Curt
your date the other night?”
“Stop calling him that. And … yeah. We hung out once. He’s a nice guy when you get to know him⁠—”
“Nice guys don’t date their employees,” Nolan snaps and turns to look out the window, his jaw tight with his grinding teeth.
“Hey!” I lean over and smack Nolan’s arm. “I’m currently trying to date my boss.”
Nolan’s brows lift. “Yeah. And I’ll repeat it for the cheap seats in the back… nice guys don’t date their employees.”
“Okay, Judgy Judgerson,” Jill adds. “I wouldn’t have invited you tonight if I’d known you were going to get all holier than
thou.”
Nolan slinks down in his seat, his head falling back against the headrest. “Fine. But don’t come running to me when both
your ‘nice guys’ turn out to be the biggest assholes ever who crush your little hearts to dust.”
“Jesus,” Jill mutters. “Buzzkill.”
I point my finger in the air. “For the record, I never said Holden was a nice guy.”
Nolan’s entire mood has shifted and he stares out the window, suddenly grumpy.
Oh, Jill. I shake my head at her and while Nolan’s attention is out the window, I widen my eyes, trying to signal that Nolan
likes her.
Her expression twists in confusion and she silently mouths what?
Rolling my eyes, I take out my phone and text her.
KATE:
Nolan thinks you're hot. I think he likes you.

She reads my message and immediately rolls her eyes, texting back.
JILL:
He definitely does not. Guys like Nolan don’t think nerds like me are hot.

Oh, Jill.
My sweet, beautiful friend who doesn’t realize she’s only a geek girl at heart, not on the outside. Something tells me she’s
going to learn real soon how wrong she is.

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, I have to eat my words. Creepy Curt’s band is actually pretty damn good. The small dive bar is
packed with people and the dance floor is even more crowded than the bar area. I ache to dance, but Nolan is grumpy as hell,
sitting at a booth, cradling his sweating pint in his hands and glaring at Jill across the room as she dances at the edge of the
stage.
“Hey,” I nudge Nolan’s elbow with mine, twirling my fingers around the stem of my untouched cosmo. “You know she
believes a guy like you could never like her, right? That’s why she’s slumming it with Creepy Curt.”
Nolan’s gaze snaps to me. “Be careful. She might cut a bitch if she catches you calling him that again.”
Even though Nolan’s comment was anything but humorous, I snort a laugh all the same. “I can handle Jill.”
His attention drifts back to where she stands at the edge of the stage, hands clasped, watching as. Curt finishes his set. He
sets his guitar carefully in the cradle before hopping off the stage to chat with Jill, hands stuffed nervously in his pockets. “I
dunno,” Nolan says. “She seems pretty into him.”
“She just has a thing for poets.”
Nolan’s lip curls. “Poets?”
“Yeah. Don’t ask me why. They’re always weirdos who speak in riddles and paint their fingernails black. Although, Curt
doesn’t fit her usual type. Physically, at least.” I pause and look back at Nolan. “I’m telling you, you need to be more obvious
with her. Just come right out and say it. Or even better, go dance with her.”
Nolan seems to consider this as the door to the bar opens and a man enters with a camera in his hands. I recognize his face
as one of the Backstage Magazine reporters at the Pillow Fight party a few nights ago. “Maybe later,” Nolan mutters and
slides closer to me, draping his arm over my shoulders, he nuzzles into my neck before dipping his mouth to my ear and
whispering, “But for now? It’s showtime.”
 CHAPTER TEN

HOLDEN
Five years ago…
I was avoiding going home.
Which was pretty typical behavior for me back when I actually lived with my parents, but this was the first time in my
college career that I actively avoided the condo.
Namely because Addison was there and had been there all weekend fucking my roommate, Ross. I wouldn’t be surprised
if she made it through every single one of my roommates eventually… including Duncan. But for tonight, he was hanging
out with me, helping me learn these stupid lines for this stupid show.
I personally wouldn’t give a shit if Duncan eventually hooked up with Addison. As long as she didn’t ambush me in my
own damn home. Fuck who you want, but leave me alone.
Duncan held open the door to the little hole-in-the-wall ramen restaurant for me. This place was tiny, but it had the
best damn ramen in the whole city. “Thanks, man,” I muttered, going inside with my script curled in my fist.
“You know I’m missing the game for fucking noodles that we could make for .84 cents at home, right?”
“Dude. That shit in a cup is not ramen. You need to try the real thing. Besides,” Smirking, I smacked the back of my
hand against his chest. “It’s my treat.”
“Damn right it’s your treat. Addison was bringing the Delseki twins tonight, Holden. Twins.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “Then go! Go watch the game with them. No one’s stopping you. I’ll sit here and eat my
fucking ramen alone.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I promised I’d help you with these stupid lines, so I’ll help you.” Sulking, he dropped onto one
of the stools at the bar and gestured to the bartender for two bottles of Sapporo beer, then grabbed the script out of my
hands, flipping it open to one of the highlighted pages. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “This whole damn page is
highlighted.”
I took a seat next to him and lifted the menu, even though I ordered the same thing every time. “It’s called a monologue,
numbnuts.”
Tinki smiled at me as she slid two bottles of beer toward us. Silver highlights streaked her otherwise black hair and
smile lines creased her face. “Hi, Holden,” she said beaming, then bent over the bar to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Good
game this weekend.”
I shrugged, smiling at her. “Thanks.”
This was our routine. I don’t know how she managed to watch our games so religiously when she and her husband,
Gordon worked constantly, keeping this restaurant running. I waved at him from where he was slicing some pork belly and
he gave me a quick nod, then went back to work.
“I’ll bring you some bao buns to start,” she said, knowing I always get the appetizer.
As Tinki turned around to put our appetizer in, the bells on the front door chimed. I don’t usually bother turning around
to look every time someone walks into my ramen place, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall and I felt her
presence.
Or rather, I smelled her presence.
The scent of roses filled the air.
Sure enough, when I looked over my shoulder Katherine was standing there in the doorway, Jill at her side.
“Are you gonna get bitch slapped again?” Duncan asked.
“Shut up,” I bit out.
A week had passed since the party… the alley… Katherine slapping me.
A whole week of awkward rehearsals and class. Other than sharing a stage, we’d mostly avoided each other and had
been lucky that the scene work was focused on non-romantic scenes. Thank Christ.
And though I didn’t tell Duncan the whole story, I told him enough, omitting any parts about Katherone selling me her
panties.
And that was hard because I told Duncan fucking everything.
Slowly, my gaze lifted, taking Katherine in from the tips of her Frye boots up her lean denim-clad legs. She’d ditched
her usual vintage graphic t-shirts and in its place, she was wearing a low-cut tank top with some jeweled shit bedazzling
the trim. My throat went dry at the sight of the small swell of cleavage pushing out the top of her shirt and when I finally
reached her eyes, she was staring at me.
No, not staring. Glaring.
She was fucking glaring at me with the burning hatred of a thousand suns.
And like the sun, she was so goddamned beautiful that it literally hurt to look at her for too long. If I closed my eyes, I
could almost hear her moans. At night in bed, I’d picture what she looked like when she came as I touched her panties,
gripping them against my cock⁠—
Jill linked her arm into Katherine’s. “Come on,” she said, tugging her friend toward the door. “We can go somewhere
else.”
“No,” Katherine snapped, her eyes not leaving mine.
From beside me, Duncan clicked his tongue and nodded toward Jill with a wink. “Don’t be a douchebag,” I said.
“I’m the douchebag for winking at a girl?” He paused to lean in closer to me, adding with a whisper, “At least I didn’t
finger a virgin in the alley.” Thank God it was quiet enough that Katherine and Jill couldn’t hear him.
My face went beet red and I swear if I didn’t love Tinki and Gordon so much, I might have thrown Duncan through the
wall. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re my best friend, do not talk about Katheri⁠—”
My threat was cut short when the bells chimed again and Nate came walking in with another guy I didn’t recognize
behind him.
My heart pounded and a ragged breath escaped me. I wanted to look away. Or get up. Leave. Go to the bathroom…
anything to not have to sit there and watch as Nate and Katherine had this fucking double date right in front of me.
But I couldn’t look away. And with a blink, Katherine’s expression shifted from rage to pity.
I forced myself to close my eyes and I gestured at Tinki. “Could we get our order to go? I’ll have my usual. Order
whatever you want, Duncan.” Then, tossing my credit card onto the bar, I got up and excused myself to the bathroom.
I was just finishing washing my hands when the bathroom door opened. I fully expected to see Duncan standing there,
but it wasn’t.
It was Katherine.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Wrong bathroom, freshman.”
“You’re an ass.”
Both my brows shot up. “Well, well, well, the impossible has been achieved. I got you to curse.”
The muscle in her jaw tensed and she stepped forward, pushing off of where she was leaning against the door. “You
don’t get to act like the victim here, Holden! And I’m not leaving. I’m having a nice dinner here with my friends here
whether you like it or not!”
I snort. “Oh, you’ve made that really clear.”
She paused, pressing the heel of her hand between her eyes and squeezing them closed.
“What’s this?” I asked, touching her wrist gently. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying not to cry!” she shouted.
Oh, fuck me. Please don’t cry. “Katherine⁠—”
“Don’t!” she shushed me by holding out her other hand. “I’m not sad. I’m angry. And I cry when I’m angry. I can
always tell it’s coming because I get this little tingly burn here in my sinuses.” She paused, tapping her fingers between her
eyebrows. Then after another pause and a deep breath, she pointed her finger in my face, continuing her rant. “I’m not
going to stop living my life just because you’re the star of this school. I’m not going to hide out of fear of running into you.
I’m not quitting the show. I’m not dropping the class.”
I fought my smile because I was pretty sure it would just piss her off more. “Well, neither am I.”
“Good!” she shouted.
Eyes narrowed, it was my turn to step forward. Only she didn’t back down despite the fact that I towered over her.
“What do you want from me? You followed me into the men’s room, Katherine. Not the other way around. I didn’t know
you’d be at my favorite ramen spot on a date⁠—”
“I’m not on a date with Nate,” she blurted out, her cheeks tinging pink.
I narrowed my eyes. “You should probably tell him that, then.”
She shook her head. “Nate and I are just friends.” She looked up at me, her blue eyes large, wet, searing straight
through my chest, piercing my heart.
I took another step in, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off of her. “Why’d you follow me into the bathroom,
Katherine?”
 She looked down at her feet, scuffing her toe across the tiled floor. “I thought… I thought you might have something
you wanted to say to me.”
There was so much I wanted to say to her. So much I needed to say.
And couldn’t say.
Swallowing, I took her chin in my hands and tipped her face up to mine. “If I did, would that change anything?”
She was silent for a long beat. “You won’t know until you try.” Then, taking a step back, she headed for the door,
pausing to look at me from over her shoulder. “But I won’t make it easy on you.”
A smile twitched on my mouth. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

“IT ’ S TAKING LONGER than they expected to get me on the schedule,” Dad says, his voice even more raspy than I remember it
being.
That was the understatement of the year. They’d originally said it would be within a day or two, but several had passed.
“But,” Dad continues, “I go in for the surgery tomorrow,”
I cross the street toward the theater, pressing my phone to my ear. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.” Despite her promise to talk
to Holden about my having a couple days off, there’s still been no word from Missy on that front. “I might be able to come out
for a visit once we open and the show is a little more on stable footing.”
“Are you kidding?” Dad says, his laugh graveled, but genuine. “Your mother and I have been waiting years to see this sort
of big break for your career. Don’t you dare mess that up for some silly biopsy. I’ll be out of here in a day or two.”
I can’t help but smile at the warmth in his voice and I slow my steps as I reach the theater door where Nolan is waiting for
me, a beaming smile on his face.
“Speaking of, I have to get inside to rehearsal.”
“Go! Don’t be late on my account.”
I swallow down the emotions building. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard my dad be excited for something in my career. “I
love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, Sprout.”
I hang up the phone and finish crossing the few feet to where Nolan’s leaning against the door. He tosses me a copy of
Backstage Magazine that’s already folded open to a story. There, a full color photo of us snuggling in the back corner of a bar
looks back at me.
With wide eyes, I snap my gaze up at him. “They printed this?”
I skim the short article in their About Town section.
Broadway’s It-Man, Nolan Brooks has been spotted multiple times with his co-star, up and coming starlet, Kate Harris.
Pictured, they’re in a bar on the Lower East Side where they were spotted catching live music. Perhaps the on-stage
chemistry that everyone is buzzing about between them won’t be a testament to their acting skills, afterall?
We’ve been featured on their blog and website several times in the last few days we’d been on the Kate Middleton Tour, as
Jill calls it… but this? An actual printed story speculating about our relationship? That’s next level.
“Now what?” I whisper.
Nolan’s brows lift. “Now we go in there and give Holden and Missy some of that on-stage chemistry they’ve all been
buzzing about.”
My brows furrow further and I look back down at the article.
Nolan and I are good together onstage. But when it comes to onstage chemistry? Nothing compares to Holden and me.
“Who’s been buzzing about our chemistry?” I ask.
Nolan leans down and whispers, “Me.”
“Oh my God. You fed them that horseshit?”
“It’s not horseshit! We’re great in this show. Our chemistry is great. You just need to get out of your damn head and stop
letting Missy get the better of you. If you can do that, then Holden will be eating out of the palm of your hands before the
week’s over, you starlet, you.”
I feel my cheeks go hot. “Stop that,” I hiss and shove the paper back at him. He laughs, rolling it and tucking it in his back
pocket while holding the door open for me.
“After you.”
J ILL AND NOLAN might both be onto something with this whole Kate Middleton tour plan.
Our rehearsal has never been so spot on… not since Missy had been brought on as a producer, at least. Since the change in
leadership, my performance had been slipping, but tonight’s rehearsal felt like the first time in ages that I was back on track. It
also happens to be the first rehearsal in several days where Missy isn’t present. The first rehearsal in days when she’s not
clinging to Holden and tearing apart every line of my performance. The coincidence there is not lost on me.
After rehearsal ends, Nolan and I are packing up our stuff in the front row of the theater together. He bends down, his knees
brushing mine as he whispers, “So, are we going out again tonight?”
I groan and stand, hiking my bag onto my shoulder. “Please God, no. I need a night off.”
Nolan gasps, but offers me his elbow which I take, so grateful for his friendship. He’s my shield against Holden and Missy;
my armor. “A night off from me?”
I smack him in the washboard stomach with the back of my hand. “You know what I mean. Can’t we just have another
movie night at home?” I glance over my shoulders to make sure Holden’s not behind us as we walk down the center of the
aisle. “No cameras,” I whisper. “Just us, some popcorn, and hot cocoa?”
“A movie night would be pretty nice…”
“And Jill will be home, too,” I add, watching as Nolan’s eyes flash to mine.
“I assumed she would be. With Curt.”
“Curt’s never been to our apartment,” I say as we approach the front door and push our way outside into the humid evening
air. It’s true, too. To my knowledge, Jill hasn’t ever invited him home with her.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“I would never lie to you. Especially not about this⁠—”
“Katherine,” Holden’s voice stops me mid-step. I turn to look at him from over my shoulder.
When the hell did he get here?
He’s standing closer to us than I expect him to be with to-go coffee cups in each hand. He forces a small smile that’s way
too tight to be natural. “Can I speak with you for a moment?” he asks.
But it’s not a question. It’s a demand and we both know it.
Nolan’s face hardens. “Rehearsal is over. Union rules state⁠—”
“I know the union rules. And I wasn’t asking you,” Holden snaps, then shifts his gaze to me. “Katherine? Please.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Nolan says to me. “You have a contract.” As Nolan brushes my arm with the backs of his
knuckles, Holden’s grip on the coffee cups tightens.
Holden’s attempt at a smile turns brittle, his eyes trained on my arm where Nolan had just touched as though he can see the
scorching path his touch left. Tension stirs in the air between us, thick and heady, making it hard to breathe.
I nod, my phone clutched in my hand. All the progress Holden and I have made has unraveled, today being the only
exception, and we all know it. “I know,” I croak. “It’s fine. I need to talk to Holden anyway.”
With a final glare at our director, Nolan gives me a hug goodbye, leaving me and Holden standing outside in the humid
summer air. A few rare stars wink at us against the navy curtain of the sky—in New York City, only a few of the brightest stars
can be seen through the smog and brightly lit night sky. If that isn’t a metaphor for making it in this city, I don’t know what is.
“Look,” I start, “I know my performance has been shit lately. But it’s been really hard to focus with Missy here every
day⁠—”
“I know,” Holden interrupts me. “And I’m sorry about that. I’ve closed rehearsals off to her and other producers except for
one night a week. At least for now, until we get into tech week. So you can prepare to see her and possibly other producers
every Thursday, but otherwise, it’s just us and the crew.”
I blink. Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel hearing his apology. It came so seamlessly. So effortlessly. So
unlike the guy from five years ago who had to grind out the words through a clenched jaw and a white knuckled grip on an
apology frappe. “So… you’re not asking me to stay back to ream me out for sucking lately?”
He shakes his head no, his eyes flashing. Reaching up, he brushes a fallen piece of hair back from my eyes and I shiver
despite the summer heat surrounding us. “You could never suck, Katherine.”
The flash of emotion burns in my sinuses and I squeeze my eyes shut against the tingling. With a pause, I take a long, slow
breath in. It’s the first compliment he’s paid me all week and I hate that it affects me as much as it does. How badly I seek his
approval.
I don’t want to look up into his eyes, but his looming presence doesn’t give me any choice. Blinking my eyes open, I look
up to meet his eyes as tears burn the backs of mine.
A smile twitches on his annoyingly full, wet lips. “Good girl,” he whispers. “I’ve missed this vulnerability.” Then, he lifts
his hand again and brushes a finger to the space between my brows. The place he knows I feel my tears first.
Good girl.
 Those two words hit my bloodstream like a line of cocaine, fast and potent, sending a shiver of delight trembling across my
body. On cue, my nipples pebble, tightening against the soft cotton of my shirt and begging for his mouth.
My body can’t help but react to Holden, even when I know with every ounce of my mind that I shouldn’t. “You can’t do
that,” I whisper. “You can’t call me your good girl, then go home to her. It’s not fucking fair and you know it.”
Abruptly, he drops his hand and mutters a curse. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I really did just follow you out here to ask a
professional question.”
“Really?” I ask, doubt dripping from my voice.
“I was hoping we could take a field trip tonight. Together… for rehearsal tomorrow.”
“A field trip?
He nods. “You’ll get paid overtime, of course. And you don’t have to say yes, but I think it will help. We were really
making progress before when it was just you and me rehearsing after hours⁠—”
“Before you went down on me and then got back together with your ex all in the same night?” I blurt out.
At least he has the decency to look ashamed. A spray of red heats down his neck and he looks at his feet. “Katherine, you
have to believe me, this is for the best. It’s in your best interest⁠—”
I laugh out loud. It’s such an absurd statement and one that only Holden would dare to make. “It’s in my best interest that
you hooked up with me and then hours later turned around and got back together with your ex?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s for the best. For both of us. You and me. This thing with Missy and me⁠—”
“How long will this field trip take?” I’m pretty sick and tired of hearing other people tell me what’s in my best interest. But
Holden’s correct about one thing… we were making progress with my character work before everything got derailed.
The vision of Missy holding all of my sheet music her first rehearsal as a producer floods my mind. I need to stay on top. I
need to stay one step ahead of her, even if I don’t know where the path is leading me.
It’s an understatement to say my performance hasn’t been great this week and if I’m going to prove to Missy Howl and
everyone else that I belong front and center of that stage, then I need to do the work.
Even if that means staying late with Holden.
“An hour,” Holden says. “Tops.”
I give a curt nod and as Holden passes me one of the coffee cups in his hand, my heart sinks the tiniest bit. For all the things
we’d learned about each other in college and even these last few weeks, he didn’t remember⁠—
“It’s tea,” he clarifies. “No dairy.” Then leaning down, he whispers, “You didn’t really believe I forgot, did you?”
From behind his own cup, he grins, taking a triumphant sip, as though he won this round.
And in some ways, he did.
“Thanks.” I tell myself that the flush on my cheeks is from the hot beverage in my hands, but I’m pretty sure we both know
the truth.
For the first time since I began rehearsals, it feels like Holden isn’t waiting for me to fail. For the first time, it’s like he’s
rooting for me, not betting against me.
He picks up his messenger bag from the ground between his feet and jerks his head to the left. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
His grin widens. “You’ll see.”
 CHAPTER TWELVE

HOLDEN
Five years ago…
The next day, inspired by our run-in at the ramen place, I was fully in operation apology mode. I set the two cups of
coffee I’d bought on the hood of my car, pausing briefly to light my cigarette before I headed into the theater building for
class.
I made it as far as the steps before her scent hit my nose and I stopped dead in my tracks. She was alone in front of the
building, leaning against the brick with books clutched in her arms. “Those things will kill you,” Katherine said.
She looked adorably pissed off, her bright blue eyes pinched in anger as she glared at me.
With the cigarette pinched between my lips, I took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke slowly, balancing two coffee cups
in my hands as I approached her.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, the cigarette bouncing against my lips. “I’ve seen the after-school specials, too.”
In truth, I’d been debating quitting, ever since I started training for football this year and found myself winded after a
fifty-meter dash. I’d only started smoking initially as a way to metaphorically give the middle finger to my parents. As it
turned out, I was giving the middle finger to my lungs.
Unsurprisingly, even though I’d only been smoking a few years, it was already pretty hard to fucking quit.
“My dad smokes. I flipping hate it,” she said, eyeing me warily.
I stared back at her and took another long, slow drag. She never revealed a whole lot about her family. Other than
briefly talking about how protective they are of her, this was one of the few times she brought them up.
I guess we had that in common.
Katherine screwed her face into a frown and waved a hand in front of her nose to blow away the second-hand smoke.
“You’d find it easier to project your voice, too, during rehearsal⁠—”
“Jesus, I get it. You weren’t joking when you said you wouldn’t make this easy, huh?”
“Make what easy?” Her eyes slid to the bit of ash that fell from my cigarette and landed between us on the sidewalk.
“My apology.”
She scoffed, a snort-sound that on anyone else would have been the antithesis to sexy. But with Katherine? Literally
everything was sexy… even her snort.
“Your apology?” she repeated, incredulously.
With a roll of my eyes, I shoved one of the coffees toward her. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but you strike me as a
sugary frappe kind of girl. So here.”
I looked like a dickhead carrying that thing—domed with whipped cream and caramel syrup—out of the coffee shop. It
was a chick drink. And I either looked like a pussy or pussy-whipped. Either way, not an image I tend to embrace.
“I know I’d fucked up the other night. Fucked up bigtime. I’m an asshole. But in my defense, I did warn you of that the
first time we met.”
She didn’t take the coffee from me, instead merely eyeing it like a live bomb that may detonate at any second.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered and managed to remove the cigarette from my mouth with the hand that held my simple cup
of black coffee.
Even though she’d warned me this wasn’t going to be easy, I’d really hoped that the coffee would ease us into the
apology. Clearly I was fucking wrong.
The problem was, I didn’t know what I was doing. I was all over the fucking place. One second, I was ready to finger
blast her in an alley and the next, I was pushing her to arm’s length.
But I didn’t want to push her away anymore. As much as I didn’t like wanting anyone, I wanted Katherine. And I wasn’t
sure how long I could fight those feelings.
“Just take it,” I said, shaking the cup at her. “It’s a peace offering.”
She looked at me doubtfully before reaching out and taking the cup from my hands. “Uh-huh.”
 She didn’t take a sip. Didn’t move a muscle. She just stood there, staring at me.
“Aren’t you going to drink it?”
Her eyebrow arched, disappearing beneath golden side-swept bangs. “I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“This supposed apology you said was coming.”
“I already did!”
“No, you said you fucked up bigtime. You said you’re an a-hole—which, for the record, you are—and you said you
warned me of that. No actual apology, though.” She folded her arm, foot tapping against the cement sidewalk.
Fuck me. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you with the… with the, um, payment.” I
whispered the last word with a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening. She had refused my payment
that night, sending it right back to me in the app.
Theoretically, I probably should return the pearl panties to her, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. Because I
was a sick, perverted fuck.
“I’m not your whore,” she whispered in return, her eyes still fiery.
“I know. Jesus, I know, okay? But I also know you need money⁠—”
“Not that bad. You and your family think you can just buy anything. Anyone.”
“I don’t!”
“You do!”
I took a deep breath, raking my free fingers through my hair. “Okay. I get it. I’m truly so very sorry, Katherine. Can we
please go back to being friends?”
She snorted again. “Friends? You think this is a friendship?”
In truth, I’ve never had a female friend. Not one I wasn’t fucking. “All I know is that we are in this show together. We
have to find a way to get along. To make this work⁠—”
“Because you don’t want to want me. Isn’t that right?” she sneered.
I swallowed against the thickness lining my throat. No point in lying now, right? “That’s right,” I whispered. “Even
though I shouldn’t, I want you.”
And you want me too, I thought, taking another drag of my cigarette, forcing myself not to say those words aloud.
Saying it would make it too damn real.
It would make her impossible to resist.
She turned around to start to walk away, but I called after her.
“I was wondering if you could help me with my lines,” I blurted out, stopping her mid-stride.
Slowly, she turned around, shaking the coffee. “So it’s an apology and a bribe?”
I sighed in defeat. “Shakespeare is so fucking wordy and I just—I don’t know how you guys do this. How do you
remember so much? Blocking and marks and scene orders and costume changes and lines. All the fucking lines.”
“Well, it’s Keith’s words… not Shakespeare.”
“Semantics. It’s still a lot to remember.”
Her face softened. Compassion. It looked good on her. Like every other fucking thing on the planet. No matter her
mood, Katherine was fucking gorgeous, and I both hated and loved her for it.
I flicked the cigarette to the ground and pressed my toe against the embers.
“I’m free tonight,” she said, sniffing the sugar bomb and dipping her finger into the whipped cream.
“I have football practice.” I’d completely underestimated how much time both football and being in a show would take.
I had zero social life ever since the semester started.
“Come over after,” she said, but didn’t finish her thought before we were interrupted.
“Holden!”
Fuck. Me. I squeezed my eyes shut because I recognized that shrill voice behind me. Ever since Addison transferred into
our class, she’d been all up our asses. Constantly at my heels and even though she was now fucking my roommate, it was
clear that she was only doing it to make me jealous.
I spun to find Addison walking toward us. Her leotard left little to the imagination and a sheer tulip skirt billowed
against her thin legs with each step.
I stifled my groan with a gulp of coffee.
Katherine scoffed, the guttural sound rolling in the back of her throat. As she turned to leave, I grabbed her hand,
tugging her back toward me.
“Wait,” I pleaded. “Don’t leave me alone with her.”
“Two favors and an apology? How’d I get so lucky in one day?”
“Please?” I whispered, squeezing her hand.
Katherine arched her brow. “Fine. But only because she’s the only person in the world I hate more than you.”
 I smiled despite her because we both knew she didn’t hate me. She was pissed at me, sure. But hate? The only thing
about me that she hated was how much she wanted me.
But before I could respond, Addison halted mid-step in front of us, her gaze dropping to our linked hands.
“I, uh, was wondering where you were last night,” Addison said, carefully examining Katherine and me. “Ross had a
bunch of us over to watch the game, but you and Duncan were MIA.
“We went for ramen,” Katherine answered for me, tilting her chin higher.
Addison’s eyes shifted with uncertainty between us. “Y–you did?”
“Yep. Ramen,” I responded.
It was almost true.
Kind of.
“Right. Well… maybe I’ll see you this weekend? I’ll be at your house.” Ignoring that Katherine was still holding my
hand, Addison stepped forward and ran her fingertips down my arm.
Girls can be fucking savage.
“You’ll be there with Ross,” I snapped. “Besides, I have an away game this weekend.” I didn’t bother telling her the
‘away’ game was only twenty minutes away.
“Okay… well, are you coming into class?” The bravado I’d seen in her the last couple of weeks faltered, fracturing at
seeing me and Katherine holding hands offstage.
Katherine drifted her arm around the small of my back, hugging me into her. “Yeah, we should probably get in there,
Boo-Bear.”
Boo-Bear? Oh, fuck no.
“Aw, but Hunny Bunny, I thought you needed to get your bra out of my car?” I swallowed my laugh as Katherine’s eyes
flared. Then, I looked up at Addison. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
Addison ran inside and once the door closed behind her, Katherine spun on me, slapping my arm. “My bra!?”
I fell back against the wall, laughing so hard, tears streamed from my eyes. “Boo-Bear?” I said, wiping the moisture
from my cheeks. “Trust me, I had it worse.”
“As if that’s any worse than Hunny Bunny!” Katherine sighed and stomped into Turner Hall, nudging me aside with her
elbow. A little bit of the blended coffee sputtered out of the large hole on the top of the cup. “By the way,” she added,
“before I go on stage, I only drink tea. Dairy messes with my voice.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I reached for the coffee cup in her hands, but she pulled it back.
“Oh, no. I’ll drink this apology frappe after,” she said. “But after this past weekend and that display out there with
Addison, you owe me like a thousand more of these. And that doesn’t even count what you’ll owe me for helping you with
your lines tonight.”
I grinned, my smile halting her words. “You’re going to help me?”
“For the sake of the show. Don’t let it go to your head.”
I opened the door to the theater, holding it for her so she could walk in ahead of me. “Sure, sure,” I teased her.
“Sure, sure,” she mimicked me, her hips moving with a subtle sway as she walked into the theater.
God, she was gorgeous. Understated, sexy, ridiculously hot in a way that she had no idea how hot she was.
“I cannot have a Romeo who stumbles like a dumb-dumb over his lines⁠—”
I nearly plowed into her when she froze, mid-sentence and stared up at the stage.
“Oh, good,” Keith said, standing in front of temporary scaffolding set up center stage. “You’re both here. Come on up
to the stage.”
Professor McCay barely glanced up from her notebook. “There’s been a change in the schedule. We’re going to do the
balcony scene today.”
“But… but that wasn’t on the schedule until next week,” Katherine squeaked.
“Yeah. That’s why I said, ‘there’s been a change in the schedule.’” McCay snorted.
We made our way down the center aisle, climbing the stairs to the stage and circling the scaffolding. From the
audience, I heard a snicker and looked out to find Addison and Bailey sitting side by side, whispering.
“Is that even safe?” Katherine asked, pointing up at the scaffolding.
I had to admit, it looked rickety.
“Perfectly,” Keith said. “It’s so stable, I only needed to use half the screws it came with.”
A strangled whimper escaped Katherine, so quiet, only I could hear her. Her face drained of color, going whiter than
that smear of whipped cream on top of her frappe.
Keith laughed. “I’m kidding! Of course it’s safe. Take a minute to connect with your characters and each other. Laurie
and I are going to do a quick sound check on the floor microphones. Kate, when you’re ready, climb on up there and we’ll
get started.”
Sweaty and pale, Katherine stared up at the scaffolding.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
faire battre à mort : le vainqueur avait raison, disait-on, car c’est Dieu
qui donne la victoire.
Jamais pareille folie n’a germé sous le crâne d’un habitant du
Céleste Empire. Quand on a été élevé dans les saines doctrines de
Confucius, on ne peut pas croire que les choses se passent de cette
manière.
Quoi qu’il en soit, telle était la façon de procéder en Europe,
durant le moyen âge. Vous insultiez le meilleur des hommes : il était
forcé de se battre avec vous. Vous l’assommiez grâce à vos gros
biceps : et il était proclamé coupable de toutes les infamies dont
vous l’aviez accusé. C’était le jugement de Dieu et personne ne se
fût permis d’élever un doute, encore moins de formuler une
objection. Malheur au téméraire qui aurait risqué une pareille
démarche ! On l’eût bien vite fait flamber sur un bûcher pour lui
apprendre à vivre.
Ce petit jeu se poursuivit donc à travers les siècles sans que
personne y trouvât à redire. Les plus forts et les plus adroits
exterminaient les plus faibles et les moins habiles. On se battait pour
n’importe qui, et pour n’importe quoi : pour le sourire d’une femme,
pour un habit à la mode, pour un mot, pour un geste, pour le plaisir
de se battre, pour rien ! Les adversaires se faisaient accompagner
d’un ou plusieurs seconds qui ne s’étaient jamais vus, ou se
trouvaient être les meilleurs amis du monde ; et qui n’en étaient pas
moins obligés de s’entr’égorger sans savoir pourquoi.
Le moyen âge passe, enfin ! mais le duel reste. Il entra si bien
dans les mœurs et fit de tels ravages, que le grand ministre
Richelieu finit par défendre ces rencontres, sous peine de mort, et fit
couper la tête à un certain nombre de contrevenants.
Mais, admirez ici la force de l’habitude, malgré toutes les
transformations que l’Europe a subies depuis, le duel survit encore.
Alors même que les philosophes de ce continent ont quelque peu
expulsé Dieu de partout, le jugement de Dieu subsiste, préjugé
indéracinable. Les athées eux-mêmes y sont soumis aussi bien que
les croyants et, obligés par les mœurs, vont sur le terrain, invoquer
la décision d’un Dieu dont ils nient l’existence.
Mes compatriotes ne voudront peut-être pas croire ce que je
viens de raconter. C’est pourtant l’exacte vérité. J’ai assez dit de
bien, d’ailleurs, de tout ce que j’ai vu de beau et de bon en Europe,
pour que l’on ajoute foi à ma parole, quand je dépeins quelques
vices des nations de ce pays ; vices incompréhensibles, mais
malheureusement trop réels.
Je parlais, tout à l’heure, de journalistes qui se sont battus. Cela
se voit presque tous les jours. Je me hâte de dire que tous les duels,
heureusement, n’ont pas l’issue fatale de la rencontre à laquelle je
faisais allusion, et voici pourquoi.
On se bat à l’épée ou au pistolet. Lorsque l’on doit se servir du
pistolet et que la querelle n’a pas de motifs graves, les témoins
s’arrangent de façon à placer les combattants à distance telle que la
balle ait des chances de s’égarer. En quoi je les approuve
complètement.
Le duel à l’épée est souvent aussi inoffensif. La plupart des
jeunes gens ont appris, dès l’adolescence à manier cette arme et y
ont acquis une certaine habileté. Lorsque le combat a lieu entre
hommes exercés à ce sport d’un genre particulier, il est rare que
l’affaire tourne mal. Les adversaires parent avec la même habileté,
attaquent avec les mêmes ménagements et le combat finit par une
légère piqûre, suffisante pour faire déclarer l’honneur satisfait.
Les mœurs admettent le duel : les lois le punissent. Mais les
juges, en général, ferment les yeux, pour ne sévir que lorsqu’il y a
mort d’homme, ce que je trouve très illogique. D’abord, comme je l’ai
démontré plus haut, on ne se tue guère qu’entre gens qui ne savent
pas se battre et doivent, par conséquent, être considérés comme
moins responsables. Puis, comment la loi, si tolérante, en général,
peut-elle se montrer sévère lorsqu’un malheur arrive ? Est-ce que,
dans ces rencontres, où chacun lutte pour sa vie, frappe pour ne pas
être frappé, il est toujours possible de calculer exactement la portée
des coups ? Est-ce que celui qui a tué a plus voulu tuer que tel
autre, qui n’a fait que blesser légèrement ? Est-ce que le vaincu,
enfin, n’est pas aussi responsable de sa mort que le vainqueur ?
Dans notre belle Chine, heureusement, nous n’avons pas à nous
poser toutes ces questions. Chez nous, en effet, il n’existe aucun
genre de duel, pas même celui pratiqué au Japon, et qui consiste à
s’ouvrir le ventre dans la maison de l’homme qui vous insulte, pour
l’obliger à se tuer à son tour. On nous accuse parfois, en Europe, de
pratiquer ce duel, à mort obligatoire ; mais c’est là une erreur
absolue, pour ce qui concerne la Chine.
Les questions d’honneur, dans mon pays, se règlent autrement.
Lorsqu’il s’agit d’injures graves, c’est toujours la justice qui est
chargée de décider. Et son action sévère a réduit au minimum les
cas de ce genre.
Pour les injures légères, nous avons trouvé la ressource de
l’arrangement à l’amiable, sans coups ni blessures. Les amis des
deux parties interviennent, pour arranger le différend. Tout s’explique
et les adversaires se réconcilient. Celui qui a eu les plus grands
torts, fait partir une quantité de pétards devant la maison de
l’offensé : ces détonations, aussi bruyantes, mais moins malsaines
que celles des pistolets, ont pour but d’apprendre au public que
réparation a lieu. Puis, l’offenseur offre à dîner aux témoins et à la
partie adverse et les invite à assister à une représentation théâtrale,
dans un temple du voisinage. Après quoi, tout est oublié.
Voilà ce qui se passe quand l’insulteur et l’insulté sont de même
rang. Lorsque c’est un inférieur qui a insulté un supérieur, il lui
présente ses excuses devant les témoins, après avoir tiré de
nombreux pétards devant sa porte. Si c’est le supérieur qui offense
un homme de rang inférieur, il lui fait ses excuses, l’invite à dîner
avec les témoins et les pétards racontent comme dans les autres
cas, au public, que toutes choses sont remises en état.
Il faut remarquer ici que, dans les diverses circonstances que je
viens d’énumérer, l’insulteur finit toujours par présenter ses excuses
à l’offensé : il y est moralement obligé. En Europe, au contraire, c’est
une lâcheté, que de présenter de légitimes excuses à celui qu’on a
injustement outragé. Comprend-on une pareille aberration ? Est-ce
qu’on ne doit pas être heureux de réparer l’injustice dont on a
conscience, heureux d’avouer ses torts ?
Le mari se bat en duel avec celui qu’il soupçonne d’être trop
aimé de sa femme. Le pauvre époux a quelquefois raison, ce qui ne
l’empêche pas de recevoir un bon coup d’épée par-dessus le
marché. Notre système social rend la surveillance de la vie féminine
trop facile, pour que ces sortes de querelles puissent exister chez
nous. Mais s’il arrive qu’une femme mariée manque réellement à ses
devoirs, le mari outragé a le droit de se venger sur les deux
coupables, pris sur le fait. Je dis tous les deux ; car, s’il ne tuait que
l’amant seul, il serait puni pour meurtre, commis avec circonstances
atténuantes.
En Occident, le mari est libre de tuer un seul des coupables.
D’autre part, si une jeune femme, trompée par son amant, cherche à
se venger de lui, il ne lui servira à rien de le manquer : on
commencera par lui faire passer un temps indéterminé en prison,
dans une promiscuité horrible ; et, même acquittée, elle en sortira à
jamais flétrie.
Je ne veux pas faire passer devant vos yeux tous les cas de
duels possibles. J’ai voulu simplement vous faire connaître ce trait
du caractère européen. Je suis convaincu que vous serez affligé,
comme je l’ai été moi-même, en apprenant que de pareilles
habitudes sont possibles ; vous direz avec moi, j’en suis certain, que
tout n’est pas encore parfait en Europe ; que la civilisation comprend
autre chose encore que des machines merveilleuses et que
l’Européen n’a pas le droit de nous traiter de barbares, comme il le
fait souvent, alors que nous nous distinguons par la douceur de nos
mœurs et par notre morale, si véritablement humaine.
 LA VILLÉGIATURE

Le dictionnaire chinois ne connaît pas de terme correspondant

exactement à ce mot : villégiature.
C’est que les mots représentent les choses ; or, la chose en
question est inconnue en Chine : le mot n’y peut donc exister.
Nous aimons les parties de campagne. Lorsque nous voulons
passer quelque temps hors du foyer, nous faisons des excursions
dans les contrées qui renferment des lieux historiques célèbres, ou
des sites particulièrement renommés. Mais nous n’avons rien de
comparable aux villes d’eaux européennes, ni à ses campagnes,
chères aux heureux du monde, durant la belle saison.
C’est une chose très curieuse et digne d’observation, que cette
poussée printanière qui porte, par exemple, les Parisiens à sortir de
chez eux, à quitter la maison où ils ont leurs aises et leurs habitudes,
pour aller vivre pendant des mois dans des petites villes, consacrées
par la mode du jour, aux environs de la capitale, sur les plages de
l’Océan ou de la Méditerranée, dans les Alpes ou les Pyrénées.
L’habitant des grandes agglomérations urbaines est surmené,
par les fatigues de la vie moderne. On croirait donc que le séjour de
la campagne a pour but de retremper son corps, de rendre leur
vigueur première à ses nerfs épuisés.
Malheureusement, il n’en est rien. La campagne ne repose
l’homme que lorsqu’il y vit complètement en campagnard, se
couchant avec les poules et se levant avec l’aube, se grisant d’air
pur et s’abstenant avec le plus grand soin des excitations familières
au milieu des villes.
Or, le Parisien qui s’en va en villégiature, renonce tout
simplement aux avantages de la ville, sans jouir des bienfaits de la
campagne. Logé à l’hôtel, il y sera privé du confortable auquel il est
habitué. Et cette infériorité n’est pas compensée par des économies
correspondantes. Bien au contraire : tout est plus mauvais, mais
bien plus cher.
Voilà notre homme installé, et assez mal installé. Il retrouve la
société qu’il fréquentait dans la capitale, les amis et connaissances
qui, venus comme lui pour chercher le repos, s’ennuient bientôt et
ne savent plus que faire pour tuer le temps.
Alors se présente la grande ressource : le casino, avec ses fêtes,
ses bals, ses jeux, sa roulette, ses petits chevaux : et la vie enragée
de la ville, qui tue en faisant de la nuit le jour, recommence ; d’autant
plus énervante que les occupations quotidiennes ne sont plus là,
pour faire diversion. De sorte qu’en dernier lieu l’infortuné, qui avait
rêvé de se transformer en campagnard, s’aperçoit qu’il n’est qu’un
citadin, momentanément exporté.
Et, pourtant, elles ont du bon et même beaucoup de bon, ces
stations thermales, si nombreuses en Europe et surtout en France,
où le malade peut retrouver la santé ; où le corps reprend force et
vigueur, au contact des eaux bienfaisantes que la terre a chauffées
dans son sein. Elles seraient parfaites, si elles se contentaient d’être
des villes d’eaux et ne voulaient pas être en même temps des villes
de plaisir ; si elles ne détruisaient pas le soir, par leurs amusements,
le bien qu’elles ont fait dans la journée !
Les bains de mer me plaisent moins. Non pas, parce qu’en
Chine, nous n’aimons que les bains chauds et que, depuis des
siècles, nous rendons l’eau froide responsable d’une foule de
maladies. Il y a autre chose encore. Je ne comprends pas ce
baigneur qui porte ces baigneuses, il y a là quelque chose de
véritablement gênant. Je crois aussi qu’un costume un peu plus
habillé ne déparerait pas les jolies sirènes. Je dis cela pour elles,
non pour les spectateurs. J’avoue enfin — j’espère qu’on me
pardonnera ce crime — que la vue des talons de différentes
couleurs, aperçus lorsque les charmeuses prennent leur élan vers la
mer, m’a fait un effet bizarre. Oh ! ces paires de talons teints en bleu,
en saumon, en noir, que sais-je encore, suivant la couleur des bas
portés par la baigneuse ! Comme j’ai ri, la première fois que ces
talons diaprés se montrèrent à mes yeux stupéfaits !
Des mécomptes, imputables non plus à l’homme, mais à la
nature, rendent parfois la villégiature désagréable. Le frileux s’en va
à Nice pour y trouver la chaleur dont ses membres engourdis ont
besoin : il est accueilli par le souffle glacé du mistral et s’aperçoit à
ses dépens que midi n’est pas toujours équivalent de chaleur. Tel
autre, qui rêve de journées fraîches au bord de l’océan, arrive par le
calme plat et grille sur une côte sans verdure et sans ombrage, où la
chaleur du soleil est augmentée par la réverbération du sable et du
miroir liquide.
Ce sont surtout les nouveaux mariés qu’il faut plaindre, lorsqu’on
les voit partir, pour bercer dans le climat tiède des contrées
méridionales, les premiers mois de l’hyménée. Que de divorces en
germe, dans les déceptions presque inévitables d’un voyage de
noces ?
Les plus rationnels, parmi ces amateurs de villégiature, sont
certainement ceux qui, prenant la campagne au sérieux, se vouent
pendant quelque temps à l’imitation des labeurs du campagnard. Il y
a beaucoup de bon sens et une saine compréhension des choses,
dans le cerveau de cet avocat ou de ce rentier qui, au sortir de la
ville, s’enfuient dans quelque village isolé, s’emparent de la bêche et
du râteau et piochent, comme si leur vie dépendait du nombre des
coups qu’ils assènent à la terre.
C’est que le travail manuel est, pour une bonne partie, la santé
de l’homme. Seul il conserve — quand il n’est pas excessif, bien
entendu et ne fait point succomber à la peine celui qui exerce —
seul il conserve la vigueur du corps, la souplesse des muscles et
cette sensation de bonheur complet que les grands travailleurs de
l’intelligence avouent avoir toujours trouvée dans l’activité physique.
Car la cause principale de l’affaiblissement des citadins n’est pas
due, comme on l’a répété souvent, à une fatigue nerveuse
excessive, elle résulte de ce que le corps ne travaille pas autant que
le cerveau ; de ce que le travail musculaire ne se joint pas au travail
cérébral, pour créer cette heureuse harmonie, cet équilibre parfait du
corps et de l’intelligence, qui est la santé.
Heureux ceux qui comprennent cette vérité ; ceux qui savent, une
fois délivrés du fardeau des occupations de l’année, employer leurs
vacances à faire vivre la bête, en la faisant travailler !
Je n’ai pas, d’ailleurs, le mérite d’avoir inventé cette théorie.
J’aurais pu la puiser dans les livres des penseurs et des hygiénistes
de l’Europe. Je n’ai pas eu besoin de recours à leurs œuvres, pour
cette bonne raison que la pratique, dans mon pays, est conforme à
cette théorie.
Nous n’avons, en effet, à aucun degré, cette répulsion pour le
travail manuel que manifeste l’Européen des classes supérieures, et
qui nous paraît si étrange, lorsqu’au sortir de notre milieu national
nous sommes transportés tout à coup dans la société occidentale.
En Chine, personne n’échappe au travail manuel, personne ne
songe à y échapper. Dès l’enfance, chacun de nous est exercé à
faire toutes sortes de métiers, à manier les outils, à transformer
toutes les matières premières, à faire, dans l’intérieur de la maison,
les réparations sans recourir à un ouvrier spécial. Tous, nous savons
aussi ce que c’est qu’un champ et tous nous avons mis la main à la
pâte. Ce n’est pas comme un vain symbole qu’une fête, renouvelée
chaque année, met la charrue entre les mains de notre souverain.
Ce fait est plutôt l’expression d’une réalité ; il veut dire que le labeur
est la santé de tous et que nul ne s’y doit soustraire, sous peine de
cette amende qu’inflige sans appel le tribunal de la nature :
l’affaiblissement de la race.
Aussi, lorsque des grandes dames qui, à Paris, ne sauraient
descendre de leur voiture sans l’aide d’un laquais plus ou moins
galonné, chaussent les bottines à gros clous et saisissent le bâton
ferré, pour grimper dans les montagnes ; lorsque d’autres pêchent la
crevette comme de simples filles du bord de la mer, ou s’emparent
des rames et font marcher rapidement leur canot ; que tel riche
banquier s’attelle à un établi et passe des heures à pousser le rabot,
ce spectacle me cause un plaisir infini.
Sans doute, ces heureux ne font que par plaisir ce que le peuple
fait par nécessité. Mais enfin, ils le font. Pendant quelques mois, ils
payent tribut à la nature, obéissent à la loi commune, et se trouvent
largement récompensés par le renouveau de santé, qui résulte pour
eux de cette existence, dépouillée de toute allure artificielle.
 UNE VISITE AU MUSÉE DU LOUVRE

On appelle musée, en Europe, une espèce de grand bâtiment

dans lequel on a réuni des chefs-d’œuvre des arts et des sciences ;
ou, simplement, les objets qui peuvent nous renseigner sur la vie,
les mœurs et les idées des peuples.
De toutes les collections de ce genre, celle du Louvre est une
des plus belles. Elle renferme des trésors recueillis presque sur tous
les points du globe civilisé, et nous permet de passer en revue, dans
un coup d’œil, l’histoire des nations et leurs destinées diverses.
C’est là une institution admirablement comprise et dont je
regrette bien que nous ne possédions pas l’analogue en Chine.
Sans doute, nous avons, nous aussi, des collections d’une richesse
merveilleuse. Mais elles s’adressent spécialement à la Chine, sans
s’occuper de l’art des autres pays. De plus, appartenant à quelques
particuliers, elles ne sont pas accessibles au peuple, qui ne peut
venir s’y instruire gratuitement, chaque jour, comme font les heureux
habitants de Paris.
Lorsque je passai sous la large porte du Louvre, je ne pus
m’empêcher de penser aux catastrophes qui modifient la destinée
des choses et celle des hommes. L’ancien palais des rois est
devenu le temple des arts et des sciences. La troupe bruyante des
courtisans a fait place à la foule studieuse et recueillie. Les
dynasties sont tombées dans l’oubli, et là même où elles
triomphaient autrefois, le visiteur pensif, contemple maintenant les
débris de tous les âges de l’humanité.
Voici d’abord l’Égypte, qui, il y a six ou sept mille ans, possédait
déjà une civilisation puissante. Quelle recherche du colossal dans
ces fragments de statues gigantesques ! Quel amour de l’éternité,
dans l’emploi des pierres les plus dures, dans la momification des
morts.
Et à quoi bon ? Les statues, maintenant, sont brisées et les
momies, retirées de leur cercueil, sont exposées, comme de simples
dieux à tête de chien ou d’épervier, aux yeux du public, railleur, qui
ne comprend plus ni animaux divinisés, ni éternisation des cadavres.
Plus loin, j’admire cette belle statue de roi, dont une inscription
nous apprend le nom. Mais, les savants, qui ne respectent rien, et
n’admirent jamais qu’à bon escient, ont découvert que l’inscription
est un faux : que le roi inscrit, trouvant la statue belle, a essayé de
faire passer pour son image à lui, le portrait d’un monarque plus
ancien de vingt siècles. C’était bien la peine de démarquer… le
granit des autres, pour être déshonoré trois mille six cents ans plus
tard par un égyptologue qui, tranquillement assis dans sa
bibliothèque, vous démontre par a + b qu’un Pharaon, jusqu’alors
vénéré, n’était qu’un farceur.
Voici un autre roi, élevé au rang de dieu : assisté de quarante-
deux juges infernaux, il prononce sur le sort des âmes qui lui sont
amenées par un dieu à tête de chacal. Je retrouve, dans cette
scène, les juges infernaux des taoïstes : l’humanité, non éclairée,
produit partout les mêmes conceptions.
Ces Égyptiens, du reste, eurent, de tout temps, une façon bien
singulière de concevoir la nature humaine. Ils avaient la mort en
haine, ce qui se conçoit. Mais l’idée de la fin, idée pourtant
inévitable, leur était si odieuse, qu’ils en arrivaient à prolonger leur
existence de deux manières : ils conservaient leurs corps — après
en avoir cependant extrait la cervelle — par l’embaumement ; en
même temps, ils supposaient que lorsque l’homme avait rendu le
dernier soupir, une espèce de double en restait vivant. C’était
comme une ombre du trépassé, qui s’en allait dans l’enfer, se faire
juger et commencer une nouvelle existence.
Nos aïeux, à nous, surent éviter ces imaginations bizarres et
quelque peu enfantines. Nos philosophes, que résuma Confucius,
ne nous apprirent point à espérer une nouvelle vie. En même temps,
ils surent donner satisfaction à ce désir de l’infini, inné au cœur de
tout mortel. Ils nous montrèrent que si l’individu périssait, il
subsistait, du moins, par ses efforts, par ses bonnes actions, dans la
famille et dans l’humanité. Ils créèrent ce noble culte des ancêtres,
grâce auquel chacun de nous se sent revivre dans les siens. Aussi,
la mort toujours pénible, ne nous épouvante-t-elle pas comme ces
Égyptiens d’autrefois.
Nous savons que nous ne périrons pas en entier : que quelque
chose de nous persiste dans notre descendance ; que, si une
branche est morte, l’arbre n’en continue pas moins à fleurir et à
pousser de vigoureux rejetons. Théorie infiniment plus consolante et
autrement vraie que celle du double égyptien et de ses parties de
canot après la mort.
Sur tous ces monuments d’Égypte, l’on voit des caractères qui
ressemblent à l’écriture chinoise, en ce qu’ils peignent des idées, au
lieu de reproduire des sons. Mais la ressemblance est bien plus
grande encore dans l’écriture des Assyriens et des Babyloniens,
plus anciens encore que les Égyptiens. Nous trouvons dans des
salles voisines, des échantillons nombreux de cette écriture : les
objets nommés y ont perdu leur forme primitive et ne sont plus
représentés que par des traits droits. Ici encore, c’est une profusion
de rois, de dieux et d’animaux fantastiques : des taureaux à tête
humaine gardent l’entrée de la salle.
Les Phéniciens ont aussi leur musée : c’étaient des gens
pratiques. Trouvant trop difficile la représentation des idées, ils se
prirent à écrire des sons et créèrent l’alphabet, dont tant de nations
se servent aujourd’hui : ce n’est pas mal imaginé pour un peuple de
marchands.
 Les Grecs, qui ont beaucoup pris à l’Égypte, sont représentés
par des statues merveilleuses. Ils figurent dans l’ancien monde
européen, la perfection artistique. Les Romains, qui leur succèdent,
les imitent, sans les égaler : ils pensaient trop à piller la terre pour
être de véritables artistes. J’ai vu, dans une autre partie du musée,
quelques modèles de machines de guerre, dont ces Romains se
servirent pour prendre les villes de la France, qu’on appelait alors la
Gaule. Ils étaient commandés par un chef nommé César, qui tua
deux millions de Gaulois et fit couper les deux poings à un demi-
million de ces braves gens, coupables d’avoir défendu contre lui leur
patrie. En ma qualité de Chinois, je suis bien obligé de constater
que, malgré sa cruauté, ce César est partout appelé grand homme ;
et Tamerlan, qui a fait couper à peine trois ou quatre cent mille têtes,
est traité de barbare féroce. On n’a jamais pu m’expliquer cette
différence d’épithètes.
Nous passons ensuite dans les salles du moyen âge et de la
renaissance. La comparaison des dates nous montre l’art, éclipsé
pendant de nombreux siècles. L’Europe était redevenue barbare,
alors que notre Extrême-Orient poursuivait, à travers les siècles, sa
carrière paisible. On voit ses artistes bégayer d’abord, comme
l’enfant qui apprend à parler, puis se perfectionner peu à peu, arriver
enfin à une éclosion magnifique, et créer des merveilles
comparables à ce que l’antiquité avait produit de plus beau. Le
musée de la sculpture moderne nous prouve que l’art n’a plus
dégénéré depuis.
Ici, il faut nous désintéresser un peu de la sculpture, et envisager
l’art européen sous une forme plus générale. L’antiquité, en effet, ne
nous a guère laissé autre chose que des monuments taillés dans la
pierre. La peinture, telle qu’on la pratiquait dans ces âges reculés,
ne pouvait durer et a presque totalement disparu, usée rapidement
par l’effort des siècles.
Dans les temps modernes, au contraire, c’est la peinture qui tient
la plus large place et le Louvre nous permet d’assister à la
naissance de cette nouvelle forme artistique, et d’en suivre, jusqu’à
nos jours, le développement ininterrompu.
 La peinture, en Europe, hésita longtemps entre différents
procédés, pour s’arrêter définitivement au plus durable, à celui qui,
en même temps, se prête mieux que tout autre aux fantaisies les
plus variées du pinceau.
Depuis l’invention de la peinture à l’huile, un grand changement
se manifeste dans le monde. L’art, mis en possession d’un interprète
docile et vigoureux, songea dès lors à travailler pour les siècles à
venir et la toile se mit à faire au marbre une concurrence terrible.
Nous allons trouver, ici, ce que la peinture a inventé de plus
beau. Tous les âges, tous les pays, toutes les écoles sont
représentées par leurs chefs-d’œuvre. Plus de deux mille tableaux
m’ont enchanté. L’Italie, l’Espagne, les Flandres, la Hollande,
l’Allemagne, la France, rivalisent par la perfection du fini et la magie
des conceptions.
Comme si ce musée voulait me démontrer que l’Europe peut
réunir, dans toutes les branches de l’art, les créations les plus
parfaites de la terre, de nombreuses vitrines étalent encore devant
mes yeux des merveilles de joaillerie, des émaux exquis, des bijoux
inimitables. Je refais un deuxième voyage autour de la terre, en
parcourant les salles qui hébergent tous ces chefs-d’œuvre et, tout
ébloui, je finis par m’enfuir au deuxième étage.
Là, je retrouve de nombreux tableaux ; mais je suis émerveillé
surtout par la vue du musée de la marine, qui figure tout ce que la
navigation a pu tenter depuis les temps les plus lointains. Je finis par
me trouver, subitement, dans mon pays. Car il y a un musée chinois,
dans cet étonnant Musée du Louvre. Et, tout à coup, je me demande
si j’ai pu, jamais, quitter le sol natal et je regarde avec émotion tous
ces objets, qui semblent me dire : « Compatriote de l’Empire du
Milieu ! nous te saluons sur la terre française ! »
Je sors, enfin, du musée. J’en emporte un violent mal de tête ;
mais ça m’est égal, car j’y ai appris beaucoup de choses. J’ai vu là,
toute une population de dieux, adorés autrefois, et dont tout le
monde rit aujourd’hui. J’ai passé, promeneur indifférent, devant les
monarques jadis tout puissants et dont le dix-neuvième siècle ignore
jusqu’au nom. J’ai vu se dérouler devant mes yeux l’histoire de
grands peuples, qui dominèrent un jour la plus grande partie de la
terre et qui, depuis, ont été effacés du sol.
Et je me dis que les dieux et les puissants du jour ne sont pas
plus immortels que ceux de jadis. Je comprends, surtout, combien
sont folles de s’entre-dévorer, des nations toutes également
destinées à disparaître par la guerre, et qui, pour échapper à la
ruine, n’ont qu’une seule ressource : S’entendre entre elles ;
organiser la paix au lieu de préparer la guerre et faire régner la
tranquillité et le bonheur sur toute la surface du globe réconcilié.
 EN BALLON

Une vieille légende chinoise raconte que, sous la dynastie des

Tcheou, une troupe de brigands désolait le pays. Les bandits
restèrent longtemps insaisissables. Ils avaient, en effet, inventé une
machine qui leur permettait de s’élever dans les airs et de se
soustraire ainsi à la poursuite des autorités.
Les contes dus à l’imagination d’autres peuples nous rapportent
des faits analogues. Et la mythologie grecque, de son côté, avec
l’histoire de l’ascension de Dédale et de la chute d’Icare, retrace le
même ordre d’idées.
Ces exemples différents nous prouvent combien l’homme,
attaché à la terre, a toujours envié à l’oiseau le domaine des airs où
il plane. Quelle que soit la valeur historique des légendes que je
viens de rappeler, elles attestent toutes les efforts faits par nos aïeux
de toutes races et de tous pays, pour se détacher du sol et s’élancer,
comme l’hirondelle, dans l’atmosphère.
Rêve tentant, qui après avoir bercé l’humanité pendant de longs
siècles, a été enfin réalisé en France, il y a une centaine d’années,
par la découverte des frères Montgolfier.
J’avais déjà entendu parler, dans mon pays, de cette invention,
une des plus merveilleuses qu’ait pu concevoir le génie humain, et
dont les résultats sont incalculables, mais maintenant j’allais voir la
machine à l’œuvre, y prendre place et franchir avec elle les
immenses plaines de l’espace.
 Au milieu d’une grande place sablée, le ballon balance, déjà
gonflé, sa sphère puissante qui, tout à l’heure, vue d’en bas,
semblera, suivant l’expression de Victor Hugo, « un ventre d’oiseau
terrible. »
L’appareil à fournir l’hydrogène envoie ses dernières bouffées à
l’intérieur de l’aérostat. Nous prenons place dans la nacelle.
« Lâchez tout ! »
Tout à coup la terre se met à fuir, avec une rapidité vertigineuse.
Car il me paraît bien que nous restons immobiles et, qu’au-dessous
de nous, c’est le sol qui s’en va, avec la ville, ses maisons, ses
jardins, ses clochers, ses coupoles, emportés par une force invisible.
Le ciel était sombre et orageux. Le capitaine, néanmoins, avait
voulu partir, nous assurant que nous ne courions aucun danger, et
qu’une fois la région des nuages franchie, nous assisterions à un
spectacle incomparable.
On jette du lest : à mesure que les sacs éparpillent leur sable,
nous montons plus haut, plus haut toujours. La terre rapetisse à vue
d’œil tous les détails, pendant que grandit le tableau embrassé par
nos yeux.
Nous entrons, maintenant, dans un brouillard épais ; l’humidité
nous pénètre, une atmosphère d’électricité nous enveloppe et nous
fait vibrer d’une sensation bizarre, que ne saurait se figurer celui qui
ne l’a point éprouvée.
Le lest tombe de nouveau et bientôt, dans notre ascension
rapide, nous nous élevons bien au-delà de la région nébuleuse.
Maintenant, le soleil brille et nous échauffe. Le ciel pur et bleu sur
nos têtes ; sous nos pieds, les nuages forment un voile épais.
Et la terre a disparu.
Nous flottons dans l’espace, comme un astre infiniment petit ; le
brouillard, qui nous dissimule la vue de notre sol, nous isole si bien
du reste du monde, que je me sens envahi par un sentiment jusqu’à
ce jour inconnu : le sentiment de la solitude absolue ; de l’isolement
de quelques êtres humains dans l’infini des régions interstellaires.
 Nous montons encore et, à l’extrémité de la grande plaine
nuageuse, voici quelque chose qui apparaît : c’est une petite tache
verdâtre, qui s’allonge au loin. C’est la terre, que nous revoyons et
que, pour ma part, je salue avec la joie des compagnons de
Christophe Colomb, lorsqu’après la longue traversée de l’Atlantique,
le rivage désiré de la première île américaine se montra enfin !
Au-dessous ne nous, cependant, la masse sombre des nuées
s’est illuminée soudain. Un éclair jaillit ; un autre ; un autre encore.
C’est la bataille des éléments en fureur, qu’accompagnent comme
une canonnade d’une violence inouïe, les roulements prolongés du
tonnerre.
Et pendant que la pluie et la grêle inondent la terre ; pendant que
la foudre s’abat sur les monuments ou fracasse les arbres, nous
assistons, comme des spectateurs logés aux avant-scènes du ciel
bleu, à la tragédie que, pour nous seuls, représente la nature.
Le capitaine avait raison : ce spectacle est unique dans son
genre et, à lui seul, vaut tous les plaisirs de l’ascension.
Le vent, cependant, nous emporte rapidement vers l’ouest.
Bientôt, nous avons franchi l’espace que les nuages recouvrent.
Voici, de nouveau, la terre au-dessous de nous.
Paris est bien loin : c’est la petite tache, qu’on entrevoit encore
là-bas, bien loin, à l’est, vers la limite de l’horizon. Les villes, les
champs, les bois, les fleuves, les chemins de fer courent, comme
pour échapper à un ennemi qui les poursuit.
Le vent, devenu plus fort, nous chasse vers l’occident, avec une
vitesse que l’oiseau le plus léger ne saurait égaler.
Nous ouvrons la soupape : le gaz s’échappe à torrents et le
ballon descend, pour chercher une région moins balayée par les
courants d’air.
Maintenant, une vaste plaine s’étend devant nous. Les villages
s’agitent : avec nos longues vues, nous pouvons apercevoir les
habitants qui sortent des maisons pour regarder notre bateau volant.
 L’endroit est favorable à la descente. La soupape vide de plus en
plus l’aérostat de l’air léger qui le faisait monter. La terre se
rapproche : tout grandit à vue d’œil, comme ces arbres, qui, dans
certaines féeries, sortent du sol et achèvent leur croissance en
quelques instants.
Ainsi fait l’homme, dans tous les actes de son existence, dans
toutes les sphères de la vie. Il commence par aspirer à l’infini, par
chercher à s’élever au-dessus de ses semblables, au-dessus de lui-
même.
Puis, parvenu à ce qu’il croyait devoir être le terme de ses désirs,
il s’aperçoit que la supériorité tant rêvée est bien vide : il sonde avec
effroi l’immensité de son néant et renonçant à l’idéal, il redescend
tristement vers la terre qui l’a engendré et à laquelle il apparient.
Mais toutes ces désillusions sont individuelles. La masse n’en
poursuit pas moins sa marche en avant et, malgré les défaillances
partielles, monte toujours plus haut, vers la perfection qui est le but
de l’humanité.
Attention. On jette l’ancre, qui s’accroche aux branches d’un
ormeau. Voilà notre ballon captif.
Quelques minutes encore, et nous prenons terre, au milieu d’une
foule de paysans, accourus des champs voisins, pour voir le
monstre qui, dégonflé et emballé, prendra le train avec nous, à la
gare voisine, afin de regagner la capitale.
Et je me figure l’étonnement de mes compatriotes de l’intérieur
de la Chine, si tout à coup une immense machine de ce genre venait
s’abattre dans leurs rizières.
C’est, du reste, ce qu’ils verront bientôt. Le temps n’est pas
éloigné, où l’homme dirigera à volonté le navire aérien, qui, jusqu’ici,
flotte encore, à la discrétion du vent.
Alors, une ère nouvelle aura commencé pour la terre.
Les peuples, en face de cet instrument merveilleux qui supprime
les frontières et se rit des douaniers, se sentiront fraternellement
unis. Dans cet avenir heureux, que la science aura créé, le globe
tout enlier ne contiendra plus qu’une seule famille, et, de l’orient à
l’occident, célébrera la grande fête de l’humanité réconciliée.