“Oh, no! I can’t cook and play Elizabeth and deal with the props.”
“Did you just say what I thought you did? You are playing Elizabeth?”
“I think so. Tate asked me to and I—”
“Tate as in Landers? That Tate? He personally asked you to play Elizabeth to his Darcy?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t like what you’re thinking. Yesterday he broke into my house and ate an entire pie! The whole thing. Plus, he was upstairs in my bedroom.”
Stacy was silent.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. I think you have just lived my every fantasy. Casey, I can see that this guy has impressed you in the wrong way, but when it comes to your cooking, you should have some mercy on us mortals. Remember those little hazelnut orange cakes you made and they disappeared? We said Josh must have taken them. But it was me. I ate every one of them and I lied about it. So cut this guy some slack, will you? I have to go. Nate will be here in minutes and I need to get ready.”
“Wait! What did Kit say when you told him about all this?”
“Kit? Oh…I…You’re such a diplomat that I think you should— Uh-oh. I think I hear Nate. Gotta go. I love you bunches and heaps and I’m really, really glad you’re my sister. Call me later. Bye.” She clicked off.
“She didn’t tell Kit.” Casey’s teeth were clenched. “Crap. Double merde. I’m going to kill her!”
“Anything I can help with?” Tate asked. He had returned to check on her, it seemed.
“No. It’s none of your— Oh, just go away.”
But Tate didn’t move. “Did you get bad news?”
Casey was pacing.
He held out his hands as though he meant to put them on her shoulders, but then he dropped them. “Tell me what happened.”
Casey stopped walking. “My sister isn’t going to help with the play.”
“You mean Jack’s girl?”
“That’s Gizzy, and she doesn’t belong to Jack or to any other man. It’s Stacy.”
“Blonde, very pretty? Interior designer?”
“When did you meet her?”
“I didn’t. My sister knows her and has spent the last several months trying to fix me up with her.” There was a wooden bench nearby and Tate motioned to it. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”
Casey sat. “You’re too late. Stace is falling in love with some guy in D.C. and she’s staying there. She’s turned over the costumes to her mother and she wants me to look after the props. And absolutely worse, I don’t think she’s told Kit about any of this.”
“You’re afraid of him?” Tate sat down at the far end of the bench.
“Not like you mean. He’s a great guy, but this is too much—for him and me. Cooking, acting, props. I didn’t even get breakfast this morning.”
Tate reached into his pocket and withdrew a fat bar in a wrapper that proclaimed it was all protein and gave a person limitless energy.
Casey took it, tore off the paper, and bit into it. “I hope you know that these things are mainly sugar and very bad for you. They’re downright lethal.”
“Sounds like what my publicist says about me.”
Casey couldn’t help a laugh, and that made her relax a bit. “Kit is going to be one unhappy director because he really likes Stacy. They worked together in D.C. and here in the Big House. He even introduced her to his son in D.C.”
“That she’s staying to be with Kit’s son should make him happy.”