He raised his glass in a toast that felt wrong. And not in the mocking way she was getting used to.
She stared at him, but couldn’t read his expression. ‘Gael—’
‘How many auditions have you given like the one you performed today?’ He cut across her.
‘This was my second. The first was for a workshop in the East Village a month ago.’
‘And the script? What play is it from?’ he pressed.
She hesitated, unsure where he was coming from. Unwilling to have her work mocked. ‘It’s my own work. I wrote it last year.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Goldie shrugged. ‘It’s a story about...resilience, dependency, trust. About two people who care for each other but can’t be together because of perceived insurmountable obstacles.’
He took a sip. Swallowed. His eyes locked on her. ‘What obstacles?’
She toyed with the ends of the gown’s belt. ‘Alcoholism. Infidelity...’ she murmured.
‘And the piece you performed today? Which of those two things did it deal with?’
‘Both. Her alcoholism. His infidelity. He wants to give up. She wants to stay and fight.’
He stiffened, his eyes slowly narrowing. ‘It sounds like they’re toxic together. Don’t you think they’re better off apart? As far from each other as they can get?’
‘Maybe they are—maybe they’re not. But surely it’s better to find a way through the conflict than to give up at the first hurdle? Stick it out for a while for the sake of the love that might be buried beneath all that? Surely they owe it to themselves to root through the toxicity and find it? Maybe that’s what will heal them?’
She forced her voice past the lump threatening to rise in her throat.
‘What if their so-called love is toxic too? And how long is “a while”? How much is enough when everyone around you has to bear the brunt of the toxicity?’ he demanded.
His voice had grown ragged, raw with a frustration and anger that she knew instinctively stemmed from that phone call.
‘I don’t have the answers. But I know I’d never give up something that important that easily,’ she said.
He stared at her, his gaze probing deep. Deeper.
‘Do it,’ he said, in a low, rumbling voice just a shade above a whisper.
Her breath caught. Strangled her. ‘Do...what?’
‘The piece. Perform it for me.’
Shock sent her rigid for a second. ‘Now?’
‘We’re both awake. We’re here. You asked me in the car what you could do. This is what you can do. Show me what I want to see.’
It was clear that Gael was still affected by whatever had happened during that phone call. Talking to his mother had disturbed him badly. Enough to make Goldie consider saying no...consider questioning his objectivity.
Because this no longer felt like business. This had become something else. Something emotional. Something hot and heavy and dangerous. Perhaps even deeply personal.
But, on the flipside, it was just what she needed. She needed her audience to be emotionally invested, not clinically detached. Even if he didn’t believe what she was selling, he would feel strongly about it somehow. And wasn’t that a good thing?
Reaching out, she offered him the glass in her hand. His gaze went from it to her face and back again before he took it. Set it to one side.
The moment his gaze returned to her face she spoke the first lines.
‘You won’t leave me. I won’t let you.’