Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(52)
Author: Leisa Rayven

He stares at me, eyes glittering from the stage lights. “Me too. Let’s show them a Romeo and Juliet they’ll never forget.”

All I can do is nod, because he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He leaves me to take his place on the brightly lit stage, and just like that, the make-believe is real.

TWELVE

NEW ROLES

Present Day
New York City

By the time Holt and I return to our table after our bathroom encounter, there’s a jazz combo playing in the corner. The plaintive sound of the sax wafts over to us as the smoky-voiced singer launches into the first verse of Nature Boy.

“There was a boy … a very strange, enchanted boy … “

I tune her out.

Don’t really need to add any more emotional layers to my night.

Holt’s looking at me, and by the prickle of nervousness that runs up my spine, I know he’s about to say something that’s going to make me uncomfortable.

“Dance with me,” he says quietly.

It’s not a question.

“Uh … why?”

He smiles and glances over at the few couples on the dance floor before looking back at me

“Because I have things I need to say to you, but I don’t want us separated by this damn table.” He takes a sip of wine and looks at his fingers. “I want to be close to you.”

Just the thought of it makes me angry. Not because I don’t want to dance with him, but because I want it so badly it hurts.

I take a swig of wine. A big one. It’s pointless. There’s not enough wine in the world for this.

I watch in slow-motion horror as he stands and walks around to my side of the table.

“I don’t think we should,” I say.

He holds out his hand. “Please, Cassie.”

I look at his hand. His perfect, warm, Ethan hand. Then I look at his face. There’s such fragile hope in his eyes, I find it impossible to say no.

I press my palm against his, and our fingers curl around one another. They fit back together more perfectly than they have any right to.

He leads me to the dance floor and pulls me into his arms. I sigh without meaning to.

“Do you remember the first time we danced together?” he asks, his mouth near my ear.

“No,” I say, because I want to hear his version of events.

“It was the night we shot that commercial for the supper club on West 46th Street, remember? You, me, Lucas, and Zoe were cast. We were all supposed to be young, hip, and in love.”

“Yeah, but I was partnered with Lucas, and you were with Slut Barbie. She was all over you like a rash.”

“You were jealous as hell.”

“Says the man who spent the night acting like he wanted to tear Lucas’s arms off.”

“He touched your ass.”

“He was your friend.”

His gaze drops to our clasped hands. “I used to think that anyone who touched you like that wasn’t my friend.”

“You tried to punch him out.”

He pauses for a few seconds before saying, “I’m not proud of how I acted that night. It made me realize you deserved so much better than an insecure, jealous asshole.”

I remember his jealousy well. At first I thought his possessiveness was sexy. By the end, it was just one more nail in our coffin.

“That night,” he says. “I wanted so much to be different. More than anything, I wanted to be different. But I wasn’t.”

He twirls me around and pulls me back, arm strong around my waist.

“So you destroyed us.”

He tightens his arm around my waist. “I thought I was cutting the cancer that was me out of your life.”

“I never saw you like that.”

“I know, and that was the problem. You couldn’t see the damage I was doing even while it was happening.”

We dance for a while, lost in our own thoughts.

After a few minutes, he pulls back and looks down at me. “You know, when I begged Marco for this show, I hadn’t even read the script. I didn’t care what the role was, as long as it was you and me onstage together. Then I saw you for the first time in too many years, and … our whole past came rushing back. How it felt to be near you. How you could drive me insane with a single look. I was hoping that when you saw me, you’d remember we had good times, too. That you’d missed me as much as I’d missed you. But you were so angry—”

“I had reason to be.”

“I know,” he says, still swaying with me even though the music has stopped. “I expected it.”

“And deserved it.”

“But when we rehearsed the kiss, I—”

He stops and brushes my hair away from my neck, grazing my skin. “I guess there was part of me that hoped kissing you would wash away all the bullshit I’d put you through. That I could tell you without words how I felt, and you’d just magically forgive me.”

“It’s not that easy.” I fist my hands in his shirt, because I want to push him away and hold him closer at the same time.

“I realize that. But you know what kills me?” Frustration is sharp in his voice. “What slays me every day I come to rehearsals? Is that I can be there, in bed with you, kissing you and pretending to make love and … I still miss you. Because it isn’t real. And I want it to be. So fucking badly.”

I try to swallow and can’t. I want to look away, but it’s impossible.

A kaleidoscope of regret fills his eyes. “Cassie, I felt like a ghost while I was away from you. I was. Now, I want to feel real again.”

He searches my face, but I can’t look at him anymore. All the fault lines inside me are flaring to life.

My throat is too full of emotion to speak. He nods in understanding before pulling me back into his arms.

We start to sway again. We’re not actually dancing, just rocking side to side. Not moving forward or backward. Just moving.

Like most of our time together, we’re treading water.

Trying not to drown.

Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Opening night—Romeo and Juliet

There are times in every actor’s life when the enormous mess of possibility and make-believe is distilled into a crystal-clear point of clarity. When the line between imagination and invention blurs, and talent and conviction converge for a brief, shining moment.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The moment I stepped onstage, my transformation was complete. Juliet inhabited me completely.