Page 11 of Welcome to Gothic
“Of course you’re not ready to go to sleep, but why don’t you go for a ride with Betty.” Maeve exchanged a significant glance with Betty. “Clarence will drive you, and I’ll be home to kiss you good night.”
“Mommy.” Hazel thumped her head on Maeve’s shoulder.
Maeve closed her eyes and swayed with the child, a mother in tune with her baby.
Wendy relaxed. Hazel was headed home where she would be safe and nobody, certainly not that weird Bill guy, could do her any harm. She didn’t even know why he worried her, but something about him was off. If she could just put her finger on what was wrong...
Wendy glanced at Betty and discovered the young woman glaring steadily and jealously, which confirmed how nice Wendy looked. Wendy decided to relieve Betty of her need for constant animosity and slipped from the room.
Backstage was flooded with actors, dancers, stage crew, all milling around, congratulating each other on a successful final performance, making plans to go to the wrap party. It was loud and raucous. The smells of face paint and warm human bodies filled the air... but Wendy saw only one man towering above the rest.
Chapter Six
Hugh stood in the midst of a fawning crowd, looking for someone... looking for her.
He met her eyes. He excused himself from his sycophants, strode over and took her hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Hugh Capel.”
“I’m Wendy Giordano.”
“Wendy Giordano.” He savored her name like a sip of rich red wine. “You looked wonderful before in your jungle outfit, but now...” He took her other hand, lifted her arms away from her body and looked at her from top to toe. “You’re magnificent.”
If Percy had made that move, pulling her arms up to look at her figure, Wendy would have knocked him ass over teakettle. With Hugh, she blushed—actually blushed. “Maeve’s dresser, Beatrice, is a wonder.”
“She had the right person to dress.” Hugh let Wendy’s hands go. “I’ve got to shower and change. Can you wait for me?”
“I can wait for you.”
Hugh’s eyes flickered. “Good. That’s good.” He was gorgeous. But not smug. Not aware of himself as a powerful morsel of a man. He felt... real.
Wendy reminded herself that he wasn’t real. Then she made an oath to herself; if she woke from this hallucination now, before she’d had a chance to talk to Hugh, dance with Hugh... she’d hit herself on the head again to induce another one.
But then Hugh grimaced, and Wendy suddenly felt that something wasn’t right. She glanced around.
The people who moments before had been laughing, drinking, slapping each other in congratulation... those people now silently watched Hugh and Wendy. Every eye was upon them. Percy, Bill, Fred, the painted warriors, the leaf-skirted dancers, the purple velvet crocodile... although at least the crocodile wasn’t nudging someone...
Hugh didn’t so much look around as know from experience how much his every move interested the world. But he ignored the cast and crew and spoke to Wendy. “If you want to wait outside, I can find you there. Go out the front door. You’ll be less likely to be interviewed repeatedly.” A dimple quirked his cheek.
“That’s a good idea.” An interview or two would be disastrous. Because who would she say she was? Where would she say she was from? A sudden sense of caution made her take a step away from Hugh.
He sensed her onset of wariness, and in a low, urgent voice he said, “Please don’t change your mind about me. I’m not the public. I’m not the press. I’m not the cast. I’m Hugh, and I would very much like to get to know you.”
His words, the expression in his eyes, pushed aside her misgivings and returned her into a debutante blushing maiden. “Okay.”
“You’ll be in front of the theater?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll hurry.”
“Okay.” She watched him stride to the guest star dressing room.
Betty stepped out of Miss Lindholm’s dressing room with Hazel in her arms. She put the child down; Hazel zeroed in on Hugh and ran up to him, arms stretched up, ready to be held.
Hugh stepped back, hands out as if to push her back. He opened the door to his dressing room, slid inside and shut the door.
The way he acted around Hazel, like he didn’t want to be bothered...
That troubled Wendy. Not a lot; some people didn’t relate to kids. But Hazel was such a sweet girl. Then Wendy remembered Maeve had mentioned “the wife and child”—she didn’t have any right to judge.
