And now here he was.

Ignoring me.

Well, then.

In denial of the pain that scored across my chest, I said, “No one else here yet?”

Terence nodded to a door at the left side of the stage that led to dressing rooms and a small kitchen and public room. “Having a coffee. Still waiting on a few others.”

I flicked one last look at Aidan but he was determinedly not looking anywhere in my vicinity.

Asshole.

Anger swirled in my belly and took out the earlier surfers, and I strode away like I couldn’t care less. I found most of the cast in the kitchen.

“Here she is!” Jack boomed, standing up and holding his arms out wide. “Our lovely Viola!”

I rolled my eyes at him and then blushed when everyone cheered and whistled. “Stop it,” I said, gesturing for them to hush.

“We’re pleased for ye, Nora.” Jack grinned.

“No, Jack is pleased for himself.” Will smirked. “Now he can snog you and you have to snog him back.”

While everyone chuckled and teased us, I took it in stride as I poured myself a quick coffee. “Yeah, pity Quentin isn’t strictly sticking to the original play, huh?” There wasn’t any kissing on the lips in the original.

Jack held a hand to his chest. “Oh, how ye wound me.”

We stood around talking and joking for a few minutes until Terence popped his head in to tell us we were ready to start. As we wandered out to the theater, I heard Jane asking when the costume mistress would be taking fittings. We’d already had our measurements taken but I wondered if I’d need to have another session with her now that I was Viola.

Quentin’s vision for the production was a dystopian twist. To him it was set way in the future after a cataclysmic climate disaster and Illyria was an island that had survived and thrived. Our clothing would be modern meets Mad Max, and although our dialogue was from the original play, Quentin had sexed it up a little. There were moments when I, dressed as Cesario, would appear as if I was going in for a real kiss after Orsino kisses my cheeks, for example. Those moments were supposed to be thick with sexual tension on my part. And Quentin also wanted me to kiss Orsino as Viola when he finally learns the truth that I’m a woman. He said it gave the audience the satisfaction they were looking for, rather than questioning whether Orsino really loved Viola or was simply glad someone loved him when he’d been rejected by Olivia so many times.

That last bit pricked me, reminding me of Jim. Although I was learning to forgive myself, I still wasn’t completely there, and I still questioned how I’d really felt about him. Had I run off and married him because I was allured by how much he loved me?

Shaking the thoughts out of my head—I didn’t need them hanging around when Aidan Lennox was near—I grabbed a seat with the others. Jack took the stage with Terence, who was playing Curio as well as Malvolio since the characters never share the stage. We were starting from the top secondary to Gwyn’s departure.

I chanced a glance at Aidan who stood beside Quentin, and I frowned, watching him watch the actors. Why did he have to be here? Did he really need to be? Couldn’t he just study Quentin’s production notes and the costume and set designs? It wasn’t like we were in dress rehearsal.

From the angle I was sitting, I could only see Aidan’s profile. A rush of feeling flooded over me as I studied his familiar face. Memories flooded me. Smiles. Laughter. Kisses. Soft touches. Tears. Him falling to his knees. Not meeting my eyes and telling me to leave and get rest. The last thing he ever said to me.

I’d never felt such a confusing mix of fury and longing in my entire life. I at once wanted to go to him, make him look at me, hold me, and I also wanted to march up to him, grab his sweater in my fists, and shake him, even though he’d barely budge under my assault.

I remember you, Pixie.

I closed my eyes, in pain at the memory. If he called me by his nickname for me again, I didn’t know whether I’d burst into tears or smack him across the face.

Probably both.

“Viola!” Quentin spun on his heel to look at me. “On stage.”

Nerves hit me in a massive wave and I took a moment to exhale slowly before I stood and walked toward the stage. I hoped I appeared calm and ready to do this because inside, I was under attack.

I joined Eddie up on stage; he gave me a bolstering smile.

In my entrance on performance nights, I would be accompanied by Eddie as Captain and we’d have extras with us as our sailors. “‘What country, friends, is this?’” I said in a faux upper-crust English accent, slowly walking across the stage, looking awed.

“‘This is Illyria, lady,’” Eddie said, following me.

I swiftly turned to look at him. “‘And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium …’”

We fell into the scene and I was feeling pretty good about it when it came to an end, until I looked over at Quentin and Aidan. Finally, I had Aidan’s attention. But I’d take him ignoring me over the scowl he wore.

As my director opened his mouth to speak, Aidan called up to me, “You need to work on that accent.”

I flushed, turning expectantly to Quentin. He looked a little taken aback by Aidan’s input but he nodded at me. “If one person thinks it’s not great, others might. Practice it. It’s not a huge concern yet.”

“The way she’s wandering around the stage like a bewildered child is,” Aidan said, like he hadn’t insulted the hell out of me. “Viola is bold enough to dress as a man in order to find her brother. She wouldn’t be wild-eyed and frightened.”

Wild-eyed and frightened?

I hadn’t been acting wild-eyed and frightened!

Quentin quirked a brow at his friend and then smirked up at me. “Play it a little less vulnerable in your next scene.”

Seething, I could only nod. Completely unable to look at Aidan, I turned to Eddie. He gave me a sympathetic smile and we left the stage together. The actors playing Maria, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew took the stage.

Ignoring Aidan, I strode farther down the aisle to get away from him, and Amanda gave me a smug smile from her seat next to Hamish. “You’ll get better with practice,” she said.

I returned her smile with a tight one of my own and flopped down on a seat near the back.

It wasn’t much later, however, that Quentin was calling me up to stage again with Will and Jack. After Aidan’s criticism—something he did not dole out to anyone else—I was on edge but fighting the feeling because I didn’t want it to affect my performance.

We were halfway through the scene when Quentin called up for us to stop. Dread filled me as we looked down at him.

But it was Aidan who spoke. “You’re doing it again. All doe-eyed while he’s talking.” He gestured to Jack.

Anger flared out of me. “I’m supposed to be in love with him,” I argued.

“And you’re masquerading as a man. You’re good at deception,” he bit out, and I couldn’t miss the hiss of anger in his words. Were we still talking about the play? “At this point in the play, you can control your feelings for this man.”

Reeling from his words, I couldn’t argue this time. In fact, the whole atmosphere in the theater had changed, as if everyone else had heard the underlying fury in his words and were confused by them.

As confused as I was.

Why the hell was Aidan mad at me?

Attempting to shake him off, I stepped back into character and tried to rein in the vulnerability. Jack was incredibly charming as Orsino, playing him with the right amount of sensual masculinity and silly, lovelorn comedy.

When he’d finished his last line of the scene, I gave him a bow. “‘I’ll do my best to woo your lady.’” And then I strode off, as if exiting stage, but stopped and turned to the audience. I gave them a pained look, my hands in tight fists at my sides. “‘Yet, a barful strife. Whoe’er I woo … myself would be his wife.’”

“Again!” Aidan called up.

I gawped down in astonishment and even Quentin was gaping at him. Aidan caught his friend’s look. “I can’t get the feel of the play until all the actors are doing what they’re supposed to be doing.”