Chapter 27
Every Note
Catherine
Catherine always arrived early. She liked to walk into a room before anyone else, settle into a chair, cross her legs, and breathe. Just five, ten minutes to gather herself before the others filed in.
But tonight, an hour before she needed to leave, she was dressed and pacing. She paused at the window, fingers drumming against the sill as she watched pedestrians below.
The glass reflected her faintly back at herself.
Midnight blue silk skimmed her figure in a way that left very little to the imagination and everything to it at the same time, the fabric moving with her as she shifted her weight, her heels adding the kind of height that changed how a room felt when you walked into it.
She raised her fingers to her throat, tracing the edge of the diamond choker where it sat cool against her skin, and thought about the precise moment Theodora would see her.
The way those green eyes would move over her, taking in the silk and the diamonds and the heels, and then, because Theodora had never quite mastered the art of not showing exactly what she was thinking, the way they would move over her again.
A flutter rose in her chest, not the sharp, glass-edged thrill of opening night applause, but something softer that had been there since she'd lingered in bed that morning, smiling at the ceiling.
She glanced at her watch, still fifty-five minutes.
Catherine Matthews, who had built her life on perfect timing, grabbed her purse and left anyway.
She arrived at Theodora's door at seven on the dot, which required twenty minutes of walking very slowly around the block in heels, but that was nobody's business but hers.
She knocked and waited, her hand dropping back to her side, her heart racing.
Then the door opened.
Catherine had seen Theodora in many iterations by now. She'd seen her in scrubs at the hospital, in the soft, worn clothes she wore during their movie evenings, in the blazer and Converse she'd worn to the recital. But she had never seen her like this.
The dress was emerald and floor-length, and the neckline did something to Catherine that she felt in the pulse at her wrist and her throat and, if she was being honest with herself, which Florence had been encouraging her to be, considerably further south than either.
Her copper hair was up, loosely, a few strands falling at her jaw in a way that was either carefully considered or entirely accidental, and Catherine couldn't tell which, which was somehow worse.
Small gold earrings caught the hallway light.
She smelled faintly of something warm and familiar that Catherine couldn't name and didn't try to.
She looked...
"You're staring," Theodora said, one eyebrow raised, lips curving into a smile that knew exactly what it was doing.
"I'm appreciating," Catherine said. "There's a distinction."
Theodora's eyes moved over her in turn, lingering at her admittedly exposed cleavage before meeting her gaze again. "You look," she started, and then stopped, and started again. "That dress is very unfair."
"Good," Catherine said. "That was the intention."
Theodora laughed, and the tension of the moment broke open into something warmer.
She stepped back to get her coat from the hook by the door, and Catherine leaned against the doorframe and watched her shrug into it with the unselfconscious ease of someone who had no idea how she looked doing ordinary things, which was, Catherine had decided some time ago, one of the more attractive things about her.
"Ready?" Theodora said.
Catherine straightened and offered her hand, palm up. Theodora looked at it for a moment and then took it, stepping out into the hallway. Catherine let her eyes move over her slowly, taking her time about it, and Theodora let her.
"Beautiful doesn't quite cover it," Catherine said. "But it's the best I have."
Theodora's cheeks colored almost imperceptibly, but Catherine noticed.
"Thank you."
Still holding hands, they made their way down the quiet hallway and out through the building’s front doors.
The car was waiting at the curb. Not a car, precisely. A car implied something modest and functional. What was waiting was a black limousine, long and polished and entirely unnecessary, with a driver standing beside it in a dark suit who opened the door when he saw them coming.
Theodora stopped walking, and Catherine went on for another step or two before realizing she was no longer beside her. She turned back to find Theodora standing on the pavement, staring at the vehicle with something close to awe.
“Catherine,” she said.
“I know. It’s excessive.”
“It’s a limousine.”
“Yes.”
"It's a limousine for two people going fifteen blocks."
“Twelve blocks, actually.” Catherine stepped back toward her.
“Theodora, you’ve spent the last three months planning an event for more than a hundred people while working full time at a job that already asks far too much of you.
You haven’t slept properly in weeks. You’ve eaten more meals at your desk than I’m comfortable thinking about.
” She paused. “Tonight is yours. You deserve to arrive like it is. And I wanted to be the one to make that happen.”
Theodora glanced at the limousine, then back at Catherine.
She drew in a breath, and something in her expression shifted.
Not composure exactly. Something softer than that.
The acceptance of someone allowing themselves to be looked after.
Catherine knew that didn’t come easily to her, which made it matter more.
“You—thank you,” Theodora said quietly.
Catherine smiled, slipped her hand into Theodora’s, and led her to the waiting door.
The interior was warm and quiet, the city sliding past the tinted windows in long streaks of light.
A bottle of champagne rested in a cooler between the seats, which Catherine had arranged because it felt appropriate and also because she remembered Theodora mentioning once, almost as an aside, that being chauffeured somewhere while drinking champagne in the back of a car was on her mental list of small, cinematic life experiences.
The glasses were actual glasses rather than plastic, which had required a very long conversation with the hire company, but had seemed worth it. At least it wasn’t mugs.
Theodora accepted one and looked at it for a moment, "Champagne in a car," she said.
"In a limousine," Catherine corrected.
"In a limousine." Theodora looked at her sideways. "You remembered that."
"I remember most things you say," Catherine said. "You'd be surprised."
Theodora reached across and took Catherine’s hand, their fingers interlacing as she held it. Her thumb brushed once across Catherine’s knuckles, a small gesture that sent a line of goosebumps up her arm.
They didn’t let go for the rest of the journey.
* * *
Light poured from the venue in every direction, washing the stone facade white and sending pale columns up into the dark sky.
On the front steps, caught in a warmer gold glow, guests moved inside in an unhurried stream, the sheen of satin and wool merging into something effortless, polished shoes finding their quiet rhythm on the stone.
As the limousine pulled to the curb, Catherine saw the photographers. A cluster of them along the barricade, cameras raised to capture the VIPs.
As the driver opened the door, Catherine stepped out into the cool January air and immediately heard the sharp click and flash of cameras beginning.
Theodora stepped out just behind her, and before Catherine had quite adjusted to the light, Theodora’s hands were at her waist, turning her gently, guiding her out of the direct line of the flashes as she shifted half a step in front of her, close enough to block the worst of it.
It happened quickly, almost without thought, the kind of smooth, instinctive movement that made it clear she had been paying attention to where the cameras were.
Catherine blinked once at the sudden reorientation, momentarily confused, and then she understood.
Theodora thought the flashes might trigger a seizure.
If Catherine wasn’t already in love, she would have been able to point to that exact second as the moment she fell.
She leaned in close, her lips finding the warm skin just below Theodora's ear, and said: "I don't have photosensitive epilepsy. The flashes are fine."
She felt Theodora exhale against her neck, the slight release of tension in her body, the breath going out of her. She stepped back half a step, and when Catherine looked at her, she saw the faint flush of something like embarrassment on her face.
"Sorry," Theodora said. "I just—"
"Don't apologize," Catherine said. And then, because she couldn’t help herself: "It was the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a very long time."
Catherine took her hand and turned back toward the photographers. "Come on. I want a photograph of us together. I didn't take enough before, and I intend to rectify that."
Theodora smiled at that, something real and unguarded, and let Catherine pull her toward the red carpet.
On the steps, Catherine turned them both to face the cameras and slid her arm around Theodora's shoulders, drawing her in close. Theodora's arm came around her waist in response, warm and sure, settling there with a naturalness that made her want to stay exactly where she was indefinitely.
The photographers called Catherine’s name over and over. The flashes went. And then Theodora leaned in, her lips close to Catherine's ear, and said, "I hope you know I'm going to be the envy of every person in that room tonight. Having you as my date."
Catherine felt the warmth of her breath, the brush of her nose just behind her ear, and every hair on her body rose at once. She kept her eyes on the cameras and let the smile come, slow and bright.