Chapter 27 #4
She thanked him and moved on and didn't stop moving until she found the side door half-hidden behind the floral arrangement, the one the venue manager had pointed out almost as an afterthought during the tour, and slipped through it and up the narrow stairs and out into the cold air.
She saw Theodora before Theodora saw her.
She was at the far railing with her back turned, a wine glass in one hand, the other resting on the stone on the balcony. The breeze had loosened a few strands of her copper hair, and the dress, from this angle, showed the delicate curve of her spine and the smooth skin above it.
Catherine had seen her like this before.
She'd caught her through windows and doorways and across rooms, the quality of Theodora alone, the professional competence set aside, and underneath it something that was just a person, uncertain and searching, the same as everyone else.
It had undone her every time without her admitting it was doing so.
She stepped forward, and Theodora must have sensed her because she turned, and when their eyes met, they both smiled. Catherine joined her at the railing, their shoulders touching.
"Josiah told me about the donations," Catherine said.
"He told me too." Theo’s voice had something in it that wasn't quite steady. "The residential program, the outreach work, the waitlist. All of it. Funded."
"I’m glad," Catherine said.
Theodora turned to look at her. "You knew you were going to do that, didn't you. The moment you left to make your calls. You knew."
"Mhm."
Theodora made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and something else. "You went up on that stage," she said. "For the donors. For The Mission—"
"For you," Catherine said. "There is no one else who could have gotten me up there." She turned to look at Theodora properly. "It was always going to be you or no one."
Theodora's eyes were bright. She set her wine glass down on the stone ledge and took a second, like she needed it, before her fingers found Catherine's and interlinked them. "It was perfect. You were perfect."
Catherine looked down at their hands. At the way they fit together, which she had noticed the first time in this same church and had been noticing ever since.
The wind moved through the balcony and caught a strand of Theodora's hair and pulled it across her face. Catherine reached up before she'd decided to and brushed it back, her fingers resting a moment against her cheek.
"I've been afraid for such a long time, about so many things," Catherine said quietly. "Tonight I was still afraid. I was afraid the whole time, sitting at that piano. But the fear wasn't bigger than what I needed to say to you. And that was new."
"What did you need to say?" she asked, though from her face Catherine thought she already knew.
"That I love you," Catherine said. "I've loved you since that first night in your kitchen when you tried to measure flour without levelling the cup.
I loved you when you threw a pillow at my wall.
I loved you in the hospital even while I was pushing you away from me.
" Her voice caught on the last part, and she let it.
"And I've loved you every day since. Even when it hurt to. "
Theodora’s breath came out unsteadily. She stepped forward and drew Catherine in, her arm settling around her waist. Catherine went, and they stood pressed together in the cold, the city below them, the music drifting faintly from inside.
It felt less like something beginning and more like something finally arriving after a very long time.
"I love you too," Theodora said against her lips.
Catherine held on. She felt Theodora's heart against her own, slightly fast, not quite matching, two different rhythms finding each other.
Then Theodora kissed her. Not the hesitant first kiss Catherine had imagined, but something hungrier, a claiming.
Catherine's breath caught as Theodora's fingers slid into her hair at the nape of her neck, cradling the back of her head.
Catherine pressed closer, her body responding with a heat that coursed through her veins, making her dizzy with want.
When they finally separated, Theodora's pupils were dark and wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her lipstick was smudged beyond repair, and Catherine felt a primal satisfaction at the sight of it.
“I think," Theodora said, her voice low and breathy, "that we've done more than enough work tonight. Let's get out of here."
"The donors—" Catherine said.
"Have exceeded all records and will be perfectly well looked after by Josiah, who has been waiting his entire career to run this room." Theodora took her hand. "I've spent four months planning this event. I think I'm entitled to leave with the person responsible for all of it."
"I only played the piano."
"You saved the evening, funded The Mission, broke a fundraising record, and managed to make half the room cry." Theodora raised her eyebrows. "You played a little more than the piano."
Catherine looked at her. At the copper hair and the emerald dress and the brightness in her face that had been there since the balcony door had opened and they had both known what was coming.
"Where would we go?" Catherine said.
Theodora smiled. "My place is closer."
Catherine took Theodora's hand, and they went inside, back through the warm noise of the evening, and Catherine didn't look back at the piano or the donors or the candlelit room she'd stood in and played herself open for the first time in nearly two years.
She looked at Theodora's hand in hers, and they walked out into the night together, and that was enough.
That was, after everything, more than enough.