Chapter 140: you said yes for me?

Chapter 140 — You Said Yes for Me?

Roxanne walked into the dining hall the next morning and found Liam waiting at her usual table with his phone propped against the teapot and a look of enormous satisfaction.

"There you are. I’ve been thinking about costumes."

"Costumes."

"For the showcase. Crowns, obviously, but I’m wondering about capes. Capes give a performance weight. And we should expand the royal siblings into a proper twenty-minute piece, with a prologue."

Roxanne set down her tray very carefully. "Why are you planning a performance I haven’t agreed to?"

Liam looked up, delighted. "Because it’s going to be brilliant."

"That wasn’t my question."

His smile flickered. "I replied to the coordinator. Last night. Before I asked you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I assumed you’d say yes, because you enjoyed the workshop. You were laughing the whole way down the corridor."

The amusement drained out of her so fast it left her cold. "I liked it because it was spontaneous. Nobody expected anything. Turning it into a scheduled performance is a different thing entirely."

"I wasn’t trying to pressure you."

"You don’t get to decide what I’m comfortable with just because you think it will be fun."

For once, Liam had no clever answer. He sat with his mouth slightly open and his phone forgotten, and Roxanne picked up her tea and walked to a different table. Isla watched her go and wisely did not follow.

He caught her outside the dining hall, after the bell, standing a respectful two paces off with his hands visible, as though approaching a skittish horse.

"I’m sorry," he said. "Properly. I got excited, and I treated your agreement as a foregone conclusion. It wasn’t mine to treat that way." He took a breath. "I’ve already messaged the coordinator. I told her you haven’t committed to anything, and that she should ask you directly."

Roxanne studied him. She appreciated that he had fixed it before being asked, though she was not ready to pretend it hadn’t happened. "You could have asked me first."

"I should have."

"That’s it? No joke?"

"I have several. I’m exercising remarkable self-control."

She almost smiled, and caught it. "Don’t confuse me accepting an apology with agreeing to the performance."

"I wouldn’t dare. And if you say no, I won’t make it awkward. I’ll be tragic about it in private, where nobody can see."

It mattered more than any grand speech would have. She nodded once and went to class.

That evening she sat on the end of Isla’s bed with her knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

"Do you not want to perform," Isla asked, "or are you worried about turning something enjoyable into another obligation?"

Roxanne opened her mouth, and closed it. "I don’t know."

"Take your time."

"I liked making people laugh. I liked working with him when we weren’t trying to outdo each other." She frowned at the thread. "But rehearsals, and an audience, and everyone expecting me to be funny on cue. It makes me feel trapped."

"You don’t have to choose between doing everything and doing nothing," Isla said. "You could agree to one rehearsal. Then decide."

Roxanne turned it over. She did not want fear to choose for her. Equally, she did not want to shove herself into something just to prove she could. A single rehearsal sat in the narrow space between the two, small and honest.

"That’s annoyingly sensible."

"I’ve been practising."

She found Liam the next afternoon in the student activity room, sprawled over two chairs with a script he had clearly started writing without her. He swung his feet down when he saw her.

"I might try one rehearsal," she said. "On conditions."

"Name them."

"No surprise commitments. You don’t decide what my character does without asking me. And if I decide the showcase isn’t for me, I leave, and nobody makes a speech about it."

Liam listened without interrupting once, which she suspected took real effort. "Anything else?"

"You are not allowed to improvise an entire tragic backstory for my character."

He looked wounded to the bone. "That was going to be the best part."

"Then you’ll have to survive the loss."

"I will mourn it." He straightened. "Would you like to work on the scene together?"

He waited. He actually waited, hands loose, face open, with no grin forming at the corners. She realised it was the first time she had seen him wait for an answer.

"Yes," she said.

They borrowed an empty rehearsal room on the second floor, where the afternoon light came in low and gold across the scuffed boards. Liam began, naturally, with the stolen crown.

"What if it isn’t a crown?" Roxanne said. "What if they’re siblings getting ready for a ceremony neither of them wants to attend?"

He tilted his head. "Go on."

"Nobody’s stolen anything. They’re just stalling."

"And one of them has secretly arranged for the horses to be moved," Liam said, "so the procession can’t leave on time."

"That’s good." She hesitated. "But I don’t want it to be a string of jokes."

"Neither do I. I want a few jokes. Strategically placed."

"Liam."

"Fine. A modest number."

They built it slowly. Both siblings resented what was expected of them, and neither could say so without sounding ungrateful. His character hid behind charm, babbling about horses and weather and the unreliability of ceremonial hats. Hers refused to pretend she was happy simply because the whole court expected it. They walked the scene again and again, trading lines, trimming and sharpening, until the dialogue stopped sounding written and began to sound like two people who knew each other very well.

At one point Roxanne delivered a line quietly, almost carelessly. I’m not angry that you hid the horses. I’m angry that you thought I’d need hiding from. Liam fell silent.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. That was good."

"Are you ill?"

"I’m never complimenting you again."

She laughed, and the stillness in the room eased, and they went back to work.

When the light had gone amber, they sat on the floor with their backs against the mirrors and the script between them.

"I enjoyed that more than I expected," Roxanne admitted.

Liam did not leap on it. He did not say I told you so, or ask whether this meant yes. He turned a page, then turned it back. "Would you like to schedule another rehearsal?"

"After classes tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Splendid." He did not push for more.

She walked out of the room into the cooling corridor and realised that the difference was small and important. He had given her room to choose, and she had let herself try something without knowing how it would end.

That evening, her phone buzzed with an email from the coordinator. It held the proposed running order for the showcase, and their scene sat near the end, just before the closing act.

Roxanne scrolled down the list of performers, past singers and jugglers and a trio of poets, and one name caught her eye.

Serena Ashford.

A note followed. Serena was preparing a solo piece, and the coordinator would like Roxanne and Liam to attend a joint rehearsal with her the following afternoon.

Roxanne sighed and set the phone on her knee.

One rehearsal at a time, she reminded herself.

Apparently, the academy had other plans.