Chapter 145: the show must go on

Chapter 145 — The Show Must Go On

Backstage smelled of hot lamps, face powder, and nerves. Roxanne stood between a rack of borrowed capes and a table of mismatched props, checking for the third time that the prop crown was where she had left it. It sat crookedly on a cushion, glittering with the confidence of cheap gold paint.

"Are the snacks real?"

Jace had materialised at her elbow in his best jacket, scanning the room like a man surveying a battlefield for supplies.

"You were promised snacks in the audience," Roxanne said. "Not backstage."

"I came to wish you luck. And to confirm the snacks."

"There’s a table of biscuits by the east door."

"Then my work here is done." He saluted, took two steps, and turned back. "You’ll be fine. Probably. Please don’t collapse before the biscuits run out."

His ridiculous priorities loosened something in her chest. She was almost smiling when she noticed Liam watching her from across the table. She had turned to the last page of the script again, and had not realised she was doing it.

He did not tease her. He rubbed the back of his neck instead. "I’m worried I’ll forget my line."

"You’ve been performing for people since you were small," Roxanne said. "You’ve spent your entire life getting attention. How can you be nervous?"

"There’s a difference between getting attention and voluntarily embarrassing yourself in front of an audience."

"You’re right. Usually you embarrass yourself in private."

Liam laughed, a real laugh, and the knot between her shoulders finally eased.

Out front, the act before theirs, a trio of poets with a very long poem about moss, ran over by ten minutes. The coordinator hurried backstage with her whistle bouncing against her chest and began conferring in fierce whispers with the stage manager.

"Transition’s been shortened," she told them. "You’re on in two minutes. There’s no time for a last run."

Roxanne’s stomach dropped. She had wanted that final rehearsal, the safe repetition, the proof that she could do it.

Liam turned to her. "Are you ready?"

She considered lying. "I’m not entirely sure. But I don’t want to back out."

"We agreed to perform the scene," he said. "We didn’t agree to perform it perfectly."

It was such a simple thing that she nearly laughed. She had been waiting for her nerves to vanish before she moved, as though they would one day politely leave. They were not going to. She picked up the crown, set the script down on the cushion, and walked toward the curtain with her heart still hammering.

The lights were warm, and the hall beyond them was a dark, breathing shape. She found Isla’s pale, eager face near the front, Tessa beside her, and Jace in the third row already holding a biscuit. Then Liam swept on in a velvet coat, and the scene began.

It went smoothly. Liam played the charming prince, all breezy reasons why his sister ought to attend a ceremony she had never wanted. Roxanne played her with a straight back and a cool voice, refusing to be treated as a decoration for someone else’s occasion. The audience laughed at the missing horses, at the ridiculous hats, at the increasingly poor excuses. Every rehearsed pause landed where they had put it, and the weight they had built together settled quietly over the room. The audience saw two fictional siblings, not Roxanne’s history, and she was glad of it.

At the palace gates, Liam’s character slowed. "I don’t want you to face all of it alone."

Roxanne looked at him. "Then stop following me," she said, "and walk beside me."

The hall went completely silent. Nobody coughed. Nobody rustled a programme.

She felt the mistake before it happened. Liam lifted his hand for the final exchange, and the crown slid from his fingers. It struck the boards with a bright clatter and rolled, glittering, toward the edge of the stage.

His eyes flicked to hers. She saw the question there: freeze, or follow the script. It was her choice, and he had left it entirely hers.

Roxanne walked to the edge of the stage, bent, and picked up the crown. She turned it over, held it at arm’s length, and studied it with deep disdain.

"Clearly," she said, "your kingdom cannot afford competent royal staff."

The audience roared. Liam caught the opening so smoothly it might have been written. "You planned this," he gasped. "You are plotting to steal my throne."

"I’m plotting to leave it. The throne is the problem."

"Then we are both doomed."

They delivered the final lines exactly as rehearsed and walked off the edge of the stage together, shoulder to shoulder. Roxanne did not feel that she had outperformed anyone. She felt that she had stumbled, caught herself, and kept going. It was a far better feeling.

The applause followed them into the wings, long and warm. Roxanne leaned against a pillar, astonished by how happy she was.

"You saved the moment," Liam said, still breathless.

"You dropped the crown."

"You made it look intentional."

"Don’t expect me to rescue you next time."

"I wouldn’t dream of presuming."

The question-and-answer session took place on the stage itself, with a row of chairs and a jug of water nobody touched. A boy near the front raised his hand. "Was the scene inspired by your own families? Or just by expectations in general?"

Liam started to answer, then stopped. He turned slightly toward her and left a silence, a space exactly the size of her voice.

Roxanne smiled a little. "We wanted to explore the difference between caring about someone and deciding what is best for them. Sometimes you can love someone and still make the mistake of choosing their life for them. Caring doesn’t mean you get to make every decision on their behalf."

The boy nodded, satisfied, and a few people applauded. Nobody asked a second question about it. She had given away nothing she had not chosen to give.

Afterwards the hall dissolved into noise and crumbs. Jace found her by the biscuit table with a plate in each hand.

"Brilliant. Moving. I cried a little, though that may have been the shortbread."

"You’ve reviewed the biscuits."

"Thoroughly. Four stars. The performance got three and a half."

"I’ll treasure that."

Tessa swept in and hugged her hard enough to bruise, declaring that the crown moment was the best thing she had ever seen anyone do wrong. Isla simply held her hands and beamed, her eyes bright. Across the room, Liam had been swallowed by a knot of admirers, laughing and gesturing, and Roxanne let him be. Nobody needed to be rescued, and nobody was asking her for anything.

Serena found her near the window, her scarf looped twice around her neck. "You handled the questions beautifully."

"I took your advice."

"Good. Most people don’t." She smiled, squeezed Roxanne’s arm lightly, and drifted off toward her own admirers.

Roxanne stood with a biscuit in her hand and realised something that made her go still. She had spent the entire evening thinking about the performance. Not Dorian. Not Arabella. Not what anyone might whisper about her afterwards. The whole night had belonged to the stage and the people on it.

Liam eventually broke free and made his way over, his coat unbuttoned and his hair a disaster. "Do you regret agreeing to perform?"

She considered the question honestly. "Ask me after you drop another prop."

"That’s not a no."

"It’s not a yes either."

He grinned. "I’ll take it."

On her way out of the auditorium, Roxanne slowed beside the noticeboard in the foyer. The academy’s upcoming student activities had been pinned in neat columns, and one notice stood out in green ink: a weekend creative-writing workshop, seeking student volunteers to help develop short performances.

She stopped to read the details. She was considering it for no reason except that she wanted to. It was not about proving anything, or meeting anyone’s expectations.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Isla.

Tell me you aren’t signing up for another thing before you’ve even slept.

Roxanne smiled and typed back: I haven’t decided.

Then she tapped the registration link.