Waiting in the Wings

“Do you love him?” Minion picked through the powders, choosing the one with the most glitter.

“Yes.” No hesitation or doubt marred the answer. She quivered thinking about him and, for the first time in fifty years, she didn’t want to bother with a show, much less star in one.

Minion nodded glumly and started patting Kiki’s cheek with the powder, moving in slow circles the way she’d taught her. Kiki stood still for the attention.

“Who will you give the shoes to?” The imp nodded to the shimmering pair of crystal and glitter pumps. The shoes had passed from Pandora to Roseatre and finally to Kiki. Regret tugged inside her tummy. The girls joked they were magic—gifting them lead dancer to lead dancer—and maybe they were. Kiki had inherited them, and Heidi’d given her the lead. Taking them with her would be wrong and giving up the shoes really meant she planned to go—but she wanted to leave didn’t she?

“I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll think of someone.” It wasn’t a longing to leave the theatre so much as just to be with Richard. He didn’t live in Las Vegas or at the Arcana, so that meant going to where he did live. The trembling in her soul ceased. It had made leaving the island paradise bearable and probably why she hadn’t minded leaving London or any of the other places they’d lived. She could love a place—like this theatre—she could adore spending time there, but without Richard, it was just a place.

An empty place.

“Ladies! We need to get this show going! Move it!” Heidi’s voice boomed through the dressing room, and Kiki rose from the chair and checked her makeup. It wasn’t perfect, but the glitter combined with the flush of her cheeks gave her an oddly ethereal look—fire and ice in one. She liked it.

Setting the cosmetics aside, she scooped Minion up and gave her a hug. “No matter where I go, we’re still buds, and if you want to visit me in New York, you can totally do it. Okay?”

The imp’s wrinkled face bloomed into a smile. “Really?”

“Absolutely. We can shop. Go see shows. Anything you want.” Richard had his friends. She wouldn’t abandon hers.

“Ooh! We could visit Pandora!” Minion bounced and hugged her tight.

“Yes, we could.”

The imp squealed, and Kiki shared an indulgent grin with Peppermint as she reached around to scratch Minion’s ears. The imp almost purred and then disappeared in a poof of smoke and light sulfur.

“Show time!” The friendly nudge encouraged her to get moving. She grabbed her black dress and the heels—but she hesitated. “Hey, Peppermint?”

“Yeah?” The petite dancer glanced at her while touching up her hair with some glitter spritz.

“Catch.” She tossed her one shoe and the other. “All yours.”

“Thank you!” Peppermint stared at the beautifully bedazzled shoes. They’d all envied Pandora’s pair, even if no one knew where they came from. Kiki thought she would experience sadness at saying goodbye to them. The dress slipped over her, and she hummed as she trailed after the others racing up the stairs to the stage. The concrete was cold against her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. Glancing back at the empty dressing room, she smiled.

She wouldn’t forget a moment she spent with her girls—never them. But her playful sojourn was over, and it was time to get back to real life. Real.

Fear punched her in the stomach. What if she couldn’t leave? She assumed a lot, but she was still cursed, still bound. And she still didn’t know who held the lease. Sucking in a breath, she forced her legs to keep moving. They were on stage in less than two minutes. Picking up her skirt, she dashed up the stairs and slid to a stop at the edge of the darkened stage.

The spotlight came up and struck her, dazzling her eyes and sending out a kaleidoscope of rainbows. The music cued and she lifted an arm, striding forward the eight-count from the wings to center stage. Mock glaring at the audience, she planned to give them the show of their life. The next bars brought the other dancers prowling onto stage.

The music repeated, but instead of letting her frenetic energy go, her soul froze. She missed her mark.

The other dancers hesitated. The audience stirred. The refrain echoed through the theatre.

Still, she didn’t move.

“Kiki.” Britta hissed from her left.

But she couldn’t move.

Memories poured in, storming through her like a flash flood.

Kristina arrived at McCarran Airport and strode through row upon tacky row of slot machines and hard, ugly plastic chairs. She took a commercial flight, paying for her whim with a cabin full of sweaty bodies, too much perfume and screaming children. Of all of them, the screaming children bothered her least. They at least didn’t choose to be on that flight. She couldn’t say the same for her—or the others.

A limousine waited in the slip in front of the airport doors. Black-suited guards stood just inside the airport doors and another at the door to the vehicle. The sun peeked across the desert, and she scooted quickly across the sidewalk and into the open door.

“Hello, beautiful.” Andrew leaned forward to catch her hand and press a cool kiss to her knuckles.

She let him give her the perfunctory greeting, but when he added a caress of his thumb to her pulse point, she pulled away. “Thank you for overlooking the haste of my request, Your Highness. You honor me with the personal greeting.” His personal touch surprised her, but in retrospect—it shouldn’t. She knew Andrew and Richard had had their differences through the years. Her suspicious last-minute request and arrival sans her mate without observing any of the proper protocols undoubtedly rang more than a few bells.

“My lady, you are always welcome in my city, you must know that. I have arranged for a private suite at my villa—”

Oh hell no. Kristina shook her head gently. “Andrew, you honor me with the kindness in your gesture, but I just want to go spend some time at the Arcana Royale. I’ve heard such fascinating stories about the casino and the clientele—and the shows!” She played off her distrust of his offer with her very real interest in the world famous casino.

Richard had refused her entreaties nearly two decades before to visit and every year since. He didn’t trust anything about the operation and the location—the location more than the casino, I imagine. His problems with Andrew go all the way back to London.

The younger Lord Wolcott had never gotten over his uncle’s selection of Richard as the new Prince of London—he always believed it should have passed to him. Leaning back in the seat, she crossed one leg over the other and feigned curiosity at the passing landscape. The desert held a certain dangerous allure. But the lack of real cover and the all too threatening sunshine danced far too close to the edge for her tastes.

“Very well. I’ve some contacts there, let’s get you set up in style.” He tapped the glass separating them from the driver. “Arcana Royale, Jean”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Andrew studied her from across the car. The extra-wide compartment of his expensive limousine promised every luxury, but she was of half a mind to ask him to turn back to the airport. No sooner did the thought take purchase than she dismissed it immediately. Richard would expect her back, and it wouldn’t matter how he angered or disappointed her, he would expect her return.

And why shouldn’t he? I always come back. I always forgive him. Well, dammit, this time he can earn his forgiveness. He can come and find me. Renewed anger blossomed in her chest, and she gave Andrew her attention once more. “So, how have you been?”

“Well enough. The local influx from back East has my city booming.” Now that he brought it up, she studied the hustle of construction. “This strip will be the most lucrative in the country. A fortune will flow into the city, and I will receive one percent from every transaction.”

“One percent?” Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “That doesn’t seem like a large amount.”

“Not individually, no. But when you are discussing millions—yes, one percent will add up quite nicely.” He opened a bottle of Pinot Noir and poured two glasses. Hints of copper and a touch of gold filled the air. “Imagine, if you will, that one percent of every transaction from land sales to construction to gambling and taxes—one percent of every single dollar spent in this city will flow into my coffers.”

Basic math wasn’t sexy, no matter how his voice caressed the words. He handed her a glass and she