“Thank you,” she said, basking in the glow of the play’s aftermath. “Thank you for the bouquet, too. The roses are so beautiful.”
Colin glanced at the dressing table. “I see I’m not your only admirer. But I hope you’ll choose me to accompany you to a late supper.” He chuckled nervously. “Or perhaps an early breakfast.”
Too hopeful of seeing Frost to take offense, Marie exuded warmth in her apology. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest anything improper. Isn’t it customary for the cast to await the critical reviews in the morning papers?”
“It’s the mission,” she said, lowering her voice. “I have no choice.”
“I see, yes. The mission,” he practically hissed, “must come first.” He scanned the backstage area. “Where is Captain Devlin? Perhaps I can persuade you both to be my guests.”
She peered at him quizzically, surprised he didn’t know of Ian’s absence. If he didn’t . . . but in his position, shouldn’t he?
“Hector’s my escort this evening, not Ian,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“Hector? Ah yes, the Spaniard.”
“There’s a matinee on Sunday. We could go out after if you don’t mind seeing the play again.” She regretted the invitation as soon as she made it. But she was also desperate to end this conversation. Frost could be anywhere, just waiting for the chance to speak with her.
Colin looked down his nose while making a pretense of considering her offer. “I would very much like to see your performance again,” he finally said. “And I accept your invitation. Until Sunday afternoon then.” He bowed slightly and departed.
Marie breathed a sigh of relief and scanned the milling crowd.
Hector swaggered toward her.
Frost was nowhere to be seen.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current works in progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman. Click here for a full list of rules and suggestions.