her backpack and followed.
Oriana was standing next to the director. She was talking to him when the prima ballerina, Svetlana Romanov, cut in front of her as if she wasn’t even there.
Shen, who had a high tolerance for other people’s bullshit, thought even he would be annoyed if someone did that to him. That’s when he noticed that Stevie had picked up her step.
She stopped when she reached the outside of the orchestra pit.
“Oriana!” she called out. “Hey!”
Oriana paused, taking her glare from the back of Svetlana’s head long enough to spot Stevie. She blinked in surprise and came to the edge of the stage.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to visit,” Stevie replied. “Can I come up?”
Oriana appeared as confused as Shen felt, but she motioned to a set of stairs that Stevie could take.
When Stevie was on the stage, she threw her arms wide and loudly called out, “Oriana! Sweetness! It’s so good to see you!”
It was so loud and annoying that the remaining dancers and the director all focused on her.
Stevie hugged Oriana for a little longer than was necessary. Poor Oriana widened her eyes at Shen over Stevie’s shoulder, silently asking him what was going on. Like he knew!
When Stevie finally let Oriana go, she still held her hands. “I have such exciting news for you! I just have to . . . David?”
An older man, standing on the other side of the director looked up.
“David Connelly?” Stevie asked.
“Yes?”
Stevie released Oriana and placed her hands on her upper chest. “It’s me. Stevie Stasiuk.”
The man frowned, and then his eyes popped wide open. “Dear God! Stevie?”
She went across the stage and into the man’s open arms. “I can’t believe it! It’s been ages!”
“Stevie, look at you. My God!” He stepped away, looking her over. “Last time I saw you, you were just a child. Now look at you.” He dramatically kissed the backs of her hands, and Shen had to use his best “professional bodyguard face” to keep from rolling his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Stevie asked.
“I’m the music director of the ballet.” Still holding her hands, he tugged her a little closer. “And you? Why are you here?”
She motioned to Oriana with an elegant tip of her head. “We’re very old friends.”
They were?
“And I’ve been having a little bit of a rough time with my family.”
Yeah. You could say that. If parts of your family trying to kill you is considered “a little bit of a rough time.” Sure.
“So, Oriana insisted I come to New York to spend some time with her and . . . she’s been such an inspiration.”
The music director’s head jerked a little. “Inspiration . . . in . . . in . . . music?”
Stevie glanced around a little and, leaning in, she loudly whispered, “I’ve been working on a little ballet for—Oh!”
The exclamation came when the director yanked Stevie so close that Shen was worried the man was going to kiss her, but no. That wasn’t it.
“You’ve written a ballet?”
“Just the music part.”
“Just . . .” He gave a harsh laugh. “Just the music part?”
“Uh-huh. You see, I’ve known Oriana for years.”
Except she said you never remembered her name.
“And we’ve been playing around with some ideas. The things she can do as a dancer are just astounding and challenge me to come up with music that meets her talent head-on. Because, as you know, music should never take over the dance or outweigh it in any way. Just complement the beauty of what she and the other dancers can do.”
“Oh, uh . . .” The music director’s eyes snapped over to an older woman and man standing nearby. They both nodded toward Stevie, signaling the man to do something. Shen just wasn’t sure what. “Do you happen to have any of that music. . . uh . . . on you at the moment?”
“Ummmm . . .”
Uh-oh.
Stevie stretched out her arm toward Shen and wiggled her fingers. He assumed she wanted her backpack. He brought it to her, holding it in his arms as she opened the zipper.
“Let’s see. Let’s see.” She glanced at Shen. “Oh. Sorry. Maestro David Connelly, this is Shen. My bodyguard. Say ‘hello,’ Shen.”
“Hello, Shen,” he repeated back, letting them all believe he was as dumb as they thought he was.
“Ahhh,” Stevie said. “Here it is.” She pulled out one of her many notebooks; quickly flipped the pages. “Yes. This is it.”
She turned, handed it to Connelly.
He grabbed it like a dying man offered a bottle