Duet Rubato Read online

  Also by Claerie Kavanaugh

  The Dueling Hearts Saga

  Duet Rubato (Coming Soon)

  Watch for more at Claerie Kavanaugh’s site.

  Contents

  Discover More of The Dueling Hearts Saga

  1. Catherine

  2. Adaline

  3. Catherine

  4. Adaline

  5. Catherine

  6. Adaline

  7. Catherine

  8. Adaline

  9. Catherine

  10. Adaline

  11. Catherine

  12. Adaline

  13. Catherine

  14. Adaline

  15. Catherine

  16. Adaline

  17. Catherine

  18. Adaline

  19. Catherine

  20. Adaline

  21. Catherine

  22. Adaline

  23. Catherine

  24. Adaline

  25. Catherine

  26. Adaline

  27. Catherine

  28. Adaline

  29. Catherine

  30. Adaline

  31. Catherine

  32. Adaline

  33. Catherine

  34. Adaline

  35. Catherine

  36. Adaline

  37. Catherine

  Cast and Crew of Duet Rubato

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  No portion of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations for reviews, or noncommercial uses and with proper and correct citation.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 Clearie Kavanaugh All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction, though Wicked is a real musical with a book by Winnie Holtzman and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz. This book is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Wicked. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover Design and Formatting by Molly Phipps at We Got You Covered Book Design www.wegotyoucoveredbookdesign.com

  * * *

  First Edition: July 2019

  * * *

  For interviews, book club discussion guides, and review copies, please contact Claerie at [email protected].

  To all my fellow writers and storytellers,

  dare to defy gravity!

  * * *

  And to Fabio, without whom I’m quite certain this book would not be half of what it is today.

  Subscribe to my newsletter for behind-the-scenes access to Duet Rubato and the rest of my LGBTQ romances.

  * * *

  Director’s cut – sneak peek at early versions of the book

  Exclusive character cards, coloring pages, maps, and more

  Early-bird access to my street team, upcoming romance novels

  Peek into the lives of your favorite characters like never before

  First glimpses at all of my WIPs

  * * *

  www.claeriekavanaugh.com

  Ding-dong.

  I clasp a necklace, two hearts intertwined around Lyssa’s birthstone, around my neck as the doorbell rings. I grit my teeth and grip the edge of my vanity. The last thing I want to do is ask Grayson for help finding work, especially at an event hosted by his parents’ radio station. After everything they’ve put us through since Lyssa was conceived, I never want to owe them anything again. But my daughter is ten now. I can’t keep losing jobs, living paycheck to paycheck, and squatting in my friend’s apartment. She deserves better. We both do. And without an agent, this might be my last chance to get back into the theater circuit. I hope he told the truth about having a representative at his gig tonight.

  Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

  “Mom! Dad’s here!”

  I roll my eyes and run the brush through my mess of blond curls. “One second!”

  Footsteps shuffle across the carpet. Megan peeks around the doorframe. “Need help?”

  “No, no, I’m good.”

  I fast-walk to the closet and throw a matching jacket over my strapless tea-length dress, then cinch the bejeweled red and sea-green belt.

  “Almost.” I bite my lip. “Do I look okay?”

  Megan laughs. “Are you kidding? That representative won’t know what hit him.”

  I let out a deep breath. “If there is a representative.”

  Megan places a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Grayson may be a spineless idiot, but he’s not a liar.”

  I smile. “I hope you’re right.”

  Three more dings and she pulls me toward the door.

  “Mom, come on!”

  “Let’s get that before your daughter has a heart attack.”

  In the entryway, Lyssa’s standing on her tiptoes, stretching for the deadbolts.

  Quickening my pace, I grab her wrist. “Young lady, what did I tell you about touching the locks?”

  She blushes and dips her head. “Um, not to?”

  “Exactly. And why is that?”

  Lyssa huffs and crosses her arms. “Dad’s not a burglar.” Still, she backs up.

  I undo the deadbolts, but my gaze snaps back when she mumbles, “Not like we’d have anything for them to steal, anyway.”

  “Alyssa Margaret, bite your tongue.”

  “What? It’s true. Grandma says—”

  The door swings open and my ex-boyfriend’s amber eyes gleam as he offers me a crooked half-smile. The crisp, black dress shirt tucked into charcoal gray slacks brings out the olive notes of his skin.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Lyssa bounds past me to leap into his arms. “Daddy!”

  “Princess!” Grayson twirls her around. “Oof, you’re getting heavy.”

  Her lower lip juts out as he sets her down and runs a hand through his dark auburn hair.

  “Am not,” Lyssa says, her nose wrinkling. “Maybe you’re old.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes meet mine as he chuckles. “How are my two favorite girls?”

  I smile and comb some hair behind my ear. “We’re good.” I gesture toward Lyssa’s brand-new black boots. “Although your daughter seems to have spawned quite the expensive taste lately.”

  “Oh?” Grayson follows my gaze and blinks. “What happened to those light-up Ariel tennis shoes you had to have, Lys? I thought they were your favorite.”

  Lyssa scoffs and rolls her stormy blue eyes, so much like mine. “In my closet. Grandma said they were for babies and they were falling apart.”

  My brows furrow. Sure, they’re a little worn out, but she wears them every day. “You’ve had them for three months. They’re fine.”

  “And your mom paid a lot of money for ’em, squirt,” Megan chimes in from behind me. “Maybe you can wear them tonight? Nobody’s gonna care what your shoes look like in a dark movie theater.”

  I flash Megan a grin.

  Lyssa crosses her arms and scowls. “These are fine. Besides, we’re not going to the movies.”

  Grayson and I exchange looks. “You’re not?”

  Lyssa shakes her head. “Nope. Grandma’s taking me to the ballet instead. I needed something more sophisticated.”

  I press my lips together. Of course Evelyn changes the plan at the last minute to rub her wealth in my face. My cheeks hurt as I smile and take her hand. “Well, you look gorgeous, honey. Come on, it’s time to go.”

  “Have fun!�
�� Megan says.

  “We will,” Grayson says.

  I toss one more look at my roommate before stepping over the threshold. Or, at least, we’ll try.

  After dropping Lyssa off, I slump against the seat as Grayson speeds over the slick asphalt. Evelyn gave me an earful when she found out where Grayson was taking me. “Why does she do that?”

  “Who? Evelyn?”

  I nod. “She thinks I’m the scum of the earth because I’m not swimming in money.”

  Grayson sighs, his eyes on the road. “I don’t know, Cate. Maybe she’s trying to help?”

  “After everything she did to us?” I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

  Grayson turns at the next intersection. “Look, I know Evelyn can be difficult—”

  “Understatement of the century.”

  “But can you guys at least try to get along? For Lyssa’s sake. You know how much she adores her.”

  “Only because you let her spoil Lyssa rotten.”

  Grayson shrugs. “It’s her first grandchild. It comes with the territory.”

  I grumble. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  Half an hour later, we finally enter the bar. Mac waves Grayson toward the stage in the back of the room.

  I weave through the rows of wooden tables, fingering the black cloths draped over their tops. There are no real table settings, but stacks of napkins embroidered with the WGBC radio logo litter every surface, and tea lights adorn the beams on top of the ten-foot ceilings, giving the room a soft glow.

  A smirk twitches at my lips. The place looks good. Not quite The Last Five Years charming, but close.

  When I reach the stage, Grayson is hauling himself over the lip and dusting off. Our eyes settle on the DJ booth and mic, which are already cued up on stage right.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Grayson says. “Traffic was murder.”

  Mac, his coworker and the other DJ, waves him off. “No problem. We’re all good.”

  He nods at me. “Nice to see you again. What’d you have to do to make him give up the cargo pants? Threaten to take a sledgehammer to his soundboard?” He winks.

  I grin, leaning against the edge of the stage. “Maybe.”

  Mac’s cobalt suit looks regal in the dimmed lighting and brings out the gold in his forest green eyes.

  “Hey!” Grayson says. “I do have some pride here, you know. I’m the host, after all.”

  “Which is why you have to look like one."

  Grayson opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand. “And no, cargo doesn’t go with everything. Especially not at a cocktail party.”

  Grayson groans. “Fine, you win. But next time you want to play Barbie and Ken, I’m tagging Mac in instead.”

  “Hey!” Mac says. “Just because I’m your best friend doesn’t mean—”

  “Deal.” I grin.

  Mac laughs. His gaze darts between us. “Are you sure you two aren’t married? You’ve gotten way too good at acting like it.”

  My scowl melts into a frown and Grayson’s expression sobers.

  “Mac, that’s not funny,” Grayson says. Mac holds up his hands. “I know, I know.” He grimaces. “Sorry.”

  I roll my eyes. Grayson and I may have been together in college for a minute, but even before Lyssa came along and the craziness with his parents started, there was only one person I had ever considered marrying. But she’s not an option, anymore. “It’s fine.” I shrug, softening my gaze. “You guys have a party to host.”

  “Right.” Mac clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “I’ll go open the doors.”

  I blow out a breath as he walks away. Ugh. I knew coming here was a bad idea. But I’ve been out of the performing circuit, and without a consistent income, for almost ten years. At this point, I’ll try anything.

  “Catie.”

  The tips of my ears burn as Grayson stares down at me. “I know you don’t want to be here, but hold on. ”

  My hair flops over my face as I hang my head and sigh. Lifting my gaze, I wrap my jacket tighter around my shoulders. “You know, you don’t have to help me because you feel guilty.”

  Grayson cringes and unwinds the cords of the headphones behind the turntables. “I’m not.”

  “Really?” I scoff. “Then why? You know I’m doing my best.”

  “So am I. We both want what’s best for our daughter and—”

  “And what? I’m trying, Grayson. What more do you want?”

  Grayson runs a hand down his face. “Cate, I know.” He looks away. “You’ve been healthy for so long, and you’re still struggling. You barely earn enough to make ends meet at the diner, you aren’t having luck anywhere else, and you haven’t auditioned in years.”

  My hands fist. “An injury like mine isn’t something you just bounce back from, Grayson.”

  “I know, but. . .”

  “Say it.”

  He fingers the switches on the turntables. “What if Lyssa came to stay with me for a while?”

  I blanch. “What?”

  He swallows. “Well, Lys and I have been talking.”

  “Oh great, now you’re turning my daughter against me?”

  “What? No!”

  “Secret conversations, moving plans? What’s next, you’re gonna woo her with unlimited money? Oh, wait. Evelyn’s already doing that.”

  “Catherine.” Grayson climbs down from the stage and stands next to me. “I would never try to take Lyssa from you. All I’m saying is, maybe it would help, not having to worry about her as much. Focus on yourself for a bit. Save to afford a car again. Let me worry about everything else.”

  My eyes narrow. “You sound like your mother. Are you telling me you agree with her? Do you think I’m an unfit parent?”

  “Absolutely not.” Grayson shakes his head.

  “Lyssa couldn’t have a better mother.” He throws up his hands. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to fight. Let’s try to get through this night, okay?”

  I scrape my toe along the floor. “Fine. But that rep better be here.”

  Before he can reply, guests stream into the bar. The thumping of bass, loud enough to make my ears bleed, swallows my words. After a few minutes, Grayson steps onstage and adjusts the mic stand.

  “Thanks for coming out tonight. I’ll be your DJ for the evening, along with my friend Mac. Before we get started, I want to give a quick shout out to WGBC radio for hosting this event. Don’t forget to drop your donations in the various boxes around the room. All of tonight’s proceeds go to fund the fall production and performance camp supporting the next generation of entertainers.”

  I fake a smile and wade through the sea of guests.

  Showtime.

  During his first set break, Grayson finds me mingling through the crowd.

  “Okay, time to make good on my promise.”

  He leads me to a table and we sit across from a man with brown eyes and thick black brows and umber skin.

  “Cate, meet Franklin Johnson. Frank, this is Catie.”

  He nods. “Frank Johnson, at your service.”

  I laugh and hold out my free hand. “I’m Catherine, Catherine Klarken. But you can call me Catie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Catie.” He grips my hand in a quick, firm shake and hands over his business card.

  BRIGHT LIGHT THEATER

  289 Tremont, Boston MA 02116

  Franklin Johnson

  ASSISTANT STAGE MANAGER

  I study the card for a moment, then stare at him. “You’re the assistant stage manager?”

  Grayson grins and stands up. “I’ll let you two get acquainted.”

  Once he leaves, Frank smiles and turns to me. “Grayson tells me you’re a dancer?”

  I wince and jiggle the ice in the empty rum and Coke glass Grayson had snagged for me on the way over.

  “I used to be.” The confession lodges itself in my throat. I’m short of breath. Flashes of that night: the blinding lights, the full house, those stupid, flimsy silks. Please, not another
flashback. I can’t take it.

  Breathe, Catie. Like your therapist said. Just breathe through it..

  “Are you all right?” His hand rests on my forearm.

  Itchy heat creeps up my neck as I pull away and clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

  He squints. “You sure?”

  My fingers leave prints on the glass as I rest it on the tabletop. “Positive.” I cough. My palms dampen with sweat, but I shake the visions away. “Thinking.”

  He smiles. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  A tiny coin clinks on the table and I stifle a giggle. “Oh, nothing. My last gig.” My gaze drops to my glass. “I was an aerial dancer with a big tour company.”

  * * *

  “Really?” His expression perks up. “Which one?”

  “La Bailarines de la Vida.”

  His eyes widen. “You ever toured before?”

  I shake my head. “I was a musical theater major in college. Dance was the emphasis. Before I’d mostly done musicals, ones with heavy dance roles, but still.”

  He peppers me with questions, and by the time he’s done, I’ve gone through my entire résumé.

  “Wow.” He whistles. “You’ve done a lot.”

  I flush. “I guess so. I’m kinda between jobs, though.”

  “You are? Perfect.”

  “Excuse me?”