The Gazebo

Drew looked even more uncomfortable than he’d been moments before. If Deirdre’s obvious disapproval hadn’t chased him off, the tension thickening the air this time seemed to make him look for an exit line.

“Actually, I’d better get going,” he said. “I was heading home to work on learning my lines now.”

“Oh.” Emma wasn’t quite a good enough actress to hide her disappointment. “Yeah, sure.”

Drew hung in there a moment longer in spite of The Mother from Hell. “Some of the language in this play…well, it’s not like normal dialogue, you know? It doesn’t exactly roll real easy off my tongue.”

“It can’t be too difficult,” Deirdre said. “People have been performing it for five hundred years.”

“It’s brilliant,” Drew said, brave enough to risk the evil eye in defense of the Bard. “I love listening to it, reading it, seeing it performed. I just feel a little dorky doing it alone. My kid brother and I share a room, and he’s a real pain in the a—neck when I try to practice lines. You know how brothers are.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma said. Was that wistfulness Stone detected in her voice? “It’s just Mom and me at home.”

Drew almost looked envious. “Wow. That must be awesome when you’re trying to practice.”

Maybe it was great at times like that, Stone mused, the hint of loneliness in Emma’s dark eyes echoing memories of his own childhood. It was the rest of the time that stunk.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.