He frowned.
“You don’t mean you’re going to play this afternoon?”
“Are you insane? Of course I am.”
“And let that bounder Mitchell make love to you in the second act ... after this?”
“I swear you’re out of your head, Julien.”
“You kiss him,” he growled.
“You wrote the play, my dear.”
“Hm.” He looked at her whimsically thoughtful. “I’ll rewrite it. The kiss isn’t necessary. I’ll go back and take it out. You don’t have to kiss him. You can just look at him—with feigned tenderness. It’ll be enough. How do you suppose I’m going to feel watching you embrace that bounder and kiss him every night?”
“You told me last week I did the part wonderfully,” she smiled.
They were in front of the theater. De Medici held her arm.