Chapter 1Addie
“I know I have my badge somewhere. Just hold on.…” Addie darted a look at the middle-aged man working there as she dug through her tote bag. A lidless pen, a tube of coral lipstick, several environmentally friendly straws, a few hair clips, a cloth napkin: she piled it all on the desk haphazardly. She paused, debating this persona. Too far?
She really wanted to get in, though. Desperate times call for awkward moments.… She pulled out a container with a menstrual cup in it.
“Would you hold my cup? Please. I don’t want it to fall on the floor since I need to put it … you know.” She gestured at her crotch and then looked up, giving him her widest eyes. “Never too safe, right?”
The man looked at her with the same appalled look she’d been aiming for. “You know what,” he said in a pained voice, “there’s a crowd building up behind you, and you seem like a nice young woman. Why don’t you just go ahead?”
Channel woodland animals and ingenues, she reminded herself before her victory glee appeared in her eyes and ruined everything. Be sweet! Be clueless!
He crossed his arms over his chest, and she realized she was still holding the cup out.
“Are you sure?” Wide, innocent eyes again. She took a long tendril of the honey-blond highlights in her bland brown hair and twined it around her finger. Lost-damsel-in-the-woods hair always seemed to work.
He scribbled something on a badge, held it out, and gestured her forward. “Enjoy the conference, miss. Don’t lose this one.”
Adelaine shoved all her many items back into her bag. A part of her hated playing these games, but a larger part of her liked being able to buy groceries. Paying to get into the lectures would mean that buying food wouldn’t be possible. Someday when she landed a real gig, a big role, she’d pay her fair way into everything. She’d pay other people’s way.
First, though, she had research to do. There was an order to things—Step 1: research; Step 2: get the role; Step 3: be fabulous. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And then she would have her career dreams met.
On to Step 1!
Addie fell into the flow of attendees, switching from “ingenue” to “just another academic at a conference.” She twisted the fall of hair that reached her low back into a hasty braid, and then clipped it up into a headache-causing bun.
Maybe it’s time to cut it.
Hair aside, she’d dressed for this part, though, and Lady of Shalott hair wasn’t a fit. Think academic. Over her own jeans, she had added a basic colored blouse she’d picked up at a thrift store and a smart but well-worn sweater. Not too frumpy, but beige enough that she thought she’d blend. Her usual style was too much, too notice-me, for this venue, and as with any role, she was dressed in character.
Today’s role was Young Academic.
When she spotted a conference handout on a table, she snatched it up and scanned it until she found her. Dr. Darbyshire was the real goal, the research Addie needed but in human form instead of a book or video. Addie had read one of Darbyshire’s articles when she was researching for a role, and while she wouldn’t say she’d fangirled—because really, who fangirled a professor?—Addie knew “fangirl” was pretty much on the mark. Any quotes, social media references, and one brief conference video, Addie had collected all of them in a laptop folder labeled THE PROFESSOR SAYS. Dr. Darbyshire was a handful of years older than Addie’s twenty-seven years, but she was poised, polished, her life together, and she made history seem interesting. So Addie wasn’t going to miss a chance to hear her speak.
Addie skimmed the panel listing, looking for Dr. Darbyshire’s talk.
ROOM: BALLROOM B
“FRIENDS AND SECRET LOVERS: LESBIAN RELATIONSHIPS IN THE VICTORIAN ERA”—DR. ANTONIA DARBYSHIRE
Addie didn’t bother reading the description. She had exactly four minutes to get to the ballroom and slip into an unobtrusive seat. Addie was going to learn how to be a convincing Victorian, and she was going to get a role in the upcoming Victorian stage production of Dracula that posited that Mina and Lucy were the true romantic couple in the tale and retold the entire story from their point of view.
Addie followed several serious-looking women in blazers and trousers into the room. She glanced at her own thrift-store clothes. With her jeans, she still looked remarkably American—which she was—but she didn’t want to look it. Her one exception to her common style of dress was the enormous opal ring she wore on her right hand. It had been her grandmother’s, and upon pronouncing Addie’s mother “too fickle to marry,” Gran had put it on Addie’s hand. And there it stayed.
Who knew people wore trousers and skirts to a lecture like this?
Addie slipped into a seat in the back row along the aisle. It meant she could lean out slightly and look at Dr. Darbyshire if she needed. Or wanted. It was only a few moments before Addie did just that, taking in the woman at the front of the crowd.
Fangirling the professor …
The professor was thirty-two, according to her online biography. She was slightly older than Addie and taller than Addie’s five feet four inches, but not by too much. She was also exactly the sort of woman to make Addie’s usual ADD hit hyperfixation.
It’s not obsessing if she’s a teacher and I need to learn. That was Addie’s answer, and she was sticking to it. It was even mostly true. She’d discovered the professor in her research, and the fact that she was stunning was just a bonus.
Dr. Darbyshire had a commanding presence, as if she were hoping for trouble so she could show off her muscles. Her pose was a power stance, feet slightly spread as if bracing for something. There were curves hidden under her blazer, hinted at by the flared bottom of the jacket, and as the professor turned to say something to an attendee, the angle made clear that she had a swimmer’s body. Lean and strong. Addie stared at her, appreciating the way her short hair toed a line between professional cut and statement cut.
But then Dr. Darbyshire said, “We are running out of seats, so let’s begin.” She paused, her voice rich in that honey and whisky way that great blues singers had, before teasing, “That way any of you who find my lecture tedious can slip away and leave empty seats for the latecomers.…”
A ripple of laughter greeted her words, and Addie grinned at the sheer arrogance in that statement, as if the professor were daring them to find the talk boring but also absolutely certain they wouldn’t.
Arrogance.
Athletic body.
Husky voice.
Addie had been half-smitten after watching a shaky video that didn’t do justice to Dr. Darbyshire’s presence. Seeing the woman in person was enough to tempt even a rational person—and Addie wasn’t renowned for her common sense.
Trying to stare in “studious” not “smitten,” Addie pulled out her notebook and pen and took more notes than she probably needed, but Dr. Darbyshire was Addie’s secret weapon. With her knowledge, Addie could understand the Victorians. Knowledge. Killing the role. Acclaim. Bigger roles. Respect. It was a whole thing. A plan.
Over the next fifty minutes, Addie wrote down enough information to flesh out the persona she needed for the role. Dr. Darbyshire made the information in dry books come to life. She was a gifted teacher.
If I had teachers like her, I’d have gone to college forever.…
After the professor answered the last question, Addie stayed in her seat as the crowd thinned. People stepped over her, and Addie tried to convince her feet to follow. What was she going to do? Walk up and ask Dr. Darbyshire out? Call it a research lunch?
Bad idea, Ads.
But the more Addie looked at the perfect column of Dr. Darbyshire’s throat and listened to her husky voice answer questions for the people gathered around her, the more the thought of talking to Toni Darbyshire, of asking for advice, was increasingly seeming like a perfectly sound plan. Of course, Adelaine was certain that any plan she created that seemed “perfectly sound” was ill-advised. She knew herself. Impulsivity typically led to trouble for her.
Addie stared at the professor a bit longer.
She’s a professor. Professors like answering questions.
Finally, Addie stood up and started forward. She had questions. Plus, it was only polite to say “thank you” for the great information.
And she’s talking about women like us. That’s another reason to ask advice on a Victorian-influenced lesbian play … or maybe casually ask if she’s single.
Adelaine knew better. She was a committed romantic, dreaming of forever, saving her heart—and other parts—for the right woman. A serious history professor who lived on the other side of the ocean was not going to fall for Addie on a conference trip. And Addie wasn’t going to be all “free love” like her parents. She might have moved temporarily to Scotland on a whim; she might even pick roles on a whim or adopt personalities to playact. But when it came to relationships, she was a one-woman kind of person, the marrying kind, the commitment kind.
Then Dr. Darbyshire looked up, catching Addie’s gaze briefly.
Maybe I could just say thank you.…
Head throbbing from the weight of her hair, Addie reached back and unclipped her braid. It fell like Rapunzel’s rope. She took several more steps forward.
Saying thank you for being such a wealth of information was fine, right? And if the professor was responsive, maybe a little flirting and—
A stunning brunette in a plain but very well-fitting dress walked up to Dr. Darbyshire.
“We still on for tonight?” asked the woman. “Or are you standing me up?”
The professor laughed. “As if.”
“Uh-huh. I see that research glimmer in your eye. Someone asked a question that got you thinking.…” The brunette grinned. “Can I trust you to meet me there or will I need to leave my meetings early to pull you out of your laptop?”
Dr. Darbyshire put her hand to her heart. “Emily, I swear I will be on time. Early, even.”
The brunette, Emily, nodded. “Lady’s Hand. Seven.”
“Yes, dear.”
And Addie’s heart sank far more than it should’ve. The professor had a girlfriend that her biography online didn’t mention, and the girlfriend was six shades of sexy.
It wasn’t as if there was a real chance of a relationship with the confident professor anyway. They would have an ocean between them come Monday. And Addie wasn’t the sort to let her lust lead her away from The Big Plan: true love, monogamy, and growing old together. She also wasn’t willing to let lust lead her away from her career goals, which meant returning to her life in LA where the film jobs were, not moving to the East Coast where Dr. Darbyshire lived. Unlike her parents, Addie had a clear life path in both career and relationship goals, and she would find a way to achieve all of it.
Addie pivoted and walked away from the idea of trying to talk to Dr. Darbyshire after the panel. She wasn’t a home wrecker. Maybe some other time she could ask Dr. Darbyshire questions about the Victorians, but right then, she was too emotional to try to approach her.
Chapter 2Toni
Toni paused at the bottom of the uneven steps into The Lady’s Hand to take in the sight of several dozen patrons surreptitiously looking at her. She couldn’t complain. She was a stranger here, and a lot of bars catered to regulars.
“Mind yourself,” a woman behind her muttered. “Some of us trying to get a drink.”
“Sorry.” Toni stepped to the side, feeling like a weight slid a little off her shoulders at the distinct pub smell. Hints of smoke and liquor, perfumes and sweat, and it was inside a Scottish lesbian-friendly pub.
Tonight, Toni needed the familiar comfort of a woman-centered space. Her father had managed to reach out from beyond the grave and ruin things. She’d had a great turnout for her talk, and then a steak with colleagues. It should’ve been an excellent day, but then she received news far worse than she’d feared.
Thank your stars you’re already dead, Dad.
If he hadn’t been, Toni would be flying back to the States tonight to plant her fist in his face. Violence wouldn’t solve this problem, but it would make her smile. Her temper was still a work in progress, despite years of effort. Unfortunately, the old grifter was dead, and so he was impossible to punch.
More’s the pity.
After dropping her rain jacket on an empty chair at a table, Toni made her way to the bar. At first glance, the stone-walled basement space felt like any generic bar, but this particular bar had the honor of being a newly opened lesbian bar, which felt remarkably hopeful. In an era where such bars were an endangered species, the opening of a new one was exciting.
The bartender, a forty-something woman with teal hair and generous curves, came over. “Evening. Menu?”
Toni slid a credit card across the weathered wood of the bar and said, “No menu. Talisker, regular, not a special cask.”
A day might come when she could splurge on one of the Talisker top-tier whiskies, but not for the foreseeable future. At least the good whisky was cheaper here than back home. And though she was typically not a huge drinker, tonight Toni needed a metaphorical shot of Novocain.
The bartender’s gaze slid over Toni, and she pretended not to notice. She knew she looked like a million other nondescript women. Brown hair, brown eyes, spent too much time at the gym, and had a chip on her shoulder that she wore with pride. Not quite sporting an undercut, but hair short enough to make a statement. Not extremely masc but definitely not femme. The labels had changed since Toni came out in high school, but the long and the short of it was that no one looked at her and thought she was anything other than what she was.
She took care of herself, and she made no excuses for her tendency to walk out of most bars with company. Most women weren’t surprised that she didn’t stick around. Toni wasn’t the staying kind, intentionally so, but she made a point not to imply otherwise.
Or leave with anyone wearing a ring.
Or bi-curious.
Or hoping to U-Haul.
Her interests were simple: no strings, no heartbreaks, no home-breaking.
Sex was like any other appetite. She fed it, but it didn’t define her. Tonight, however, she knew she looked tired enough and felt lousy enough that she would likely leave alone. Toni had glimpsed her reflection in the mirrored pillars of the hotel lobby. Bone tired. And soggy from the light rain outside.
Whatever the bartender mistakenly gleaned from Toni’s weary face softened her expression, though. She nodded and grabbed a bottle. “Coming right up.”
Toni exhaled. Talking wasn’t high on her skills list tonight. She just wanted a few drinks to silence the feral rage that rolled under her skin. Every fucking time it felt like things were turned the right direction, reality snuck up and slapped her down.
That man hits from beyond the grave.
This week was intended to be a turning point toward victory. Present at a respected conference. Accept the new job. Build a name … she’d worked toward this new future for a decade already. She’d overcome her roots, or at least left them buried in small town nowhere that she would never again visit—especially since she was going to have to move her mother closer to her.
Toni had her hooks in a tenure track position already. Her career was on solid ground. Her health was good. All of her financial woes had been sorted out. This week was to be the start of the dream, but the specter of her dead father had to fuck everything up.
“Passing through?” the bartender asked as she slid the overfilled glass to Toni.
“Just here for the weekend.” Toni paused, seeing a generous double shot instead of the single shot she’d expected. She lifted the glass and said, “Thank you.”
“You looked like you could use it.”
“You’re not wrong.” Toni smothered a laugh that was half cry, half rage. Confession wasn’t going to do a thing to plug the gaping money shortage in her life, so she switched gears. “I’m meeting someone. No food, just a drink. Can I order her drink now?”
The bartender nodded, looking a bit less friendly. “What’ll it be?”
Toni ordered her bestie’s drink.
“We don’t generally bring them out. Come get it when she arrives.”
“Thanks.” Toni settled the tab, and then she took her own glass to the table alongside the wall.
This wasn’t the way she’d hoped to spend her night at The Lady’s Hand. When she’d added the bar to her plans, she was hoping for a strings-free evening with someone who was not living close enough to Toni’s new place to think that a hookup would turn into anything permanent. Maybe it was crass, but relationships were right there alongside family reunions and “team building exercises” on the list of things she had zero interest in trying.
No rings. No marriage. That’s where her own mother went wrong. Once a woman started thinking that anyone’s promises of love were real, disaster was sure to follow. Better to avoid the nonsense. Late night hotel rooms, no last names, and vanish by morning.
Women are better for my liver than whisky is, too.
Toni took in the bar’s options. Dim light illuminated a decent sized crowd of female-presenting people, nonbinary people, masc lesbians, one Hey Mamas lesbian who was eyeing Toni like she was competition, and a number of what her Aunt Patty used to call the “lipstick ladies” back when Toni was a girl not yet aware that wanting to stare at those painted mouths was about kissing, not about wanting lipstick of her own. There were newer terms, politically proper terms, but every so often, Patty’s voice crept into Toni’s mind like a salve.
“It’s okay to stare at them.” Aunt Patty patted Toni’s hand. “No matter who you are, no matter what you do, don’t doubt yourself.”
“Dad says I’m a freak.”
Aunt Patty made a sound that might’ve been a word swallowed back. “My brother is a drunken, lying fool. The only good thing he ever did was help create you.”
Sometimes, Toni wished she could turn back time to those moments with Patty, who had been a rock through Toni’s childhood and rough teen years. Instead, Toni was on her own now, without the calming voice of her aunt or the occasional supporting words of her mother. Her mom wasn’t physically gone, but she was more likely to call Toni the wrong name than she was to recognize Toni lately.
I’ve got this, Aunt Patty. I do. I’ll look after Mom and myself, too.
Toni pushed maudlin thoughts away as Emily slid into the chair across from her.
“Sorry I’m late.” Emily settled into her seat with the sort of graceful elegance that Toni could never mimic. She was the delicate crane next to Toni’s stomping owl—and truthfully, she was as close as Toni would ever get to love. Em was like a sister, and that was the only sort of emotional entanglement Toni was willing to accept.
“No worries. I just got here.” Toni gestured at her partially empty glass as Em went into a colorful story about an editor who had a stain on his shirt that made her feel like it was a Rorschach test the whole conversation.
Emily paused as the bartender brought over the glass of wine Toni had ordered and a second glass for Toni that she hadn’t ordered. Table service was not the norm over here, so the gesture was particularly kind. Apparently, Toni looked like she needed a refill.
“Talisker?” the bartender asked.
Toni fumbled for her wallet, but the woman simply smiled and gave a shake of her head. “On the house.”
“You are a goddess,” Toni said.
The bartender smiled and left. Emily gave her a look.
“What?” Toni muttered as she slid the glass of white toward her oldest friend.
Emily raised one brow. “Bartenders here don’t bring drinks out to you or buy you drinks.”
“Maybe it’s boredom.”
Emily rolled her eyes, and Toni cracked a smile. The bartender had that sexy older woman thing going on, but she also seemed like a talker, and Toni wasn’t sure she could manage that—thanks to the news she’d just received. She’d have to … Who the fuck knew? She had no idea how to fix the debt now on her plate.
When the bartender was gone, Toni said, “It’s worse than I thought, Em. I’m going to head home tomorrow and see if I have any options. I have a few things I can suggest to the department, maybe I can add an extra class and sign up early for teaching summer sessions. If I had to, I could rent my guest bedroom and—”
“How bad?”
“Here.” Toni opened her bag and withdrew a stack of pages. She slid them toward Emily. She could recite them by heart even if she hadn’t printed the email and read and reread it. The words on the top—from the attorney’s office—covered the crux of things.
Copyright © 2025 by Melissa Marr
