Page 10 of A Certain Step (Midnights at Pemberley #1)

WILLA

S ahar and Willa sat side by side in their dressing room when Naomi walked in, phone in hand, giddy smile on full display for the Midnights at Pemberley’s social media account takeover.

She looked toward the screen and pressed record. “And these two rockstars are absolute icons in our production,” Naomi chirped. She had already done her hair and makeup, so she only needed to change into her first costume before starting the show.

Sahar leaned back in her chair, extending her arm out to pull Naomi closer. Naomi wedged herself between the two women and then turned the camera sideways to catch all three of them in the frame. Willa and Sahar looked at each other and kissed either side of Naomi’s cheek.

Naomi squealed jubilantly. “Honestly, if you aren’t welcomed into work like this, you need to quit, friends. It’s not worth it otherwise,” she said to the camera.

“Cheers to that,” Sahar concurred.

Naomi perked up and stopped recording. “I still can’t believe they wanted me to do thi s takeover on the first night of previews, but it’s surprisingly helping with the jitters.”

“You’re gonna kill it, love,” Willa pointed out.

Naomi’s eyes expanded with warmth. “Thank you. It’s just so unbelievable to finally have this moment after all these years on Broadway.

There are so many of us on this show who’ve been fighting tooth and nail.

Gah! I’m emotional. I love you both so damn much.

I’m going to go bug some of the boys now. ”

“And we’ll be refreshing to watch everything you post,” Sahar said.

Willa turned back to the mirror to apply false lashes. “Do you ever think about how lucky we are with this show? Like every single person is a genuinely good egg, no one is fake, and we all get on so well that it’s basically unheard of.”

Sahar agreed. “No, you’re right. A cast like this is once in a lifetime. There’s always someone who messes something up or causes drama, but we hit the jackpot here. We should be a package deal in all other productions. Hire one, hire all.”

Willa chuckled in agreement and inched closer to the mirror, holding a set of lashes in her hand.

She stuck one on and used her hand as a fan to dry the glue.

After she placed the second and picked up her lipstick, they heard a loud screech that sounded like a gaggle of people bursting into a fit of laughter.

Charging out of their dressing room, they found Sam on the floor, cackling his head off, holding his stomach, and pointing toward Declan’s dressing room.

“What on earth is going on?” Sahar asked.

Naomi shook with mirth, her phone camera aimed right at Sam.

“He…he…” Sam tried to explain but lost his words to another snort-laugh. Naomi stopped recording again .

Declan stepped out of his dressing room, revealing a gigantic split in the middle of his leather pants.

She could hear Ethan’s delicious laugh behind her and twisted back to see him standing over her shoulder.

Willa tried to hold hers in. “Oh, mate, what happened?” she asked Declan.

Sam’s laugh was so wildly infectious that even Declan stopped pouting to have a hoot over the incident. He pointed down to the black leather pants on his person, then to Sam. “This idiot bet that I couldn’t squat in these, and I did…”

“I caught the whole thing on camera, too. Thank heavens we weren’t live,” Naomi added.

Sam was still clutching his stomach and roaring. “I can’t breathe. The damn confidence he had.”

“But you have an extra pair, don’t you?” Ethan inquired.

“Bro, these aren’t for the show. They’re mine,” Declan answered.

The sea of laughter spread throughout the hallway. “Sam is going to lose his voice before the show even starts,” Christian noted from the doorway of his dressing room.

“Why would you buy leather pants?” Sam questioned, still snorting so hard that his whole face looked like it was doused with blush. “I didn’t even notice he was wearing them until he stood up to show them off for Naomi’s video. He was so proud.”

“Because they looked epic. Don’t be jealous,” Declan replied.

“Jealous? I pity my future self who’ll probably never experience something funnier in his life. Goddamn, please don’t ever change, mate.”

Thirty minutes to showtime was called from the speakers.

They all dispersed, laughter simmering to quiet giggles.

Willa turned back to Ethan, who was already in his first costume and ready to go—high-waisted trousers, jet-black tailcoat, a muslin shirt unbuttoned, chest hair peering through.

On Midnights at Pemberley, Darcy only wore a cravat once in the entire production, during Jane and Bingley’s wedding.

In the gaudy, glistering corners of the fictional estate, his clothing was almost as loose as everyone else’s.

She smoothed her fingers against his lapels, taking note of the velvety texture that was absent from the Boston shows. “I’m obsessed with this new tailcoat. It’s so much nicer than the first one. The audience is going to lose their minds.”

He smiled shyly. God, it was adorable. Ethan was a perfectionist through and through, so she knew how much he appreciated statements like this.

“Thanks, Wills. You’re good for my ego.”

She huffed. “Please, if you ever get an ego, I’d celebrate it. Your humility is more intimidating.”

He chuckled. “Go get ready. I’m going to hound Declan about those pants some more.”

She smiled and then bounced away to her dressing room.

Willa sat down and drew closer to the mirror to finish the last step in her routine, adding the lipstick all the women wore.

It was a brilliantly universal shade of red, which miraculously did something stunning for each of their different skin tones.

And its name, “Midnight Dance,” was a coincidentally delightful bonus.

Willa then started with the base of her costume, three pairs of skin-colored pantyhose to make her legs appear nude, and then the first bodysuit: an enchanting scarlet piece adorned with crystals.

Afterward, she put on a massive jeweled necklace, her most prominent accessory in the show, for the slower, more tamed dance movements.

Sahar had begun vocal warmups, as had a few other cast members, their different voices spreading through the corridors. She stood for a few beats, stretching her legs before putting on her shoes .

Willa was gearing up to head out, waiting for the ten-minute mark to get called.

Sahar turned to her. “Break a leg, sister.”

“You too, beauty,” she returned.

Willa, Innila, and Laura Tiu were meant to go on before the rest of the cast. The production’s pre-show would keep audience members engaged while everyone took their seats, with Christian and Bradley standing by the doors as though to guard the entrance.

She strode past Ethan’s dressing room, then a few others, and up the stairs toward the stage’s right side, where she would enter from.

It was an underrated part of the show Willa especially appreciated because she could easily catch people watching and pointing, waiting to see how their favorite Austen story would come to life with the twist Jeffrey and Greta Henderson created.

It made the entire experience that much more immersive.

She stepped out when the time was called, a slow sauntering walk with a champagne glass in her hand.

She spun once, twice, stopped, and took a sip. She walked toward the doors and eyed Christian and Bradley. Willa, Laura, and Innila then spun around each other, clinked their glasses together, and turned again, ending up on opposite sides from where they had entered.

They quickly disappeared into the wings, handed over the glasses to the props crew, and moved back out just as swiftly.

The stylistically slow music started to rise in rhythm, the percussion of low drums ascending higher, and then she stopped center stage where all three women pretended to converse.

A woman’s voice in the track subtly sang the word enter , but no one other than the cast and crew had yet distinguished those lyrics as part of the remixed melody.

Willa then arched backward, twisted, and moved around the stage.

The music came to a crescendo before its fall brought Naomi and Sahar onto the stage as Elizabeth and Jane.

Slow claps from the audience came first at the sight of the women, then for the curtains opening to reveal the vast staircase, signaling their formal entrances into Pemberley.

The “Doors Open” number introduced the entire ensemble, with Bingley coming to greet the women.

And with that, their first official preview on Broadway had begun, resulting in the kind of exceptional performance only possible in a state of dreaming. It had been deliriously wondrous. Enthralling. Willa couldn’t believe she’d get to do this daily. Eight times a week.

The dressing rooms buzzed with chattering sounds and glasses clinking together as everyone came together to salute a successful new beginning backstage.

After they’d finished, they got word of an overly packed stage door taking up the entire block.

Her eyes darted toward Ethan. He stood in front of her, right next to Declan and Naomi. He cared about meeting fans and was so good about understanding their perspective, but more often than not, stage door meetings made him anxious.

He had told Willa that during his third Broadway musical, he learned about a group of fans who stalked him daily without attending the show, making the process even more frustrating. At the same time, they also discovered things about his personal life that felt deeply invasive.

Still, he never wanted to disappoint people, especially those who’d traveled to see him. If he didn’t show up, they’d call him stuck up.

Some days, it was a breeze for him to go out and meet people; other times, she knew it required laborious willpower.

Willa clocked the change in Ethan’s posture easily—shoulders stiffened, fingers digging into his palm.

Heaviness now replaced the effortless magic she’d watched come to life on stage.