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But I’m going to try, dammit.

The stage itself is beautiful.

Simple tables have been arranged for the creative team.

Chance Madoc, the producer, and his wife, Leandra—who is co-starring in the show as the intermediary between my character and the Phantom—rise to greet me warmly.

“Amanda! Oh my goodness, it's so great to finally have you here,” Leandra gushes, crossing the space to hug me.

And just like that, some of my nerves ease.

She smells expensive and floral and somehow manages to radiate sunshine despite being one of the biggest stars to have ever graced a Broadway stage.

“Thank you,” I say with a laugh. “Believe me, I've been looking forward to this.”

“And so have we,” Chance says warmly. “Oliver's been driving us all insane waiting for you to arrive.”

Leandra gasps dramatically.

“Chance!”

“What?” He laughs. “It's true.”

Her husband grins while she swats his arm.

“We're thrilled you're here,” she says. “And honestly? I can't wait to hear you sing this role.”

“Now you're making me nervous.”

“Good,” Chance says cheerfully. “Fear keeps artists humble.”

I laugh again.

God.

These people are normal.

I expected rich and famous weird.

Instead, they feel nice.

Warm.

Which makes the giant grump seated beside them stand out even more.

Oliver Pax—the legendary writer and composer.

Unsurprisingly, he's unsmiling.

Silver threads through dark hair.

Simple black shirt.

Dark pants.

Arms folded across his chest.

Watching everything.