“I’ll be the lucky one,” I say, meaning it. “Thank you for this trip, for including me—for everything you’ve done, honestly. I already know I’m going to remember tonight for the rest of my life.”
“That makes two of us,” he grins, leaning in to plant a whisper of a kiss on my lips. “And I’m the one who should be thanking you for agreeing to come with me. I meant it when I said I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world tonight. You make me feel that way, Ella. Only you.”
Oh my goodness. I could literally float away from all the butterflies in my stomach right now.
He offers me his arm as we turn toward the door. “Shall we go show Hollywood what they’ve been missing?”
A happy, carefree feeling bubbles up inside me as he escorts me out of the room. I can’t believe this is my life right now. No matter what else happens tonight, I’m going to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can.
Because right now? Right this second?
This is what perfection feels like. This is the fairytale.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KEIRAN
We’re just pulling up in front of the theater when Ella asks the question I’ve been dreading all evening. “You’ll be walking down the red carpet with me, right?”
I silently curse myself for not being clear about this earlier.
“I’d like nothing more than to walk with you,” I say, truly meaning it even though I know it’s coming out like a line of bullshit. “You know I can’t, though. It’s one thing for us to show up in the same photograph with other people around for boring, official events. But walking together down the red carpet? Posing for the paparazzi hand in hand? Arm in arm?” I close my eyes for a moment and can already picture the salacious headlines. “The American tabloids will have a field day—and then the ones back home will be twice as bad.”
Her eyes start to well up as she nods and turns to look out the tinted limousine window. “That’s fine. I understand.”
Maybe she does understand, but the tone of her voice is telling me she’s anything but fine with my decision. “I’m sorry,” I offer, not knowing what else to say. “This is—”
“I know what it is,” she interrupts, finally turning back to face me just as we come to a stop in front of the red carpet. “It’s part of the agreement, right? Just part of our arrangement? I get it.” She shakes her head. “I’m not even mad. I’m just… I don’t know. I thought things were different out here. I guess I just wanted them to be different.”
The limo door opens and there’s no time for me to reply. Probably for the best since I know there’s nothing I can say right now to make things right.
I have to hand it to her, though. Yes, she’s pissed, but she turns on that beautiful smile as soon as she steps out onto that red carpet. I watch from the car as she slowly makes her way to the theater entrance. She’s smiling and giving shy, uncertain waves, and the photographers are eating it up.
“Over here! This way!” they’re shouting. “What’s your name? Who are you with?”
They love her, just like I knew they would. And of course they do. Who wouldn’t? She’s fucking gorgeous and looks like an A-list star even though nobody recognizes her.
I wait until she’s halfway down the carpet and a handful of other couples have started walking after her before I step out of the car. Needless to say, the greeting I get from the paparazzi is a little more subdued.
Fine, it’s a lot more subdued.
That’s good, though. That’s how it should be. I want Ella to be treated like a star tonight—especially if that means I can fly under the radar for once in my life. Deacon was right when he said I’d blend in out here because everyone looks like a damn supermodel. I might be walking a red carpet, but I’m just another guy in a tux as far as most of these people are concerned.
Now I just need to get in there and figure out how to salvage what’s left of this evening. My intentions weren’t bad, but I still fucked up, and I need to make things right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KEIRAN
Deacon’s movie is good. Better than I expected, if I’m being honest.
If I’m also being honest?
I’ve missed about half of it so far because I’ve been so focused on the beautiful woman sitting next to me. When we met up with Saffron inside the theater, she said there was still tons of buzz about the glamorous, mysterious former ballet dancer from New York.
Surprisingly, the press still hasn’t seemed to connect the dots back to me. I guess Ella gave a couple of quick red carpet interviews, but she clearly only told them enough to leave them wanting more—a move that obviously paid off in spades.
I glance over at her for the hundredth time since the movie started. She’s staring straight ahead, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s really that absorbed in what’s happening up on the screen or if she’s just doing a frustratingly good job of ignoring me.
Probably a little of both.
I still need to apologize, but when? How? Where? This isn’t the time or place, but the next decent opportunity might realistically be hours from now.
No.
Fuck that.
I’m not going to wait that long. I can’t.
I lean in close to her and whisper, “Can I speak to you for a second out in the lobby?”
She looks like she’s going to turn me down, but I’m not taking no for an answer. Not for this. “Come on,” I continue, taking her hand in mine and scooting to the edge of my seat. “Just for a minute. Please.”
She sighs but doesn’t say no. That’s a partial win, at least. “Just for a minute.”
I lead her out to the mostly-deserted theater lobby and don’t waste any time. If I only have a minute, I need to make every second count. “I’m sorry about earlier,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “It was shitty timing and a shitty thing to say, and… fuck, I didn’t want to ruin your night. You look beautiful and I want you to be happy. I want—”
My words must be getting through to her because her expression softens and her eyes crinkle at the corners and it’s impossible to hold onto my train of thought. It’s impossible to do anything that doesn’t involve kissing her sweet lips.
Right now.
She melts against me and a soft whimper escapes her mouth as my tongue entwines with hers. My body instantly responds and I wish we were back in our hotel room right now. I want nothing more than to rip that expensive dress off her so I can kiss every inch of her beautiful body.
“Keir,” she breaks away from our kiss and inhales a quick breath. “Should we—I mean, what if people see us out here?”
“I don’t care,” I shrug, surprising myself at least as much as I’m probably surprising her.
“You don’t? Because you sure seemed to care a couple of hours ago.”
It’s a fair point and I really should be choosing my words carefully but I’m caught up in the moment and I just don’t care about trying to control every fucking facet of my public image right now.