I blinked the flashes away so I could absorb as much of the scene as possible. The moment we stepped onto the red carpet, a wall of noise hit us. This was no small film. A vast poster hung down the Odeon’s frontage, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t read it. Huge glass jars with white church candles burning inside them lined the carpet. Crowds of photographers pressed in from all sides. I found myself unable to move, startled by another flash and the sheer volume of this many people in such a small space. Ezra—NOB—startled me by tucking a finger beneath my chin, making me look up.
“You are stunning,” he said. “Let them see that.”
I pulled away.
“I’m freezing.” My teeth chattered, partly through the cold, but also from nerves.
I startled when he slid his hand behind my back, posing for the cameras with an ease that spoke of years of practice. Ezra Chester has his arm around me.
How many times had he done this? There would have been the worldwide premieres for his film, of course, and that night when he’d won the Oscar, but the rest . . . he must have been with Monica, who’d have walked the carpet like she owned it. The flashes were so bright, I could barely see. Flash. “Ezra.” I badly wanted to keep moving, but he held us there for a few more seconds as he glanced behind us.
“You’re fine, Red.” When I tried to speak again, my throat tightened on his name. Flash. I stumbled in the stupid heels. What if my friends see these pictures? The thought hadn’t even occurred to me before I saw the crowds. Just how big was this film? Flash. I couldn’t do this. I didn’t belong here. You just don’t have what it takes.
“You’ve got this, Red.” NOB’s smile was easy and laid-back—for the cameras, I realized—but his eyes were firmly on me. “When it was my first time on the carpet, I felt exactly the same.”
“Really? You were nervous?”
“I was completely terrified. Do you trust me?”
Not even a little, I wanted to say. But NOB was holding his hand out to me, his blue eyes gentle. Tentatively, I took it. “Follow my lead. Look over there, now to your left, down, at me, back at them.” I did as he said, and my breathing eased. “Now at me, down again, and at me. Still at me. Only have eyes for me.” I swatted his arm. His smile widened. “Come on.”
This wasn’t about being seen. I had wanted to attend a premiere for as long as I could remember. I might never get another chance like this. You can do this. The tide of panic began to recede—and I had Ezra to thank for it.
I focused on my feet. How many incredible writers had trod this same path? People who’d helped make the world a little brighter, a little easier to understand. I used to imagine what it might be like to attend my own premiere the way other people dream about their weddings. To sit in the red seats. Feel the reaction of the audience around you, knowing it was for your story, your words. It had been all I’d ever wanted.
A woman wearing a dark bomber jacket and an earpiece told us to keep moving. I stepped out from under the weight of NOB’s arm at my waist. He called after me, but I spotted someone I recognized from an HBO series. The actors were arriving. I hadn’t missed the screenwriter, had I? I hoped I’d recognize them, whoever they were.
I stood on tiptoe. “Can you see them anywhere?” I asked NOB, who’d hurried to catch up.
“Who?” He whipped his head round, checking behind us.
“The screenwriter!”
“He’s right here.” NOB pulled me close. “And I only see you.”
“That’s another fine line.”
His lips curved. “But I walk it so damn well.”
“Move along, please,” the same woman said to us as she passed. I tried to, but Ezra’s—NOB’s—arm was still around my waist.
“What would be so bad about us being together, Red?”
She returned to us. “Sir, madam, you need to move.”
“Just a moment,” NOB said to her. “I’m trying to understand why this stunning, infuriating woman still refuses to believe that I’m mad about her.”
“I see,” said the woman, bemused. “Madam, might I suggest you accept that sir is smitten, so we can all get on with our lives?”
His blue eyes searched mine, desperate for an answer. Despite myself, I felt goose bumps rise. Could this be real? Could Ezra Chester genuinely like me? He wasn’t running away at the prospect of having a meet-cute with me. He was the one asking me to stop running.
“Red, I know that Dicky made you feel like you’d never be good enough for anyone. But, frankly, fuck that guy,” NOB said, flashing me a grin. “He’s an idiot. And so is that Dull Dad. You are more than enough, Red. You’re everything. I’m standing here, wanting to be with you. You can have everything you’ve ever wanted. All you have to do is say yes.”
There were a lot of things I hadn’t anticipated when I’d entered into our deal. That someone would genuinely fall for me. That Ezra Chester would fall for me.
Or that there would ever be the slightest possibility that I, Evie Summers, might even think about falling for him.
The security guard’s walkie-talkie buzzed and she spoke into it urgently. “She’s here?” She looked at us. “Yes, we’re clear here. Aren’t we?” she shot at us.
“We are,” I said.
Ezra smiled—not a Hollywood grin, but an open, honest smile, full of relief.
“Are you ready for your surprise now?”
Hope danced in my chest. It was the script, it had to be. You can have everything you’ve ever wanted.
“Definitely.” He pulled me closer to him, sliding his hand along the silky material at my back. Without warning, he dipped me, Hollywood style, and kissed me right there on the red carpet. It was—in so many ways—the perfect kiss.
So why, as lights exploded around me, did I hear Ben’s voice saying “I really hope it’s what you want”?
Somehow, the noise around us intensified. I broke away from Ezra and tipped my head back, to see the world topsy-turvy. Ahead, a space had cleared for the actor who had just arrived.
I couldn’t breathe.
Standing only meters away, dressed in a floor-length red lace gown, poised and stunningly beautiful, as always, was Monica Reed.
She’d seen the whole thing.
NOB pulled me upright, and I stepped away from him in shock.
“It’s her film,” I said, the force of the realization driving all the breath from my lungs. I searched his face. “Was all of this for her? The makeover. The kiss. Was it to make her jealous?” Tell me, I willed him. Tell me it’s not true.