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“I’ll think about it,” I say, and he nods.
“And if you end up needing security?—”
“Security?” I yelp.
“The paparazzi are going to swarm your house sometime in the next twenty-four hours. The question is just how fast they lose interest and move on.”
Panic tingles in my chest.
He must see it because he says, “It’ll be okay. I promise. Just let me handle the security side.”
I’m too much of a control freak to be reassured by that, but I let it go—for now. We have enough other stuff to think about at the moment. “How are you feeling about this Hanna-and-Weggers gig?”
“I’m a wreck,” he admits “I don’t know how this goes down. My sister can’t lie to save her life. I really don’t want to be the Hott brother who fucks it all up.”
On impulse, I reach out and touch his arm. “We’ve got this,” I say. “You’re Shane Fucking Hott. You own the skies. You’re a kickass actor. Surely you can fool one asshole lawyer.”
He draws himself up to his—impressive—full height. “You think I’m a kickass actor?”
“I think it takes a lot of range to play Lord Extyllior and Casey Riggs.”
“You watched Intention?”
I nod. “Last night.”
He perks up a bit. “And you liked it?”
“Loved it.”
It’s a sci-fi rom-com, and his character is the nerdy sidekick friend, all comic relief and physical humor, with an adorable come-from-behind side-plot romance. It’s just about the polar opposite of Lord Extyllior, and Shane is hilarious and lovable.
“You were great as Casey.”
“I want to do another indie flick,” he says suddenly.
“Yeah? You should.”
“You think?”
“I think you can do anything you want. You steal the spotlight every time you’re on-screen. And you were brilliant as Casey.”
For the first time in our acquaintance, Shane blushes. And I realize that for all his bravado—and Oscar nods—he, too, sometimes needs reassurance from the people he respects.
The part I wasn’t expecting was that “people he respects” apparently includes me.
I bite back a smile.
“You enjoying the ring?” he asks, gesturing at my hand.
I roll my hand back and forth, admiring the sunlight sparkling off the flower. I’m more touched than I want to admit that he chose something I love so much. In all the time I was with Anthony, he never bought me something I adored like this.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “I can’t stop looking at it. I’m going to miss it when I have to give it back.”
“You don’t have to give it back. It’s a gift.”
“Uh, no,” I say. “That’s not happening. But thank you.” A thought strikes me. “You know what part of our story we never got straight?”
“What?” he asks.
