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“There they are,” someone cried out.
Suddenly, a mob rushed forward, and cameras began to flash in their faces. Chelsea shielded her eyes, squinting, and stumbled forward. Sebastian was there to catch her, and put an arm up.
“Hey, now, give us some room,” he snarled at the press of photographers that surrounded them. “Back the fuck up.”
“Sebastian, over here,” they cried. “Chelsea, over here!”
Lights blinded her, flashing over and over again. The voices were a cacophony ringing in her ears, and the mob followed them as they walked forward, heading for the parking lot where Sebastian’s limo would be waiting for them. She clung to Sebastian’s arm, startled and more than a little alarmed at the crowd that had assembled.
“Give us a kiss,” someone shouted.
“Get out of the way,” Sebastian told them, pushing an arm in front of them and urging Chelsea forward.
“Kiss first!” they shouted back.
It was so ridiculous that Chelsea started to giggle. She couldn’t help it. The thought of a mob descending because they wanted pictures of her kissing Sebastian in an airport? Could there be an un-sexier place? She kept laughing even as Sebastian turned and frowned at her.
“One kiss,” someone shouted.
“Will you guys leave if we kiss?” She called back.
“Yes!” came the chorus. Cameras lifted, and for a moment, the flashes stopped.
So Chelsea planted her feet, amused, and looked over at Sebastian. “Well?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She pulled him closer and whispered. “They’re going to get pictures anyhow, right? Might as well work with them.”
He studied her. “I don’t know if you’re a mad genius or just mad.”
“Little bit of both, actually. Now, pucker up.” She grabbed his collar, gave a pointed look at the photographers, and planted a big one on his mouth.
A hundred cameras seemed to snap at once.
And it was a shame, she thought a moment later as she pulled away, that she couldn’t feel anything. Because Sebastian had a wonderfully kissable mouth, and she liked the flare in his pale green eyes when she touched him.
Too bad she was all broken.
She looked over at the paparazzi. “You got your kiss. Leave us alone now.”
“Should we do one more just to make sure?” Sebastian teased, his voice a whisper in her ear.
She batted at his arm. “Very funny.”
* * *
They were mostly quiet in the limo as they drove through Manhattan. At least, until they turned down a neighborhood street and Sebastian groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. Chelsea peered out the window of the limo as they pulled up to a town house, the front crowded with people and cameras.
“More paparazzi?” she asked.
“No,” Sebastian said grimly. “This time it’s my mother.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. You ever wanted to be on TV? You’re about to be.” He sounded less than thrilled.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him, patting his hand. To her surprise, he took her fingers in his and squeezed them. That was sweet.
He looked over at her. “I just want to apologize in advance for the upcoming shit show you are about to experience. I’ll try to get us inside the house as soon as possible.”
She chuckled. “I hold you blameless, if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does, actually.” He opened the door to the limo and she watched through the tinted window as the crowd surged toward him. Then he held a hand out for her, and it was time for her to make her appearance.
Chelsea put her hand in his and let him help her from the limo, and immediately the cameras were in their faces. A woman hurried forward, dressed in a red and black zebra-striped suit. She had a small dog tucked against her arm and her hair was cut into a stylish silver bob streaked with purple. She leaned in and gave Sebastian a quick kiss on the cheek and then a judgmental look. “Nugget, I am very unhappy with you.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened on Chelsea’s. “Mother, don’t call me that. And do we have to have the cameras here?” He gestured at the three cameras hovering over his mother’s shoulder.
“I am filming a reality TV show, Nugget. They are recording my reality.” She gestured loftily at the cameras and then narrowed her eyes at Chelsea. “Is this the hooker?”
“Jesus, Mother. She’s not a hooker. This is my wife. Chelsea.”
