“Funny you mention Italy.” I try to hide my smile. “Amara and I were just talking about scouting for theThelma & Louisepiece there.”
“The one with that writer you keep gushing about?” His smile turns playful, lightening the mood.
“Perhaps,” I reply with a coy grin, my heart warming at how well he knows me.
He pulls out his phone, already working through our shared Viggle calendar with those capable hands. “We’ll make it happen.” The certainty in his voice makes me shiver.
“Private jets and stolen moments?”
“Something like that.” He tugs me forward until I’m standing between his legs. When he presses his face against my stomach, I run my fingers through his hair. “Weekend rendezvous in Paris. Midnight walks in Vienna.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I tease. We both know I'm already planning which weekends I can escape.
“Worth every second, though.”
I nod, allowing vulnerability to surface briefly. “Always.”
The phone interrupts—our car is waiting.
The truth of the matter is that this is home now—not just our things together, our suitcases carrying both of our possessions, but this space between us. The careful understanding that we’re a home together.
“I love you,” I say simply.
“I love you,” he replies. “Come on, let’s show the world whyRobyn Hoodis amazing.”
The screamingfans shake the car windows. I trace our initials on the fogged glass, watching the letters disappear. Premiere night always hollows me out. So many films in, and I still feel this way—simultaneously too big and too small for my skin, like I’m wearing someone else’s life.
“Four,” Dante says quietly, his eyes finding mine. His hand reaches for mine without looking, our fingers finding each other in a way that feels inevitable. We inhale together.
“Seven,” I whisper, holding my breath until my lungs ache, counting silently.
“Eight,” we exhale as one. It’s our private ritual, perfected over the year—something small and ours in this public life where we belong to everyone but ourselves.
He squeezes my fingers once, twice. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The limo stops. Through tinted windows, camera flashes pulse like lightning across the crimson carpet. My heart beats unreasonably fast.
“One last chance to change your mind,” Dante says suddenly. His eyes meet mine, sincere without ornament. “You mentioned wanting your own moment. You can walk this alone.”
Of course he remembered that comment from months ago. Dante collects everything I say, stores it away like it matters. Like I matter.
“Are you kidding?” I adjust his tie needlessly, wanting to touch him, to feel his tattooed skin beneath expensive fabric. “We’re doing this together.”
His smile breaks across his face, brief but real. “Whatever you want.” The words sound simple, but we both know they contain multitudes.
“What I want,” I say, barely audible, “is you. Always you. Red carpets are optional.”
His golden eyes darken. “Reese—”
Ramsey opens the door before he can finish. We emerge together, a fortress of two. The crowd’s volume swells instantly, hungry for us in our suited glory.
“Reese! This way!”
“Dante! Over here!”
His hand finds the small of my back.
