God help me — this felttoo real. Like we’d stepped out of whatever lie we’d been telling and straight into the thing I wanted more than anything.
Her fingers slid down to lace with mine just as someone yelled, “Ansel, is sheThe One?”
I didn’t even blink.
“Yeah,” I called back with an easy grin. “She’s the one.”
Juniper’s head whipped toward me — eyes wide, lips parted — but the cameras flashed so bright, it felt like the world swallowed us whole.
Before I had time to check-in with her, we were swarmed by reporters wanting the scoop on ‘The Way We Move’. The questions overlapped each other quickly.
And before I knew it — I could no longer feel the steady pressure of Juniper’s hand on my arm. I turned, turned again, spinning in a circle.
“Ansel!”
“Ansel!”
“Ansel, over here!”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I started, trying to duck away. “I’ve lost my date.” I offered them a less-than-flattering has-been grin.
“She’ll wait — we want to know…”
The voice started up again.
But they were nothing but noise. My eyes found hers, wide and just the slightest bit terrified.
“Move.” I said, doing my best not to shove the reporters out of the way. The reporters —men— had pushed their way towards me. “Move.” I repeated, trying to keep my voice level.
I was failing.
“You’ve got two seconds to make way formy girl,” my voice had dropped low, fists clenching at my side, “before we start to have a problem, here.”
They parted like the Red Sea, and I shoved my way past them to get to her. I took her face in my hands. “Sorry, kid.”
She gave me a watery smile.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead gently before lacing my fingers back through hers. “Come on, darling. Let’s go watch a movie.”
“The One?” Juniper asked once we had moved away from the bulk of the lights.
All I could do was shrug, offering her a grin that Iknewshe wouldn’t consider a sufficient answer.
CHAPTER 40
The movie barely registered.
I remembered laughing at a line… maybe, remembered the way she’d leaned closer to whisper something only I could hear. But mostly, I remembered howeasyit felt — how natural. Like we weren’t on display, like there weren’t cameras outside waiting to pick us apart.
Like she was justmine.
She stayed close as the credits rolled, head still on my shoulder, her hand tangled with mine. And God, I let myselfpretendfor those two hours. Pretend that this wasn’t fake. That this — her, us — wasn’t something with an expiration date.
Back at the hotel, she groaned as she kicked off her heels, collapsing back onto the bed in a flurry of fabric.
“Not bad for a fake date, Barlowe,” she teased, voice light but her eyes soft.
“You make it easy, baby” I said before I could think better of it. Her lips parted. Just slightly. Like the words hit her somewhere she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
