Page 123 of Cast to be Mine

Grace sat beside me, her hand resting on my thigh, her fingers tracing absent patterns through the fabric of my tuxedo pants. She was stunning. Breathtaking. The kind of beautiful that made my heart pound way too fast.

Her gown was old Hollywood glamour. The royal blue fabric shimmered. The hem brushed the floor. She’d even worn a boa with it. Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist, exposing the graceful line of her neck. Diamond earrings and a matching diamond necklace.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” I said. “I don’t want to get out of the car. I want to ravish you.”

She glanced at me then, a smile playing at her lips. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, Blackwell, but you are not messing up this gown. I’m basically sewn into it. If you take me out of it, there’s no guarantee it goes back on.”

“I’d be willing to take that risk.”

“I wouldn’t. Down boy.”

I adjusted my bow tie, feeling slightly ridiculous in the full black-tie ensemble. The classic Hollywood premiere look—James Bond meets old-school Cary Grant. My mother had insisted on the vintage cut, claiming it would photograph better on the red carpet.

She wasn’t wrong. She rarely was about these things. None of the slim-fit tuxes tonight. We were all going old school. My publicity people had made sure all the stars were in appropriate attire. Not gonna lie, I was worried about Chantilly. She did her own thing.

“Nervous?” Grace asked.

“Terrified.”

“The great Micah Blackwell, terrified of his own premiere?”

“It’s not the premiere I’m worried about.”

The limo slowed as we approached the theater. Through the window, I could see the crowd—hundreds of people pressed against the barriers, cameras flashing like lightning, the red carpet stretching out like a runway to another world.

“Ready?” I asked.

Grace took a deep breath and squeezed my hand. “Ready.”

The door opened, and the noise hit us like a wave. Screaming fans. Shouted questions. The relentless click-click-click of a thousand cameras. I stepped out first, then turned to help Grace from the car.

The moment she emerged, the crowd went wild.

“Grace! Grace, over here!”

“Micah! Can we get a photo?”

“Grace, who are you wearing?”

We posed together at the start of the carpet, her hand resting naturally on my arm, both of us smiling for the cameras. The flashes were blinding, but I’d learned to look just past them, finding the middle distance where the light didn’t hurt as much.

“They love you,” I murmured against her ear.

“They love us,” she corrected.

We made our way down the carpet slowly, stopping for photos, waving at fans, signing autographs for the people who’d been waiting for hours. The energy was electric. Six months of buzz, carefully released trailers, and strategic press, all building to this moment.

Breathless was finally here.

An interviewer from Entertainment Tonight flagged us down, her microphone thrust forward eagerly.

“Micah, Grace, you both look incredible! How does it feel to finally be here on premiere night?”

“Surreal,” I said honestly. “This movie has been a labor of love from day one. To finally share it with the world is overwhelming.”

“And, Grace, the early reviews have been incredible. Critics are calling your performance a revelation. How does that feel?”

Grace’s smile was genuine. “It feels like validation. I worked so hard on this role, and to have people respond to it the way they have—it’s more than I ever dreamed.”