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‘No. Why? Do you?’

‘No. But I thought… I thought my pushiness might have been a turnoff,’ Ashley admitted.

Molly sighed and smiled. ‘You thought wrong.’

Fourteen

Now

The premiere of The Winter King was a sensory assault. The Leicester Square pavement had been covered in a thick, midnight-blue carpet, flanked on either side by towering barricades that barely managed to contain a horde of film fans.

Molly stood in the staging area just behind the security perimeter, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She looked down at her dress—a sleek, navy-blue velvet number that Karen had picked out for her. It didn’t require the posture of the Soho green mistake, thank god, but it was incredibly heavy and slinky, hugging her curves like a second skin.

‘You’re doing great, babe. Just look at her, not at them,’ Karen whispered fiercely.

‘You didn’t need to come to this.’

‘I’m just here for support.’

‘You thought I wouldn’t turn up, didn’t you?’

‘No!’ Karen lied. ‘Don’t be silly. Now go and knock ‘em dead,’ she said, giving Molly a final, aggressive pat on the hip before disappearing into the crowd of publicists.

Molly turned her head. Ashley was standing three feet away, talking quietly to a woman with a clipboard. She was wearing a tailored, double-breasted cream suit buttoned to the collarbone, nothing underneath but, presumably, a bra. She looked like she had been born for this.

Ashley looked over, catching Molly’s eye. A sympathetic smile touched her lips, and she walked over.

‘You ready?’ Ashley asked, her low voice cutting through the dull roar of the crowd.

‘I’d rather be doing my tax form,’ Molly muttered, her mouth dry.

Ashley extended her arm, a classic, old-school gesture. Molly slid her hand into the crook of Ashley’s elbow.

You’re an actress playing a role. This is fully within your wheelhouse.

They stepped onto the midnight-blue carpet.

The wall of sound hit them first—a collective, deafening roar from the crowd as they recognised Ashley. Then came the lights. It wasn’t like the sporadic flashes outside the Soho restaurant; this was a continuous, blinding sheet of white lightning.

‘Ashley! Look left!’

‘Molly! Over here! Together!’

‘Ashley, give us a smile! Molly, look at Ashley!’

Molly fixed a wide, brilliant, theatrical smile onto her face, blinking rapidly against the white spots dancing in her vision. She felt Ashley’s arm guiding her forward.

They reached the main press board, a massive wall covered in the logos of luxury watch brands and streaming services. The photographers here were stacked three-deep on stepladders. It was a kind of chaos that Molly had spent her career avoiding. But here she was now, selling herself like the prop she’d become.

‘Turn to your left, ladies! Perfect! Now look at each other!’

Molly turned her head toward Ashley, her smile widening. Ashley turned too, her dark eyes locking onto Molly’s. Ashley’s gaze dropped to Molly’s lips, then back up. And something in her eyes slipped.

I missed you, echoed in Molly’s head.

Molly’s heart did a violent flip. She panicked. The crowd was too loud, the lights were too bright, and Ashley was too close.

‘Right, let’s keep moving!’ Molly said aloud, her voice entirely swallowed by the din. Desperate to break the suffocating intimacy of the moment, she took a confident stride forward to head down the rest of the carpet. Ashley did as she was told, heading onward at a pace.