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Bella practically purrs, her hand purposefully landing on mine. “Oh, Rhy Guy here was an amazing kisser.” She laughs, smiling at me while urging me to share her enthusiasm.
The interviewer laughs, clutching a hand to her chest. “And you have a sweet little nickname for him! Oh my, does that mean there was some off-set chemistry between you two?”
“One could say that,” Bella answers.
My hand covers Bella’s, my attempt to take control of the interview and to squash any insinuating remarks Bella is trying to make.
“Bella is such a talented actress, and we all worked really hard to make this movie what it is,” I explain. “And like Charles said, this team that we had was one of the best we’ve all worked with. Everyone was very dedicated, and we’re just happy that our hard work is paying off.”
The interviewer nods and refocuses her attention on Bella. “Bella, what did you do to prepare for tonight? It looks like you have a whole village here to make you look as beautiful as you do. Any beauty tips or secrets to share with your fans?”
Bella rambles mixed words of hair, makeup, and designer labels. My attention wanders, scanning the now exceedingly large crowd and other familiar faces of Hollywood trickling in.
I smirk fondly when I see Michael Perry, our director, standing at the far end of the red carpet. His laughter rings across the scattered crowd, loud enough that I can catch the peak of it. He’s talking amongst a small group of people. One of them, a woman with dark hair facing my direction, has twinkling eyes curved above full cheeks that round when she smiles politely. I blatantly stare, wondering why she looks so familiar.
It’s when her smile fades and her eyes avert to her surroundings, the inner corners of her brows lifting in a furrow that creases above the bridge of her nose, that I realize why she stands out to me.
It’s the woman from the coffeehouse.
What the fuck?
What is she doing here? Was she somehow involved with the movie? Maybe she’s an actress? And why is she talking to Michael?
I can barely believe that she’s here and that I actually remember her face. She’s no longer on the verge of tears, but I still see the same eyes that reminded me of a warm pool of honey, sweet and inviting. They twinkle against the hovering lights, making them shine even brighter. As she listens to Michael speak, she smiles politely, the edges of her mouth twitching slightly with each movement.
I don’t know why, but I hadn’t noticed before how… stunning she looked.
“Rhylan?”
“Huh?” My eyes shift from the interviewer to Charles and back to the interviewer. It’s obvious a question or some kind of statement is directed toward me, but I haven’t been paying attention. The heat from the lights beams down on my face, a thin sheen of sweat starting to form across my forehead and my neck.
Charles laughs. “You have to excuse Rhy here. He’s just excited to see his pretty face on that big screen. He can’t seem to focus on anything else.”
I don’t smile. I don’t even laugh politely at his joke. Instead, I stand, the mic attached to my jacket pulling me back before I remove it completely and leave it on the chair. I don’t even look back to confirm the dumbfounded looks on everyone’s faces as the cameras connected to the live feed wait for the interview to continue without me. I can’t even bring myself to care.
By the time I’ve finally walked around the chairs, carefully stepping over the fat cords that run along the hard floor to the lights and cameras, the woman is gone. In a flash, she disappeared, and I feel panicked.Where the hell did she go?
I start towards the steps leading into the theater, then change my mind. I look over the sea of people, the laughter and happy commotion of people frustrating me to no end, hoping to find her, but it’s hopeless. My head swivels back and forth, frantically searching for this woman. But I don’t see her anywhere.
“Rhy!” I turn to see Charles jogging towards me, finally catching up after I left the interview. “What the hell was that?”
“I saw someone.”
“What? Who?”
I keep searching, scanning the entire entrance to the theater, but it’s impossible to locate one single person in the crowd. A needle in a haystack. I shake my head, my eyes meeting Charles’s.
“No one.”
ELEVEN
RHYLAN
This feels like the longest two and a half hours of my life. The seconds actually feel like they’re ticking slower than the usual sixty seconds that take up a minute. I repeatedly have to remind myself to keep my eyes forward instead of turning around to scan the dark theater. I can’t focus my attention on the movie for the life of me. I’minthe damn movie, but if someone asked me what it was about, I’d be better off talking about narwhals.
Charles sits to my left, and every time my body shifts, I can feel his eyes look my way. When I look to my right, Michael’s face is practically glowing towards the flickering screen as his dumbfounded smile never leaves his face. He doesn’t seem to notice or isn’t even bothered by the tapping of my feet or the occasional impatient hum that I let out. My body is intolerably restless, even annoying me. When the credits finally,finallyroll, I see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The lights flicker on, and the crowd applauds. I’m the first one to stand. My head pops up over the sea of people languidly standing and unhurriedly herding towards the exit. I scan the faces, hoping to see this woman whose name I don’t even know and face I barely recognize. Still, I search, my eyes impatiently seeking her out and making second glances any time I see a woman with dark hair and a red dress.
