Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” He laughs. “This is no big deal.”
The flashes of the camera as he steps out light up the interior of the car, but they die down quickly. I shift to the other side of the car and ready myself for the exit. I’m wearing a two-piece skirt and bustier, so at least I don’t have to worry about anyone getting a shot of my panties. I’ve learned my lesson.
I paste on a smile, and it’s not as difficult as I expect it to be. I have Beau with me, which means I have a lot to smile about.
He takes my hand and I step out of the car, the exact same way Felicity taught me over ten years ago.
I try not to blink as the flashes go off—it’s all too easy for the photographers to get a picture of me looking drunk if I react too much to the lights. As I stand, I lock eyes with Beau and my smile goes from fake to real.
He’s here.
With me.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
“You look gorgeous,” he says.
“It takes an army, as you’ve witnessed.” I put my smile back in place.
“Shall we?” he says, and we head up toward the bank of photographers.
They’re calling my name. Some of them are calling Beau’s name, but when I glance up at him, he doesn’t seem to have noticed.
“Vivian! Vivian!” one shouts. “It’s Liz from NBC. Just a couple of questions.” I head toward the familiar voice and find Liz in the crowd.
“You look gorgeous. Who are you wearing?”
“Alexander McQueen,” I answer. It’s not the Oscars, but who can resist a little dressing up for a red carpet?
“Are you moving to Britain to be with your fiancé?” she asks.
Moving to Britain? I guess I could do a Madonna and call London my home. I can’t imagine Beau would want to move to America if we really got married. He’d be too far away from his family. “We’re likely to spend time on both sides of the pond,” I reply.
“How did you two meet?” she asks.
“In a coffee shop. I accidentally poured coffee all down his shirt.” I look around for Beau and find him standing behind me, watching me, not trying to interject. Not looking bored or pissed off. He just seems happy to be here, by my side. “Nice to see you, Liz,” I say before she can ask me another question. I reach for Beau’s hand and head toward the entrance.
“I think they want you to pose.” He nods toward the middle of the pack of photographers, where one of the stars of the movie is standing. His name was on the list Tommy sent me. It doesn’t seem like he’s brought a date. “I’ve been watching and that’s what seems to be happening. But you probably know that already.”
I grin up at him. He’s entirely adorable. “You wanna come with me?”
“They don’t want me. They want you. And rightly so. I can stand here and admire you while you get your picture taken. It’s a win-win.”
His confidence makes me want to strip naked and mount him right here on the red carpet. It feels so nice that I can just be here and do my job, unworried about my partner’s emotional resilience. I’ve never felt so relaxed at an event like this.
After a couple more questions from reporters and a lot more pictures, we finally go inside the theater. There are lots of people milling around the lobby, waiting for the red carpet scene to end before they take their seats.
My security guard hands Beau his rucksack and Beau takes my hand. “You ready?”
“We didn’t think this through,” I say. “Our clothes are in one bag, but we’re going to have to change in separate restrooms.”
Beau laughs. “We’ll find a disabled loo. Come on.”
He seems to know the way and he leads us through the crowds as I keep my head down so I don’t catch anyone’s eye. Now is not the time to discuss my engagement, collaborations, or movie roles.
We go through a corridor and down a few steps before he stops. “Here,” he says. He opens the door and I go in first.
“This isn’t very romantic. Changing under strip lighting next to a toilet and a trash can.”
“What are you talking about?” He’s already shrugged off his jacket and is unbuttoning his shirt. “We’re like Bonnie and Clyde. Partners in crime—sneaking around, trying not to get caught. This is beyond romantic.”
Somehow we manage to get changed, put our red-carpet outfits into a suit carrier, and head out of the loo. Jim, my security guy, is waiting for me when we emerge.
Wordlessly he leads us farther down the corridor, me in front and Beau trailing behind.
“I don’t want any photographers following us,” I say.
“I know. I’m keeping an eye out, but we’re good so far.”