Page 78 of When I Had You

“Who’s they?” I sound like an idiot. “I don’t . . . Why now? Why when you guys have almost made it to the finish line without any more major distractions from the movies?”

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Lauren said my interviews have gone too well according to his team, which puts him in a bad light.”

Resting my hand on her chest, I feel her steady heartbeat. “You mean the pity party he was hosting for himself is over? He’s jealous. That’s what this is about.”

“His press hasn’t been flattering.” Draping her arm over her head, she angles her gaze at me, appearing small and even fragile. “How am I going to survive this? The press will ask all the questions, and I don’t have the answers.”

I hate that she feels less because of that asshole. Taking her hand, I hold it on my lap. “Why won’t Lauren be there to handle it?”

“She has a premiere in LA tonight for one of her A-list clients. She couldn’t do both on opposite coasts.”

“That’s bullshit. She should be here instead of throwing you to the wolves.”

Marina finally sits up with a heavy-chested sigh. “I can’t dwell on this anymore. I need to go to my fitting, or I’ll really be in trouble hitting the red carpet in sweats and a T-shirt.

I’ve struggled for hours to figure out how I can help her. With our relationship a secret from almost everyone, I also don’t know how I can be there for her and not break the rules Westcott Racing has put in place.

I receive two texts from her hours later:

She’s wearing the same designer from the same collection as me.

Me:

Doesn’t matter. You’ll outshine her.

And then after that, she texts:

They’re engaged and announcing tonight.

Harsh.

And if effective, it will humiliate my girl at her own premiere.

Fuck that.

She’s a fucking queen to be bowed down to. And I know who I am. Her fucking king. Like I told my son, we make our own rules.

I pull one of my tuxes from the closet and start getting red carpet ready.

* * *

I have connections, so it wasn’t hard to snag a ticket. I’m hoping Marina will be happy to see me. Everything we have could be ruined by a bad decision. This could be my worst of all time, and that’s an impressive list.

Stepping out of the SUV, I straighten my jacket and button it. I don’t dig these events, but I’ve been to enough to know what to do. I’m guided forward to the press and start the game, answering questions and taking photos. The positive about not being announced until arrival is that no one is prepared to talk to you.

The downside, they wing it. “The last time we saw you and Marina Westcott together, you were holding hands in Miami.” The journalist holds the microphone under my nose and asks, “Are you here to support her as a friend, or is there more between the two of you?”

I step back and reply, “She’s a brilliant actress. I’m here to support her and the movie.”

Not really into the fame side of things, I start walking ahead until I hear someone from the press corp yell, “Marina, over here.”

I step to the busiest part of the carpet and scan through the bustle of people. I have no idea what she’s wearing or how her hair is styled. I don’t need to, though. She stands out from the crowd.

With my eyes locked on the stunning target, I move around people, cutting through groups until I finally reach the edge of the area where she’s posing for photos. They’ll never know the smile she’s wearing is fake, but I do. It doesn’t reach her pretty blues and falls short of the apples of her cheeks.

I stop to catch my breath that she’s stolen, watching her own the entire red carpet with her presence. She’s wearing a pink dress so hot it’s electric with black shoes and her hair falling over one side. I turn to the guy beside me and say, “She’s a knockout.”

Then he shoves his microphone in my face, and I know I’ve screwed up. Does it matter anymore? I’m about to blow our cover to smithereens. I walk straight up to her when she turns my way.

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