Page 35 of All That Glitters

It’s getting harder to breathe, and a line of sweat trails down my spine. I’m overheated, I’m chilled, I’m drowning, and my knees lock to keep me upright. Even my toes ache from where they cramp in my high heels, and the moment with Marcus in the hallway feels like a million years ago.

I’ve got to get out where there’s more air. Where is Marcus? Did he…did he leave me here?

I glance over my shoulder, straining to find him in the sea of faces around us. Marcus? I mouth his name, but no sound comes out.

“Miss Stone is a blessing to my movie. Her presence is going to catapult an already amazing script to new heights. I mean, honestly, just look at her.” Parker turns to me with his smile lit with savage delight. “She’s even more beautiful than her mother. The rising starlet who puts the aging actress to shame. Hers is a face made for movies, and if Olivia Stone was alive, I’m sure she’d agree!”

My gut plummets.

How dare he? How dare he bring her up, here, now… How could he talk about my mother that way? She’s dead. The plane crash—

There’s no way to control my face, and thank God, I don’t have to try. Marcus interrupts, and his hand wraps around my elbow to tug me out of Parker’s grasp.

“That’s enough. Sorry to pull her away.” Marcus does exactly that, but there is nothing in his steadying presence that will help me. Not when my mind is reeling and it’s suddenly hard to catch my breath.

Why would Parker bring up Mom? It doesn’t matter what I look like, and it doesn’t make any sense to compare the two of us. So why would you say something so crass in front of all these people?

Does he want the attention on him badly enough to use low hanging fruit to get it?

Or does he think it will cause an even larger media stir?

Each inhalation is a struggle, even as Marcus pulls me out of there. He transfers his grip to my torso, my waist, hugging me close, making sure I’m under the protection of his arm.

“Are you going to be okay to go inside?” he asks in a low tone.

His voice is a million miles away.

I shake my head as he calls my name.

“Empire? Look at me. Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

My chest hurts. My heart expands, contracts, skips a beat, and the straps on the dress are too tight. Parker…Parker doesn’t even know what he’s said, does he? He doesn't care about anyone or anything except himself and his reputation. His stupid movie.

Why did I let myself get talked into working with such an odious man? Why did I let my need to please Marcus outweigh every hesitation I had?

I’m barely aware of Marcus. I only know we’re moving, and there are eyes on us—too many, turning in my direction as we walk, but I’m too lost to care what they’re all thinking. A giant knot of iron forms in my chest, pressing outward, forcing itself painfully against my ribs. The din of the crowd is distant and tinny, but their heat and presence is very real.

Marcus drags his cell out of the pocket of his suit jacket and makes a call, barking out syllables before he leads me toward the rear exit of the theater.

“Hang on a little bit longer for me, okay? You're going to be fine. Hold on for me.” He keeps the words flowing in a soothing mantra, although it does nothing for the chill in my blood.

I’m losing it. In front of these people, my peers and the rapid press, I’m losing it, and all it took was mention of my mother. How am I ever going to learn to keep it together at these functions? Marcus dragged me out today to help me, and all it ended up doing was pushing me to my breaking point.

The car is outside the rear door waiting once he gets us outside, and only a few security guards patrol the exit. The majority of the paps are already inside with the other actors and actresses, ready for the premiere to start.

Marcus throws open the door, pushes me into the backseat, and the car takes off in the span of a few heartbeats.

“I need out. Marcus, I need—” I have no idea what I need, but the dress has got to go. The straps cut into me and constrict like a straitjacket.

I tear at the fabric, my nails slipping along the lines of pearls. Nothing I do works. The dress stays in place as tears leak down my cheeks, bringing my supposedly waterproof mascara with it. The burning in my eyes intensifies with each mile we drag along the road.

“Empire, you’re okay,” Marcus tries to say. “We’re out of there.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay.”

The rest of the drive is a blur until the limo pulls up in front of the house, and a small, terse thought in the back of my head says I’ve ruined the night for both of us. My emotions are too wild and chaotic for me to care.

Marcus leads me to the door, keeping me in place while he fumbles for the keys, cursing all the way. Then, we’re inside, and I’m pawing at the dress. He’s letting me, letting me tear the fabric, knot the laces, rip the seams and pop the pearls off.

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