Page 15 of Riot

His dark, hungry eyes find me. “Hopefully one day, but I’m a patient man. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure Fallon gets inside before the movie starts.”

I wave and sign more autographs, relieved though I’ll never admit it that he fielded the questions for me. I feel raw tonight, and despite my cool attitude and confident smile, interviews still freak me out after the one last year stabbed me in the back.

His hand finds my back, guiding me through the throng, and I start to notice the way he moves his body to block fans or greedy reporters reaching for me. Despite them screaming his name, he ignores them, his entire focus on me.

He’s protecting me as if I’m something precious.

I hate that it’s working.

SEVEN

“You know you’ll lose, right?” she murmurs at my side, the dark room only heightening my need to feel Fallon. I’m fighting a losing battle, wanting to drag her onto my lap and fuck her right here for all these snotty fuckers to see.

I don’t like to share, though, and when Fallon melts for me, which she will, it won’t be in front of anyone else.

“Hmm?” I hum, my thoughts focused entirely on her. Every movement is burning into my brain despite the fact that my eyes are on the film premier with every other person here.

“The bet because I’ll never kiss you, so you’ll lose.” She says it so matter-of-factly, I can’t help but smile and turn my eyes down to her. She sits stiffly in her chair, the man on her other side laughing loudly at something in the film.

“Then I’ll happily lose,” I admit.

Her lips purse until she smiles, shaking her head. “You’re a strange man, Kage.”

“Yes, but aren’t you intrigued?” I murmur, making her grin wider, and I feel like I won a fucking war. That smile is for me, just me, nobody else.

My eyes find her in every room, and my soul cries for hers. There isn’t a moment of my existence since I met Fallon when I’ve had peace—until now, with her at my side, smiling at something I said.

She focuses back on the film, but my eyes are only for her. I drag them over her stunning face, burning every inch of it into my memory.

“Eyes on the film,” she orders. “It’s a masterpiece.”

“No, but you are. I’d much rather spend two hours staring at you. Don’t mind me though. Keep watching, sweetheart.”

I swear a slight blush stains her cheeks, but she doesn’t dignify my comment with a response. Instead, she tries very hard to watch the movie for the next two hours while I watch her. I’m absorbed in every minute facial expression that gives her away. When she wants to laugh but doesn’t want anyone to know, her lips twitch. When she’s sad, her nose crinkles, and when her eyes widen, she’s enraptured.

She’s fucking beautiful, so much so it hurts.

When the movie is over, we both clap with everyone else, and she greets and speaks to the director and producer as well as some actors. I stand at her back where I belong, letting her shine, and shine she does, bigger than any star.

That’s my girl.

The after-party is surprisingly calm. There are tables spread across the fancy hotel with meals and drinks being served. Crew members and actors mingle, laughing as they tell stories from the film and congratulate each other on another amazing movie.

Fallon joins in for a while before sitting at my side and reclaiming some of her peace. I block any attempts of men coming over with my glare, making it look like we are having some stolen moments. She needs just a minute to regroup. Everyone hangs on her, looks at her, or watches her, and it must be exhausting.

“I don’t know how you deal with it,” I comment.

“With what?” she asks, her eyes finding mine, and I’m glad to see she doesn’t seem tired of me, just everyone else.

“All the fawning. Even other celebrities fan over you,” I murmur softly.

“They fawn over you too.”

I don’t respond. I’ve noticed the looks, but I don’t care. I’m here for her, no one else.

She sighs, gazing over the elegant ballroom. “You get used to it.” She smiles, but it’s humorless. “I have been thrust into these situations since I was young. My entire childhood was spent in parties like this, sometimes doing my homework in the back.” She swallows, her eyes finding me. “I eventually realized it was easier to just give in and play the part they wanted rather than fight them. My father taught me to be the perfect guest and always have a perfect smile and response. It’s exhausting, if I’m honest, but it’s as easy as putting on clothes for me—a habit, although not necessarily a good one.”

“Your father taught you that?” I’m not a fool. I know who her father is. Everyone in the world does. Agille was a legendary artist who died some years ago, leaving her and her mother behind before she died too, or ran away—no one knows. I know everything I can about Fallon, but surprisingly, their relationship is secretive. She was seen at her father’s side all the time, but to me, she always looked sad and he never looked interested, but maybe I was wrong.

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