Page 160 of Merry Me
"Never," he whispered back.
The car slowed. Through the tinted glass, the red carpet lit up under the flashes of cameras and a sea of shining voices. His name was already echoing from reporters, fans, someone with a glittery sign that said EASTON MARRY ME—which frankly, felt a bit late, and was definitely copying me.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
I smirked. “I’ve survived worse.”
“Like?”
“Like the time your mom gave me a detailed lecture on your childhood rashes over brunch.”
He grimaced. “Fair.”
The driver opened the door, and the night exploded into sound and color and heat.
The moment my heels hit the carpet, the crowd roared. For him, obviously. But I held my head high like it was for me, too.
Because maybe, in a way, it was.
I wasn’t just hisdate. I wasn’t the girl who’d almost let fear write the ending of her story. I was Natalie Maddox now. Confident. In love. Whole.
And entirely uninterested in pretending otherwise.
Easton came around to take my hand like we were the only two people in the world. “Ready to cause a tabloid scandal, Trouble?”
“Always.”
We posed, turned, smiled. I pretended to fix his bow tie while he whispered things entirely inappropriate for public consumption, and I whispered back that I was going to make him pay for it later.
“Easton! Natalie! Over here!”
“Give us a kiss!”
He turned to me with a grin and dipped me dramatically, pressing a slow, movie-worthy kiss to my mouth that had half the crowd cheering and the other half probably fainting.
“You’re such a show-off,” I murmured as he helped me upright.
“Only when the prize is this good.”
Interviewers stopped us with bright lights and flashcards. One of them leaned in with a grin, mic angled toward Easton.
“So, what was it like working with Vanessa Blake? You two had insane chemistry on screen.”
Easton gave a practiced smile, the kind that was perfectly measured but meant nothing. “Vanessa’s a pro,” he said, his tone smooth and polite. “She knows how to make a scene work.”
The interviewer’s eyes flicked to me—just for a second. A sly little glance, like he thought he was being subtle. Like I wasn’t standingright there,hand locked with Easton’s.
And then, with all the grace of a man who’d definitely watched too many gossip reels, he leaned in. “Any truth to those romance rumors from the set?”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just smiled sweetly, envisioning MeMaw popping out of the crowd with a salad fork and throwing it right at this guy’s head.
Easton laughed lightly, but his hand never left mine. “People love to talk,” he said, noncommittal, easy. “I save my real-life romance for off-camera.”
Then he looked at me—just me—and gave a small, secret smile that made my heart melt right through my dress.
“Oh my gosh,” I muttered under my breath, fanning my face like a flustered fangirl. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
