Page 12 of In Frame
Jason glanced at Colby. Colby smiled angelically and offered, “Very. I certainly was; have youseenJason? I’m quite fortunate, you know.”
Leo fake-smothered a cough of, “Weallknow,” which made the bodies closest to him chortle; and then he took theopportunity to step back, out, away from the camera-eyes for an instant.
A breath. Two. Exhaling.
Some more commotion happened. More big names. Sir Laurence Taylor, stepping out of a car with that Hollywood-legend charm and poise. Chatter on the red carpet as he encountered a famously reclusive author, the man without whom none of them would be here. Leo knew Colby had read and loved the novel, and had actually gone out to that tiny village and asked George Forrest’s permission to change the ending.
Leo himself would’ve never done that. He might’ve thought about it, but would’ve hesitated to disturb someone who wanted to be left alone; he would’ve not taken action.
Colby, in defiance of all his own old scars and the weight of his past, had. And now Sir Laurence was talking to George, who if Leo was any judge was very cheerfully grumpily interested in continuing the conversation, and they were all here, at this film premiere, with this glorious happy ending about to be showcased. No wonder Colby Kent was the hero. He deserved to be.
Leo, who did adore Colby, turned away and took a step—to go inside the theatre, to find a drink, to find a men’s room, he didn’t know—and happened to glance out at the crowd one last time, gaze falling blankly over bodies.
He caught a glimpse of dark messy hair, stubble over a strong jaw, treasure-chest eyes.
He froze.
The crowd eddied and swirled. Leo lost track of the place he’d been looking.
Voices murmured. Celebrity wranglers. A staff member, an employee sort of person. Telling him to come along, to come in, they were about to start.
“Wait—” Leo said. “Wait, I—there’s someone—”
“Someone you want to speak to?” The staff person checked her watch. Her eyes were pale blue as sympathy, half a foot below his and glancing up. “I’m sorry but we really don’t have time—if you give me a name I’ll try to arrange something after—”
“Sam,” Leo whispered. Colby and Jason were heading over, everyone else following, aiming for the grand theatre doors and the first-ever showing of this film, this epic love tale—“Sam Hernandez-Blake. I don’t know if—I only thought I saw—but if he’s here…”
“We’ll find him if he is.” She set a hand on his arm. “This way, please.”
Leo went, obediently. He took a seat in the reserved row, and smiled at Jim and Tim and Katie as they plopped down beside him. He leaned around to say to Colby, “If Jason’s shoulders don’t fit in these antique seats I’m sure they can bring in another option,” because Colby was looking a little anxious, though whether that was about the crowds or the film Leo wasn’t sure.
“I like the seats,” Colby said, holding Jason’s hand. “I like the velvet.”
“Of course you do. Secret hedonist. Which Iknewyou were. Anyone who likes cheese that much obviously also likes velvet.”
“I don’t even pretend to know,” Jason rumbled, “how your mind works.”
“Darling.” Leo batted eyelashes at him. “You couldn’t comprehend it. No need to try.” The eyelash-batting was also an excuse to twist round and peek back at the theatre. No, too many people, all finding seats and shuffling around. Too difficult to pick out one man.
“Yeah,” Jason said, “incomprehensible sounds about right. If you’re still looking for your annoying paparazzi guy, wecan try to find him for you. People tell Colby everything.”
“I’m not,” Leo denied immediately. “No need to invoke Colby’s superpowers on my behalf. Actually, no, never mind, invoke them. Get someone to tell you where I can find the best chocolate martini in London. Then make them bring us all a round.”
“His name was Sam, wasn’t it?” Colby’s smile was a gift: quiet and lordly and generous. “That must’ve meant something, if you’re thinking about him after all this time. We’d like to help, if it’s important.”
“Don’t,” Leo muttered, embarrassment now eating a hole through his chest. Colby and Jason had enough to worry about; they didn’t need to be concerned over his wistfulness about a man he’d likely only imagined in any case. “You don’t have to—”
Tim leaned over to hiss, “All of you shut up, come on,I’msupposed to be the dramatic teenager here, and Jill’s getting up to make a speech!”
“Sorry!” Colby said, to which everyone rolled their eyes—Colby, out of them all, had the least to apologize for—but no one had time to scold him, because Jillian was indeed getting up on stage, grinning ear to ear.
In pink and black ruffles and leather straps, a casual rock-star director with freshly re-touched color in her hair, she looked younger than half of them—she wasn’t, Leo knew—and utterly thrilled to be here; that was Jillian Poe all over. Someone who loved her profession and her craft, and the stories she got to shape and bring to life and offer to the world. He’d been fortunate in getting to work with her; he hoped to again.
If she’d liked working with him. If she thought Leo Whyte was worth having around, on a film set. If.
Jill thanked everyone for coming, briefly introduced the film, mentioned how passionate they’d all been about this project. Hearts and souls committed. A love story that neededtelling. A history brought to light. She kept it quick, and sat back down.
Passionate, Leo thought. Had he been?
