Chapter Nineteen
“We have a small window to capitalize on the buzz around Bridget Jones’ Musical,”
Micah said through the phone.
Hannah sat on the back steps of Ethan’s house, watching a sparrow hop along the branch of a nearby tree as the sun set over the bay. She told herself that the jittery, brittle feeling beneath her skin was about the upcoming premiere and not the conversation about her next career move. Or the fact it had been a week since she’d sung a note outside of the shower and she wasn’t feeling the urge to hunt down the nearest piano in Aster Bay for a practice session.
Why wasn’t she dying to get back to work?
“I’ve had a few calls. There’s some interest in seeing you for the national tour of Les Mis.”
The false brightness in Micah’s voice might as well have been a flashing neon sign: Danger Ahead; Incoming Fatphobia.
“What part?”
He hesitated. “Madame Thénardier.”
“Of course.”
She pulled up a handful of grass and began methodically shredding each blade into smaller and smaller pieces. She would not think about the half-eaten pint of ice cream in the freezer in Ethan’s kitchen. “What else?”
“There’s an open call for Mrs. Potts, but—”
“Please at least tell me I’m too young for the Angela Lansbury roles, Micah.”
“You’re too young for the Angela Lansbury roles.”
Her manager sighed. “If only there was another Bridget on the horizon.”
“No word on a tour?”
she asked, but she already knew the answer.
The producers weren’t going to run a tour until after they’d milked every last drop out of the pro shot’s theatrical release. She switched the phone to speaker and began scrolling the take-out menu for the Pizza Stone. According to Sabrina and Kyla, the Pizza Stone had the best mozzarella sticks in town. She wondered if they’d deliver the one order by itself or if she’d need to add more to make it worth their while—maybe an order of garlic knots, too, or a slice of the turtle pie...
“There’s a regional theater in Chicago prepping for Into the Woods—”
“So my options are a thief, a talking tea pot, and a witch.”
Two orders of garlic knots. And onion rings.
“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I’ll email over the songs they want on the self tapes. Just run them through, see how they feel.”
She sighed, nodding.
“Hannah?”
“I’m nodding.”
“Alright, good. I’ll see what I can line up for when you’re back in the City. We’ve gone almost a week without any new photos from Jackson’s camp, so after the premiere, the press should lose interest and you can come home.”
It should have been good news, but instead of feeling comforted by the idea that she’d soon be back in her little New York apartment, she felt like Micah had released a swarm of bees in her chest.
“We’ll re-evaluate after the premiere,”
Micah continued. “This will be good, Hannah, you’ll see. I have to go meet a client, but hang in there. I’ll see you Friday.”
The line went dead and Hannah set the phone on the step beside her, clasping her hands between her knees. Garlic knots, turtle pie, mozzarella sticks, mozzarella sticks, mozzarella sticks. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing the way they’d taught her in therapy, focused on feeling the unsettled buzzing beneath her skin, on naming the sensations as they moved through her.
“Hey, what’re you doing out here?”
Hannah looked up as Ethan sat down on the step beside her, his bare feet in the early spring grass.
“Just checking in with my manager,” she said.
“Everything alright?”
“Great.”
He eyed her curiously but didn’t push. Onion rings, mozzarella sticks, maybe some chicken tenders with extra honey mustard...
“I told him we’ll drive down Friday morning,”
she said, talking so she could drown out the litany of fried foods running through her head. “Micah arranged an early check-in and a car will meet us at the hotel to take us to the premiere when it’s time.”
“Are you nervous?”
“About the premiere? Not really. A little. Like the smallest amount possible. I’ve never been on a red carpet before.”
Ethan brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll be great.”
“I might trip and fall. Or say something ridiculous to the press.”
“You might,”
he agreed, “but you might not. And either way, I’ll be there.”
The buzzing beneath her skin calmed to a low hum, the relentless recitation of fried foods quieting, like someone had turned down the volume. She ran her thumb over the crinkles at the corner of Ethan’s eye when he smiled at her. “Thank you. I know how protective you are of your privacy.”
“It’s not about privacy, at least not for privacy’s sake,”
he said, catching her forearm and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I protect the people I care about. Sometimes that means keeping things to myself. Sometimes it means putting on a suit and holding your bag while you smile for the cameras.”
“You’ll hold my bag?”
she asked, unable to control her smile. He’d included her amongst the list of people he cared about.
“Your bag, your shoes, your dress—”
She laughed. “My dress will be staying on at the premiere.”
“After, then.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. She wanted to melt into it, to melt into him, to focus on nothing but the movement of his mouth over hers, but her thoughts were still racing with the thousands of ways this premiere could go wrong. He moved down to her throat, nuzzling against the curve of her jaw, his beard rough on her skin. “You’re distracted,”
he said, his lips skating down her neck.
“I may be more nervous than I want to admit,” she said.
He chuckled. “You don’t say.”
He sat back, taking her hand in his and squeezing. “What exactly are you nervous about, aside from the very slim possibility that you might trip on the red carpet?”
“All those cameras.”
She closed her eyes, seeing the bright bursts of the flashes behind her eyelids. “All those people looking at me.”
His brows knit together. “Hundreds of people watched you every night on stage when the show was on Broadway.”
“True, but they weren’t looking at me. They were looking at Bridget. If the dress didn’t fit right, it was because Bridget was wearing the wrong thing, not me. They didn’t care about me at all as long as I sang well enough and made them laugh.”
He nodded, understanding. “And now they’re looking at you instead of the character.”
“So far, when the press has looked at me as just me, they haven’t liked what they’ve seen.”
A low noise rumbled in his chest, like the warning thrum of an angered predator. “Though, even then, they weren’t really looking at me. They were looking at Jackson Hayes’ alleged girlfriend.”
She winced, groaned. “And if it wasn’t bad enough that they compared me to photos of the models he was caught with, now they’ll be comparing us in person.”
Ethan slid his hands into her hair, cupping her face and tilting it up to him, his gaze hard and hot on her skin. “There is no comparison.”
She released a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “I know. How am I supposed to compete with a Victoria’s Secret model?”
His grip on her tightened. “No, Han. You misunderstand. There is no competition. They are them and you are you, and you are fucking gorgeous.”
He kissed her forehead, her brow bone, her cheeks. “There’s no comparison because there’s no need to compare. Your beauty is not diminished by being in the presence of other beautiful women.”
She was warm all over, like he’d shone the sun on her and her alone. Smiling, she spoke against his lips. “You have to say that because you’ve seen me naked.”
“You should believe me more because I’ve seen you naked. The only thing they have that you don’t is the confidence to stand on that carpet and know those photographers are damn lucky to be allowed to take their picture.”
“I want to feel that way,”
she said, her voice small, like maybe if she spoke softly enough, she wouldn’t scare away the tiny spark inside her that thought maybe, just maybe, with this man looking at her this way, maybe she could be confident enough for that.
He kissed her again, a soft, lingering kiss, then stood, pulling her up with him. “Come with me. I have an idea.”
Twenty minutes and a few cryptic phone calls later, after Ethan encouraged her to change into one of her sundresses and a pair of heels—and she, of course, complied, just to see the way his eyes darkened when she came out in the curve-hugging dress—Ethan turned his truck into the parking lot of a giant stone church with large stained-glass windows. He was out of the truck and opening her car door before she’d fully registered where they were.
“You took me to church?”
she asked as he helped her down from the passenger seat. “You want me to pray for confidence?”
“Not exactly.”
But he didn’t explain any further. Instead, he took her hand and led her up the stone steps to the medieval-looking front door. One side swung open, revealing Caleb, the scowl on his face and the wild way his hair stood up in all directions, as though he’d been tugging at it, jarring against the staid beauty of the building. “Place is all yours,”
he said, stepping aside to welcome them into the dim narthex. He glanced over his shoulder at a woman sitting at the far end of the sanctuary. “I’ll be in my office.”
Hannah watched the priest’s retreating back. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan frowned, his attention focused on the woman as she stood, straightened her dress, and quietly slipped out the side door. His frown deepened as he watched her go, but from this distance, Hannah couldn’t make out her face before Ethan took her hand and led her into the sanctuary. “I’ll find out later. Now, we have a mission.”
“We do?”
“Damn straight we do.”
Jo burst into the sanctuary behind them, pushing open the doors theatrically as she strode towards them. She twirled her finger in a circle. “Let me see what I’m working with.”
Hannah shot a confused look Ethan’s way but she did as Jo asked, her skirt flaring out around her knees. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
Ethan leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes roving over her as her dress settled. “You’re nervous about walking the red carpet with models. Who better to prepare you than an actual model?”
“That’s me,”
Jo said with a little wave and a smile.
“And we’re in a church because...?”
Hannah asked.
“Red carpet.”
Ethan tilted his head towards the aisle and the plush red carpeting that ran the length of the sanctuary.
Hannah couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat and burst from her lips. It was ridiculous and wonderful and so thoughtful it made her want to wrap him up in her arms and never let him go.
Jo hooked an arm through Hannah’s and began pulling her towards the front of the sanctuary. “Oh, no. I know that look. You save those horny thoughts until later. We’ve got work to do.”