Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Deacon
I waited for Dove in the foyer of the cordoned off suites. The bustle of photographers and event staff echoed up the stairs from the venue below. I unbuttoned and re-buttoned my jacket three times, a surprising bout of nerves tying my stomach in knots as Zeke talked a mile a minute in my ear. He had managed to “find time in his schedule” to fly out for the fundraiser, and I was sure it had nothing to do with the bevy of actors, artists, and models who were in attendance—some of whom were looking for new representation.
“So that script should be coming in the next week,” he drawled, and I had no idea what he was talking about because I was so focused on the closed door that I knew Dove was behind.
I hoped she was okay. I knew this whole thing was really intense for her, but I wasn’t sure if demanding to stand next to her while she got her hair and makeup done would seem like I was being the overprotective boyfriend.
As if she would ever allow that .
Maybe I shouldn’t have made her come to this event. Maybe I was pushing too hard. I’d gotten so hung up on the idea of her on my arm, showing her my world, having her fall in love with all of it and see me, maybe, in a new light. But I should’ve known better than to think Dove could be wooed by all the glitz and glamor.
I was an expert at delusional fantasies, but this one was going to only hurt me in the end. Even after what Dove’s siblings had said, I really needed to lower my expectations. Dove was headstrong, confident, and she knew what she wanted out of life, and it had nothing to do with glitz and glamor . . . and I highly doubted that it had anything to do with me either.
“Earth to Deacon.” Zeke waved in front of my face, and I finally broke my staring contest with the closed door.
“I think I might want to take a little time off after the next project,” I admitted with a sigh, crossing my legs at the ankles and leaning against the wall.
Zeke looked at me like I’d just told him I wanted to move to Mars. “Time off?”
“Yeah, or maybe focus on some projects for my?—”
“Please don’t say art. You’re not going down the tortured indie artist path on me, are you?” Zeke ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I swear to God, if you start going method and wearing turtlenecks and talking about your fucking craft .”
“I’m not. I just want?—”
“If you say an Oscar, I’m going to lose my mind.” Zeke groaned. “You know how political that shit is? I’d have better luck making you the King of England. Let’s just keep our heads down and focus on Batman right now. Stick to the plan, right?”
“Right,” I muttered, knowing it wasn’t worth the battle. The path had been laid out for me. All I had to do was walk it. It shouldn’t be that hard.
The door opened and I stood straight, waiting with bated breath as Dove walked out. Even as I braced with anticipation, I wasn’t ready for what I saw. The sight of her hit me like a freight train.
Dove strode out wearing an emerald-green corset gown, a slit running up the side all the way to the top of her thigh. All the air stole from my lungs as I trailed my eyes up her satin-clad body to her face. Her hair was pulled back, teardrop crystals hanging from her ears and a matching necklace glittering across her chest. Her lips were a deep red, and her eyes ended in dramatic wings. At first glance, she looked like the epitome of Hollywood vixen, but there was so much more depth to her beauty because it wasn’t just a facade layered upon her. It radiated out of her. The lighthouse in my storm.
“Damn,” Zeke said, adjusting his collar as his eyes scanned Dove up and down.
For a split second, I questioned whether it was an overreaction to punch him just for appreciating how beautiful Dove looked. “Damn indeed.”
Dove searched the corridor until her gaze hooked with my own and a soft, little smile curved her lips. To be the guy she smiled at felt like more of a victory than every award on my shelf. I pushed off the wall and straightened my suit as she sized me up with similar appreciation. Whatever she was feeling in that moment, I hoped it was even half of what I was feeling toward her.
She was absolutely stunning. Always. Unequivocally. Irrevocably. Stunning. In khakis or sweatpants or designer gowns. And I knew then for certain the thing that I’d been terrified of happening when I returned to Prickle Island after fifteen years had come true: I was in love with her. I’d never stopped being in love with her; the feeling had just grown and matured right along with me. But I’d known from the moment she’d stormed into her mother’s office, she had my whole heart whether she wanted it or not.
It took me several seconds of gaping at her before I realized someone was speaking to me.
“What?” I turned and found Ivy Blanc standing there, her hand on her hip, looking annoyed.
“I said, are you ready for the carpet?” she grumbled, wringing her rhinestone-studded clutch in her hands.
“Ivy, I . . . didn’t know you were going to be here? I’m walking the carpet with Dove,” I said, confused.
Zeke jumped in and clapped me on the shoulder. “We want you and Ivy to be the canoodling costars for your new movie,” he announced. “The trailer is about to drop. Stick to the plan, remember?”
I glared at Zeke before I looked back at Dove’s too-wide eyes. She stepped back an inch, as if she didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, a mixture of fear and disappointment on her face.
No, nope, absolutely not. I’m not going to throw her to the wolves and make her handle this treacherous obstacle course solo. And there’s no way I’m letting her hang on the arm of any other guy tonight besides me, because she’s mine.
She’s always been mine.
“Ivy,” I said cooly, holding my anger in check. “I am so glad you were able to attend this fundraiser.”
“Like I had a choice,” she muttered.
“But the focus of this event is on the charity.” I gave Zeke a look that told him if he meddled a second longer, I’d fire him. “So I will be walking the carpet with the charity director as intended.”
I stretched out a hand to Dove and she gratefully took it. I wrapped her hand over my forearm, escorting her through the room as she wobbled on her high heels. She smelled amazing, like she’d been spritzed with a rich French perfume. Everything in me eased when she was finally by my side again.
“I look better on my own anyway,” Ivy huffed, bristling as Dove and I walked past her. “It’ll look cute in the press, you with her,” she added, looking Dove over with disdain. “Deacon Harrow, two-time Sexiest Man Alive, with the doe-eyed charity case.”
I could see Dove shrink an inch at that statement and it incensed me. Normally, Dove would’ve had something sharp-tongued and pointed to spit back, but this snake pit was one she didn’t know how to navigate . . . unlike an actual snake pit which she’d probably love. But if she could save me from literal crocodiles, I could save her from Ivy Blanc.
I debated all kinds of retaliation, but instead, I just simply guffawed. “You really are a spiteful bitch, aren’t you, Ivy?” I asked in a mocking tone. “I know your breakup stung, but maybe consider your target a little more carefully next time. You just called the most beautiful woman in the room a charity case.”
I walked Dove down the hallway and out into the open foyer, leaving Zeke to rush in and apologize to Ivy on my behalf. I really didn’t care. Too many people in my life now thought that they could talk down to everyone and anyone and I couldn’t stand it.
“Thank you for that,” Dove murmured.
“Ivy is just miserable and wants to make everyone around her miserable too,” I gritted out.
“But you don’t need to lie for me,” Dove added. “She’s a freaking supermodel.” I raised my eyebrows, halting us, and Dove teetered on her high heels at the abrupt stop. “What?”
I pointed to the giant gilt mirror hanging in the entryway. “Look.” She glanced at our reflections before quickly looking away. “I wasn’t lying.”
“That is very sweet,” she murmured, eyes darting everywhere but the mirror. “But there are like ten of the most beautiful women in Hollywood going up and down that hallway right now. And I really don’t care. I have no desire to be the most beautiful woman in the room. That sounds daunting and awful.”
“I know you don’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.”
She shot me a look. “How many drinks have you had?”
I held my hand to my chest in mock offense. “One glass of whisky.”
I turned her fully, standing behind her so that she had no choice but to stare at our reflections. One hand snaked around her waist to her lower abdomen, and I thought about how dangerously close my fingers were to that slit in her dress, how easy it would be for me to dip them underneath the fabric and touch her. I swallowed thickly as she and I stared at our reflections.
“Deacon,” she whispered, and the sound of my name on her lips made me ache. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”
“Tell me you don’t look beautiful,” I insisted. “Tell me you aren’t the right person to have on my arm tonight. Ivy and I don’t make sense even in works of fiction. Tell me you and I don’t look perfect together.” I leaned down, my lips caressing the lobe of her ear as I whispered, “But you won’t because you know it’s true.”
She shuddered at the rush of my breath against her ear, turning her head ever so slowly toward me, her full red lips only a hair’s breadth from my own. And I wanted to tell her then, tell her all of the secrets of my heart?—
But then Zeke came barreling around the corner, clapping his hands like a football coach. “Right, D-money, your audience awaits.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “Deacon and Dove.” He chuckled to himself. “Double D-money tonight.”
“Thank you for ruining a perfectly nice moment, Zeke,” I murmured only loud enough for Dove to hear. I straightened and extended my arm out to her again. “Ready?”
“Nope,” she said with a tight smile.
“Great, let’s go.”