Epilogue
JACK
My wife looks fucking incredible tonight in a blue silk thing that makes me want to peel it off her slowly. My wife. Still hits different, thinking that. She catches me staring and throws me a wink while she fixes her lipstick in our hotel suite.
“You need to stop looking at me like that if you want us to actually make it to this thing,” she says.
“Stop wearing dresses that make me want to stay in, then.” I come up behind her, hands on her waist. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. “We could just order room service…”
“After I spent two hours getting ready? Not happening, sir.” But she leans back against me and I can’t help kissing that spot on her shoulder that always makes her shiver.
“The shit I do for you.”
Neneh turns around in my arms. “Says the guy who mean-mugged me for a solid week when we first met.”
“I did not mean-mug you.” I chuckle.
“Baby, you scowled so hard I thought your face was stuck like that.”
I shut her up with a kiss, trying not to mess up her makeup but needing to taste her. Her hands slide up my chest and I’m seriously considering telling everyone to fuck off so we can stay in.
“Jack,” she says against my mouth. “We actually have to go, honey.”
“Yeah, okay.” I fix my tie. “But we’re bailing early.”
“Deal.”
“You look good in that,” she says, smoothing my lapels. “Almost makes up for being such a grump.”
“Keep talking and I’ll show you grumpy.” But I can’t help smiling at her. One year later and she still gets me like this, heart racing just looking at her.
The drive to the theater is as ridiculous as always - paps everywhere, crowds screaming. I feel Neneh squeeze my hand.
“Ready to face your adoring public?”
“They’re screaming for you these days, baby. Hollywood’s favorite romance or whatever that magazine called us.”
She laughs. “Pretty sure they just want to see if you’ll smile. Still breaking hearts every time you do.”
“I only care about one heart, Mrs. Ellis.” I pull her close before we have to get out.
This red carpet bullshit never gets easy. All the cameras, people shouting, fake smiles everywhere. But Neneh’s hand in mine makes it bearable.
I keep my game face on - the one Sandra calls my “murder face” - but my hand stays on Neneh’s back. She works the press line like she was born for it, charming everyone while I stand there doing my best not to glare.
“Mr. Ellis! Over here!”
“Neneh! This way!”
“Jack! Give us a smile!”
“You could try looking less homicidal,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The whole circus drags on - photos, interviews, everyone wanting a piece of us. I keep my hand on Neneh’s back, thumb stroking her skin through the silk. She leans into me slightly each time, our own private signal that we’re good.
“Jack! How does it feel being Hollywood’s reformed bachelor?”
I ignore them. Let them write whatever story they want.
Inside isn’t much better. Small talk, fake laughs, everyone playing their part. Neneh fits in perfectly, but she never loses that realness that drew me to her. That spark that cut through all my walls that first night at her parents’ inn.
“Stop brooding,” she whispers, squeezing my hand under the table.
“I don’t brood.”
She shifts closer and presses a kiss on my cheek, her perfume making my head spin.
Fuck, I love my girl.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Neneh’s eyes widen. “We just got here.”
“Don’t care.” I’m already standing, pulling her up with me. “I need you alone.”
“Jack Ellis, are you ditching the Academy Awards to make out with your wife?”
“Damn right I am.”
Her laugh follows us out, past the cameras, the crowds, and all the bullshit I used to hide behind. Because none of it matters. Not when I have this - her hand in mine, her love, our life together.
THE END.