BONUS EPILOGUE Neevah
“What was your favorite part about making Dessi Blue ?”
It was a reasonable question the first time someone asked me… oh, ten hours ago. Now with the setting sun casting marigold shadows through the hotel suite windows and my body practically trembling with fatigue, hearing it for the twentieth time today is a nail this well-meaning journalist hammers through my pounding skull.
“Um, it was…” I flounder, unable to find the pat answer I’ve delivered every other time during today’s press junket.
“I think we’re done here.”
The curt response comes from Canon on his stool at the end of the row. Three cast members sit between him and me, but I feel his stare, his focus as if he were seated right beside me, breathing down my neck.
Him breathing on my neck or any part of my body would be welcome right now, but first… work. If I don’t get my shit together and answer these last few questions, he’ll shut this interview down, and even more rumors will start.
“No, I’m fine,” I tell the young journalist/blogger/influencer with her wide eyes, obviously a little starstruck by the impressive cast and intimidated by our famously taciturn director.
“Neevah,” Canon cuts in, leaning forward to look past Trey and the other two actors, a frown stamped on his bold features. “You can take a break. We got this.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out through a forced smile.
Am I flagging? Yes? ’Bout to collapse as soon as this interview is over? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But I’m the star of this movie. I am Dessi Blue, and this is my big break. The whole cast and crew worked so hard to get to this point. I’ve worked hard for as long as I can remember to reach this moment where I’m the lead in one of the biggest movies of the year. I endured a grueling shoot over months while living through the worst health crisis of my life. I’m not letting the team down when faced with a few questions. I’m not letting myself down, and Canon needs to respect that.
“How much longer? Let’s wrap this up,” he snaps, glaring at the poor girl… Percy, I think was how she introduced herself. All the people who interviewed us today have run together into one big blob of names and faces. I probably wouldn’t recognize one of them if they walked back through the door at this point.
“Like I was saying,” I continue as if Canon isn’t trying to shut this shit down expeditiously. “My favorite part of the process was working with this amazing cast. What a blessing for my first feature film to be with such a stellar group of actors.”
“You got your start on Broadway,” Percy says, pressing her advantage lest Canon swoops in again. “As I was watching the screener, I couldn’t help but think this part was made for you. Your vocal performances, the choreography. Did you feel your previous experience prepared you well for this opportunity?”
“Perfectly,” I reply. “I couldn’t have written a part for myself better than this. And speaking of the vocal performances and the choreography, shout out to Monk—”
“You mean Wright Bellamy, the music supervisor?” Percy clarifies.
“Yes, Monk really tested me vocally, but I grew so much as a singer being under the direction of such a gifted musician. And Lucia, our choreographer.” I whoosh out a breath and shake my head. “I’ve never worked harder or been prouder than I am of what she pulled out of me as a dancer.”
Percy finally redirects her questions, moving on to Trey seated beside me. She asks about transitioning from Nickelodeon, which makes him roll his eyes since his days as a child actor are so far behind him, but he answers politely anyway. Like the professional he is. Like we all are, except Canon peers down the line, brows drawn together like an anxious parent instead of the man helming one of the decade’s most epic biopics.
Stop , I mouth, sneaking him a discreetly pointed glare.
Instead of stopping, this man stands, walks behind the line of stools set up, and comes down to my end. Percy stumbles over her question, flicking a curious glance to Canon before refocusing on Trey.
I stiffen when he leans forward to whisper in my ear. “Babe, you okay?”
I’m going to ignore all the swoony, melty things that happen in my body when I hear the concern threading that deep, rich voice. I turn my head just enough to meet his dark eyes.
“I’m fine,” I hiss. “And this is unacceptable, Canon. Go sit down.”
“Do you really think I give a fuck what she or anyone thinks if you need to stop for the day? After all we’ve done, I’m exhausted and I don’t even have—”
Before he can say lupus , I press my fingers over his lips. A mistake for two reasons. One, because touching him there reminds me of the life-changing work that mouth accomplished between my legs last night. Two, because Percy gives up any pretense of not being riveted by the sideshow we have become.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Of course,” I offer with what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Canon knows I’ve been under the weather and wanted to make sure I’m feeling fine.”
“It’s been a really long day,” Canon says, his tone gruff. “I was just… concerned.”
“Tell me if I’m overstepping with this next question,” Percy ventures.
“I’m already sure you are,” Canon says dryly.
Percy gulps, but bravely plows ahead. “Ms. Saint, you’ve spoken openly of late about your journey with lupus, but we haven’t touched on it here. And the other thing we haven’t discussed is the very public relationship between you and your director.”
For a moment, you could hear an ant piss it’s so quiet. Yes, Camille exposed our relationship on that podcast, her vindictive ass, but like they say: What the devil meant for evil… Being outed ended up being a turning point in our relationship, a way for Canon and me to openly acknowledge how we feel about each other. But we don’t discuss it, and our publicists always make sure anyone interviewing us knows we don’t want to. The work of the cast and crew shouldn’t be overshadowed. Canon is especially protective of me being respected for my talent, not whom I’m dating.
“That is definitely overstepping,” Canon says after a few seconds drawn tight with tension.
I close my eyes and bow my head.
Oh hell.
“I’m going to address your question,” Canon goes on, to my surprise. “Because I’m tired of answering the same shit over and over today and not talking about real things. Neevah’s soaring talent—that’s a real thing.”
I open my eyes and slowly turn my head until I can study his profile, the dramatic slope of high cheekbones and the flared arrow of his nose.
“Neevah acting and dancing and singing her ass off, while managing a chronic illness, and humbling us all with her work ethic,” Canon says softly. “That’s a real thing.”
His words cast a spell of care over me, and my muscles relax, the tension of holding myself tightly all day loosening. His wide, warm palm presses to the small of my back. That pressure against my body, the love in it, the intimacy—I want to lean into that touch; surrender to the pull of this man the universe saved for me.
“I’ll leave it to Neevah to address her health if she chooses to,” Canon goes on. “I haven’t spoken about our relationship much, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because I’m so proud of her. I want people to see her as an artist in her own right and not get it twisted that somehow her decision to be with me after she had secured the role and done the work has any bearing on all the praise she deserves.”
The room is silent again, this time tinged with our collective awe because even though Canon asked the cast and crew to get tested for matching when I needed a kidney transplant, what he just said is probably the most they’ve heard him articulate about his feelings for me.
“Wow,” Percy breathes, looking down at her phone to make sure it’s still recording. “That’s… thank you for being so forthcoming.”
“It’s not that we have anything to hide,” Canon says, squeezing my shoulder. “This is our job. This project has consumed the better part of our lives for the last year, some of us for even longer. The work, everyone’s work, should stand on its own, and not suffer any detraction because of rumor and conjecture about our personal lives.”
“I’m sorry if…” Percy bites her lip and sighs. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Everyone wonders.”
“And it’s not everyone’s business,” Trey says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Ask any of us. Neevah and Canon have been nothing but professional. And what Neevah pulled off for this film, while managing lupus, it’s astounding.”
I squeeze his hand back and blink away tears. The whole cast has been incredibly kind. Filming literally shut down while I had a kidney transplant. All our work could have been sabotaged by my illness, but their support never wavered. I won’t forget that.
“As you can see,” I tell Percy with a wobbly smile, “we’ve become very close as a cast and making Dessi Blue has been the best experience of my life. I wake up every day grateful for what I have, that I had lupus and it didn’t have me and it didn’t steal my lifelong dream.”
“Do you mind if I ask how you’re doing?” Percy queries, before rushing on. “If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s fine. I’ll edit the question out.”
Canon’s hand makes the subtle slide from my back to the curve of my hip, a soft squeeze of support.
“No, I’m in a really good place.” I clear my throat. “Knock on wood. I’m taking the meds recommended by my doctor. I’m pretty regimented with my diet and exercise. Stress can be a trigger for flares.”
I glance up over my shoulder at Canon where he still stands behind me, feeling the love in his eyes as if his arms are wrapped around me.
“Thus Canon’s concern about me overdoing it.” I look back to Percy, releasing anxiety in a long breath. “I definitely overdid it when we were filming, and I had a real health crisis, but I’m much better.”
“Is there anything you want others living with lupus to know?” Percy asks.
Those days in the hospital—the kidney transplant, losing my hair, lesions, dialysis—all of it rises and breaks through the surface of my thoughts. For a moment, none of this feels real. My smooth, unblemished skin. The thick luxury of my hair braided into a regal natural style. The glossy rigor of press junkets and red carpets and premieres. This feels like a fantasy that never happened. The steady beat of my heart trips, and I panic as if the reality is still me at death’s threshold, the odds stacked against me, debilitating pain and fatigue robbing me of strength.
But then…
Canon cups the side of my throat with one hand, brushing his thumb across my nape in a caress so gentle, yet firm, it anchors me in this moment. In this reality where I won . Where I beat the odds and lived another day to keep on fighting.
I swallow back the emotion scorching my throat to answer her question. “I want them to know that I’m no different from them, even though lupus manifests differently for us all. What I mean is, I have a diagnosis that is potentially life-threatening, but I’m still living my life. I don’t let it stop me, and I work hard at not letting it stop me. Staying on top of diet, exercise, remaining in consultation with my doctor. There may be times you don’t think you’ll make it. We live with the possibility, but we live . We find joy. We follow our dreams. Chase our passions.”
I reach up to cover Canon’s hand at my throat with my own.
“We find love.” I flash him a besotted smile and then return my attention to Percy. “We can’t control everything, every outcome. It’s futile to try, but we can live our life to the fullest. We can live with a grateful heart. We can love deeply and outrageously. Nothing and no one can take away our capacity for love.”
“Girl, stay still.”
Takira’s words come out slightly jumbled around the hairpins shoved between her lips.
“I am still,” I say, pouting only a little bit. “It’s taking a long time. Are we almost done?”
“What are you, six?” she teases, sliding a pin into the intricate loops of my braided updo. “It’s taking the time it takes. Beauty moves at its own pace.”
Takira meets my eyes in the hotel’s bathroom mirror. “You been squirming since you sat down in this chair. Is it impatience or nerves? Tonight is a big night, huh?”
I close my eyes and sigh. She got me. Of course, she knows. She’s seen me at every stage of my career. It’s fitting that she’s the one preparing me for my first big premiere.
“Maybe there are a few nerves.” I accompany the admission with a chagrined look. “Sorry if I’m being bratty.”
Takira scoffs and sprays sheen over the finished hairstyle. “You ’bout the least bratty chick I know. You have a lot you could complain about, Neeve, but you never do.”
Takira holds my gaze in the mirror, resting her hands on my shoulders.
“You did it,” she whispers. “And I’m so proud of you, sis.”
Tears well in my eyes because it seems like only yesterday she and I stood together in a small dressing room. I was a Broadway understudy, and she was the only one I trusted with my hair. With the truth about my condition. I had no idea the man who would change my life forever sat just beyond the curtains, waiting for me to take the stage. So much has changed, and yet Takira and me—we’re the same.
“You better dry them tears,” Takira says, fanning her own wet eyes. “After all the time I spent getting that makeup just right.”
I choke out a laugh and stand, turning to pull her into a hug.
“You got nothing to be nervous about,” she whispers, patting my back. “You’ve done all the hard work, Neevah. Now let the world shower you with the praise you deserve.”
“Kira.” I tighten my arms around her. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Thank you for bringing me along. I’ve gotten to see my work onscreen in one of the biggest movies of the decade. Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” I agree, smiling and landing a kiss on her cheek.
“Now let’s get you into this dress.”
The cast got rooms in the hotel where the press junket took place today. It’s close to the theater and most of us just stayed here to get dressed for the premiere. Takira walks over to the rack of dresses several designers sent for our consideration and pulls off the one we chose.
“Boy, Canon’s tongue gon’ fall right outta his mouth when he sees you wearing this.”
The white, one-shouldered Elie Saab gown contrasts starkly with the gleaming brown of my skin. It molds to every curve faithfully—cupping my breasts, cinching my waist, clinging to my hips, thighs, and ass. It flares at the knees, belling to my ankles. Borrowed Harry Winston diamonds glitter at my ears, neck, and wrists. Takira even pinned a few in my hair.
“How do I look?” I turn in a little circle, a smile already splitting my cheeks.
“Like a woman who has the world at her feet.” Takira clasps her hands together under her chin. “Damn, I’m good.”
I swat her arm and laugh. “Get outtta here and go get your own self red carpet–ready. Is Naz coming?”
“Yes.” She flashes that smile that seems reserved specifically for the NBA baller who swept her off her feet. “So glad he didn’t have a game tonight. I’ll see you at the theater.”
Takira packs her makeup and styling tools, admonishing me the whole time to be careful not to ruin the perfect image she pulled together tonight.
“Your man ready?” she asks, hefting the bag over her shoulder.
“He’s mighty quiet in there.” I tip my head toward the corridor that leads to the bedroom we’ve shared in this suite. “I better go check on him. You know this is his least favorite part of the business.”
“Good idea.” She inspects me from top to bottom one last time and puts a staying hand on my arm, waiting until I meet her sober eyes. “Everybody gonna see you shine on that screen and on that red carpet tonight, Neeve. What makes you glorious isn’t even what you do on that screen, but what it took for you to get there. You’re a survivor and I’m so proud of you.”
“You must really not care about this makeup.” I hiccup and fan at my watery eyes. “Saying stuff like that.”
“Suck it up and keep it dry.” Takira laughs, blows me an air kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Once she’s gone, I turn to face the mirror. My breath catches, and even though I watched Takira building this elegant vision piece by piece, seeing the luminous whole startles me. The woman is a vision swathed in glamor. Delicate and glowing from the crown of her head to the soles of her very expensive shoes. For a moment, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection, but then I study closer. It’s in the eyes that I find myself. There is the world-worn weariness of a fighter, the resolve of someone who has lived through some shit. If I were to lift this gown, you’d see the scar from my kidney transplant. You’d see a few blemishes from particularly stubborn rashes and lesions. You’d see the marks of battle.
My stomach, which has felt a little floaty and nervous all day, settles. My heartbeat steadies. After all I’ve made it through, what is the red carpet? What is the scrutiny of a thousand eyes tonight? I have dragged myself back from death’s door. Who cares if people speculate that I’m here because I’m dating Canon? Nothing critics can say will diminish me.
“Shit.”
The softly uttered expletive draws my eyes up to meet Canon’s in the mirror. He stands in the doorway, devouring me at a glance. His gaze roams with hunger and tenderness over every dip and curve and flash of skin.
I send a seductive grin over my shoulder, hoping to lure him to me. In a few long-legged strides he eliminates the distance between us, coming to stand so close I feel enveloped by the warmth of him. I turn in his arms, and he slides one hand to the base of my spine, fingers splaying over the curve of my ass.
“Are you sure we have to go to this thing?” He bends to drop soft kisses along the slope of sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder, leaving a fleet of goose bumps in his wake.
“This thing ,” I say, glancing up at him through a sweep of mascaraed lashes, “is the biggest movie of your career and mine. The thing we’ve worked so hard on for so long. The whole world gets to see it tonight. So, yeah. I’m pretty sure we have to be there.”
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
“A deal? You’re negotiating with me to get you to your own movie? Let’s hear it.”
“We do the movie premiere.”
“So far so good.”
“But we leave as soon as possible. Just show our faces at the after-party long enough to satisfy the studio execs and our publicists and all the people who’ve been bugging me all damn day, but then we go.”
I think of all the reporters we’ve met the last few days. Of the endless interviews and photo shoots and everything that’s been demanded of us to get here. It’s easy to miss how big this moment is. Easy to go through all the motions and not let it sink in. Sneaking off with Canon sounds like the perfect way to end this night.
I tip up onto my toes and press a quick kiss against his lips. Canon’s hands tighten at my hips, and he pulls me closer, bends as if to recapture my mouth. I intercept the kiss with one raised finger.
“If you ruin my lipstick,” I whisper, “Takira’s gonna whup your ass.”
He chuckles, shaking his head and settling for a kiss to my temple.
“Okay. I’ll save all the kissing for after the premiere as soon as we can get out.” He pulls back to peer down at me, brows lifted. “But do we have a deal?”
I pass a finger over the faint smear of gloss coloring his lips and grin. “Deal.”