Canon
The entire audience stands to applaud Dessi Blue . It’s the end of a journey that started on a rural Alabama road. Started with me squinting through the summer sun at a tiny plaque much too inconsequential to commemorate the life of such a fantastic entertainer. The injustice of Dessi’s obscurity stung so sharply it compelled me to make this movie about her.
It also led me to the love of my life.
Neevah and I didn’t arrive together for the premiere. No photo ops of us holding hands or shouted demands for us to pose together on the red carpet. We didn’t sit beside each other in the theater. Neither of us wanted to distract from the movie or from the rest of the cast by sparking more speculation about our relationship.
The invisible thread that runs from her heart to mine, though, pulls taut all night. Straining when she moves, agitated by the distance as if not being with her is the most unnatural thing in the world. Miraculously it is.
It sounds sad now, but devotion to my work was the closest thing I’d experienced to true love.
Until her.
And now not even the craft I’ve poured my life into comes close to what I feel for Neevah.
It was so gratifying to watch all the photographers and reporters scrambling to get photos of her when she arrived. She was breathtaking, and the light I saw in her from the very beginning shone so blindingly tonight, she’d halfway won over the skeptics with her presence alone. But then they saw her become Dessi Blue. There is such a melding onscreen of Neevah and Dessi that it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. She embodies the character. Neevah found the role of a lifetime, or rather this role found her. I found her, and I’ll never let her go.
“It’s not creepy at all the way you watch your girlfriend like a stalker,” Monk says from beside me, taking a long draw of his old-fashioned at the after-party.
“Where is Verity tonight?” I crane my neck, pretending to search the crowded room. “I thought I saw her talking to that agent from—”
“Okay.” Monk’s expression morphs into an irritated frown. “One day it won’t work, you know. Using Ver to get me off your back.”
I slide a smug smile his way and knock back what’s left of my Macallan. “But today is not that day, my friend. Today is not that day.”
“How’s it feel to have a hit on your hands?” he asks, steering us further from the subject of him and his old flame. “That standing O. The critical response so far. Early Oscar buzz. You worked hard for this. You’re always so intense, but I hope you’re savoring it.”
“I am.” I nod, allowing a brief smile. “It’s one of the biggest nights of my career.”
“Then why do you look like this is the last place you want to be?”
Because I’d rather savor it with Neevah and no one else around for a little bit.
I grunt a nonresponse and try to catch Neevah’s eye so we can get the hell out of here. Our lives have been chaos leading up to this night. Between the aggressive shooting schedule, Neevah’s health issues, getting filming back on track, post-production, and now all the promotion and release hype… it’s been hard to find a rhythm for our life together. But that ends tonight.
“Neevah’s family made it?” Monk asks.
“Yeah, they did.” I glance across the room where Neevah and a few cast members chat with a reporter from Variety . “Her mama, sister, niece. Hell, even that brother-in-law she used to date came.”
“Shit, therapy works wonders, huh?” Monk lifts his brows, obviously impressed by the progress her family has made.
“They’ve still got a ways to go, but things are good enough that they show up for each other. That means a lot to Neevah, and what makes her happy makes me happy. I think they’ve gone back to the hotel. Neevah’s meeting them for breakfast in the morning.”
Which is just as well since tonight is about us . I’m going to give her five more minutes before grabbing her and leaving.
Monk glances over my shoulder and a wide smile overtakes his face. “If it isn’t the woman of the hour.”
A cool hand slips into mine, slim fingers intertwining. Neevah’s scent drifts up to me, at once somehow arousing and soothing. When I glance down, her face is lifted to me and glowing with a smile that is equal parts joy and wonder. All my impatience dissipates. She deserves every minute of tonight. I’ve done so many events like this, and the schmoozy, boozy part of a movie release is always my least favorite. As soon as the film has been seen, I’m ready to jet and then be on pins and needles until the box office numbers come in. But this is Neevah’s first movie, first time doing any of this. My plans for tonight can wait if Neevah wants to stay.
Monk hugs her and Neevah loops one arm around his neck, but never releases my hand.
“I can’t help but think that none of this would be possible without you,” she tells Monk.
“Um, need I remind you both that I’m the one who saw Neevah’s potential that first night onstage,” I say, feigning indignation. “I’m the one who fought to cast her. I directed the movie.”
“Yeah, baby.” Neevah playfully rolls her eyes. “You were there, too.”
We all laugh, but I touch Monk’s shoulder and say with all seriousness, “I really do owe you the biggest debt.”
“For bringing your Dessi Blue to you?” Monk asks, some of the teasing lingering in his tone.
“For bringing my Neevah to me,” I correct softly, looping an arm around her waist to pull her closer.
“Oh, God.” Monk groans, closing his eyes. “I think I liked you much better miserable than this cotton candy happily-ever-after shit.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it.” Neevah laughs.
Monk’s smile melts as his gaze drifts and locks with Verity’s across the room. She’s decked in a tight black leather dress with cutouts flashing golden brown skin. Her makeup is dramatic—smoky eyes and bold red lips. She looks gorgeous, and when she sees Monk, annoyed. With a quick frown, she looks away, turns her back.
“Not likely,” Monk mutters. He determinedly relights a grin, brighter and more forced than his previous ease. “I think Imma bounce.”
The tightness around his eyes and mouth clearly telegraphs this isn’t the time to tease him, so I just fist bump and let him slip away and out of the ballroom without further comment.
“I thought we had a deal,” Neevah mutters once we’re alone. “That we’d get outta here first chance we get.”
It’s completely the opposite of what I expected her to say and startles a laugh from me.
“Don’t you want to stay a little longer? It’s your big night.”
“It’s our night. And we’ve given enough of it to everyone else.” She drops her head to my shoulder, seemingly unaware of how many eyes have turned to study our linked hands and the unmistakable intimacy of her pressed into my side. “Take me home.”
Throwing caution to the same winds, I bend to kiss the top of her head, forcing myself not to snarl at the photographer who just stole a picture of us.
“I don’t care,” Neevah whispers, mischief glinting in the gold flecks of her brown eyes. “Everyone knows anyway.”
And suddenly I don’t want to hide it anymore either. If anyone sees what Neevah did in Dessi Blue and still questions her talent or whether she deserves to be there, fuck ’em.
I press my hand to the silky skin of her back left bare by the dress she’s been torturing me with all night. “Then, baby, let’s go home.”
“This isn’t home,” Neevah says, frowning when we pull up to the Galaxy Studios lot.
“It was our second home for months,” I counter with a grin.
I wave at the guard in the booth who knows me by sight and doesn’t bother asking for ID as he motions me through the gate.
“What are we doing here, Canon?” Neevah asks, but her frown has been replaced by anticipatory curiosity. “What are you up to?”
“We celebrated their way.” I park the car and kill the engine. “Now let’s celebrate ours.”
“Ours?” she asks, stepping out of the car carefully in her stilettos and silken finery when I open her door. “Or yours?”
I shrug, taking her hand and leading her down a street on the lot we both know by heart. I don’t bother answering because I might give too much away.
“Whatever you’re up to,” she says, turning to walk backward a few steps and holding my gaze, “I’d rather be up to it with you than anywhere else in the world.”
“I feel the exact same.” I pull her back to my front, cross my arms at her waist, and we keep walking. “You were amazing tonight.”
“It was surreal.” She shakes her head, her soft hair brushing my chin with the motion. “It’s hard to believe any of this is real.”
Ironically, we’re strolling past facades, fake cities, manufactured mountains, elaborate microcosms created as homes for the fantasies we sell. Finally, the last few familiar steps take us where I’ve been wanting to be all night. We turn the corner, and Neevah stops abruptly, her fingers tightening on mine at her waist.
“The Savoy,” she breathes, looking up at me over her shoulder, surprise and delight on her face. “It’s still here.”
“Yeah, this set piece is too elaborate and too well-crafted to just tear down after one use.” I walk over to the wall and flip up more lights, illuminating the huge replica our production team built with such care and attention to detail—the marble stairs, mirrored walls, cut-glass chandeliers, bandstands, and the mahogany spring-loaded dance floor. If I close my eyes, I can see Neevah twirling, twisting in a rainbow sea of costumed dancers; hear Lucia’s strident voice slicing over music from a bygone era, demanding another take. Expecting no less than perfection.
“Galaxy spent a lot of money on this and will use it for something else,” I say. “Even if it’s slightly repurposed. For now, it’s still our Savoy.”
In the center of the ballroom floor, a small high table is set, covered in a white linen cloth. A silver bucket stuffed with ice cradles a bottle of champagne.
“A private celebration, huh?” Neevah kicks off her high heels and practically skips over to the table. “No glasses? We drinking straight from the bottle?”
I reach down to the floor, grabbing two champagne flutes from a small tote left there by a thoughtful person I’ll thank later. “Got the glasses right here.”
I follow more slowly, my pace deliberate to counter my heartbeat, which is racing unreasonably fast.
She lifts the bottle of champagne from the bucket to read the label. “And it’s the good stuff.”
“Only the best for you.” I take the champagne and pour it into the two glasses I hold by the stems. “Allow me.”
I flick a searching, alert glance from the bubbly liquid filling the flute to her face.
“A toast.” She holds the glass, her eyes dancing. “To Dessi.”
“To you and Dessi,” I amend, kissing the lips of our flutes together and lifting my glass to drink.
She goes to take her first sip, but pulls the glass away with a frown.
“What the—”
She peers down into the glass of golden liquid, and her eyes widen, flicking from the champagne to my face and back again.
“Is that…” She can’t seem to catch her breath, her chest lifting and falling in rapid inhales and exhales. “Canon, I… are you…”
I take the glass from her trembling hand and fish out the ring floating in the cold champagne. The flawless square diamond sparkles, capturing and releasing light from chandeliers overhead. I place the glasses on the table, watching and waiting for my heart to slow and my tongue to release the words I rehearsed like one of the actors I usually guide. Our breaths sound loud and ragged in the silence. If I pressed my hand to her heart, would it be stampeding like mine has been ever since we stepped onto this set? I knew the reason I brought her here, the question I would ask, and that her answer would change our lives forever.
I do something I never thought I would, but for Neevah… anything. I drop to one knee and suspend the ring in the space between us, grasping it between two fingers. The makeup Takira so carefully applied, that has held all night, is marred with the tears streaking Neevah’s cheeks.
“Neevah, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want a life with you,” I say, swallowing the heat of my emotion. Nothing I’ve achieved, lost, won, compares to this moment with her.
“In the grand scheme of things,” I continue, struggling to steady my voice, “I know we haven’t been together that long, but if there’s one thing the last year has taught me, it’s that life is short. Nothing is promised.”
“Yes,” she shouts.
“And I want to—”
“I said yes, Canon!”
“Yes, what?” I frown.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Neeve, I haven’t even asked. You’re accepting without even letting me get the question out?”
“Redundant! Why else would you be on your knee holding a ring?” She laughs through tears. She swipes her thumb at the corner of my eye. “And why else would you be crying? You never cry over anything.”
Am I crying? I blink at the wetness clumping my lashes. Shit, I guess I am.
“There’s only one other woman I’ve ever cried for in my entire life,” I tell her. “And that was my mother. You are worth these tears. You deserve more than all that’s in my heart, but I’m offering it to you for the rest of my life.”
At those words, Neevah closes her eyes, and the tears trickle beneath her lashes. God, I wish my mother could have met her, could have known this woman who feels like the missing piece of my heart.
“She would love you, Neevah.” I choke out a laugh. “She’d find a way to take credit for us. Like she dreamt you up for me, prayed you into my life. Something. And she’d be right because that’s the only way to explain how I found you.”
I wrap one arm around her waist and draw her into me. “It had to be a miracle.”
“It feels like she’s with us sometimes.” Neevah shakes her head as if to dismiss her own whimsy, but goes on. “I felt her with us tonight.”
Fuck, now I’m crying for real. Not just tears standing in my eyes, but surrendering and sliding over my cheeks. “I felt that way, felt her tonight, too.”
Neevah settles her weight on my bent knee and kisses my tears away.
“You’re such a softie,” she whispers against my jaw.
“Only for you.” I huff a laugh, sniffing.
“That’s what makes it special, that it’s only for me.”
“So I have your permission to be an asshole to everyone else?” I smile into the soft, scented curve of her neck.
“Could I stop you?” She giggles, the sound so happy and soaring it lifts my heart with it.
“No, probably not.” I shake her a little. “Damn, Neeve. This is the most anticlimactic proposal ever. If you don’t—”
She presses a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “I said yes.”
“To a question I never got to ask.”
She shrugs her shoulders, the burnished brown skin gleaming in the light of chandeliers. “So ask me.”
Now that I have to actually pose the question, it lodges in my throat. I can’t get the words out, and I’ve pitched impossible ideas to studios determined not to make them and gotten a yes. Yet I can’t form my lips around this simple question. Only nothing feels simple about the question. The rest of my life and all my happiness hang in the balance of this moment.
“Neevah Mathis,” I say, abandoning her stage name because none of this is for show. It’s finally just for us. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes, Canon.” She gasps the words, beaming, eyes shining with promise. “I will.”
Her acceptance, hearing the words that launch our new life together, breaks me down in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. I’ve always been reserved. Maybe that resulted from growing up in the shadow of my mother’s mortality, living with a heightened awareness that I would lose her someday soon. And when I did, it devastated me so deeply, I pulled a shade down over my heart to protect it from that kind of pain again. Neevah, nearly from the beginning, ripped that barrier away with her smile, her warmth, her compassion. On the surface, she may seem like the last person I should choose because all her life, she’ll face challenges with her health, too. But she’s perfect for me. She’s the only one who could have coaxed me from those shadows, back out to love again, because the rareness of her makes any risk worth it. Even risking my heart. The urgency of our love, of her life, forces me to pause and to savor. To appreciate life beyond my work. And isn’t that what Mama wanted most for me?
Neevah brushes her thumbs across more of these damn tears I can’t seem to hold back. I shake my head, frowning because what the hell? I had this all planned out, like I meticulously plan everything, and nowhere did I account for my own tears. But fuck it. Tears roll freely down Neevah’s cheeks, too. She frames my face with trembling hands, and dips to skate her lips over mine. It’s our first kiss of the night, and of all the firsts we’ve had today, this is my favorite. Our lips brush and cling lightly, and then the kiss deepens, our tongues tangling and tasting the salt of tears and the sweetness of joy. She presses closer until I imagine I feel her heart pounding that rhythm life has conspired against us finding.
It’s the rhythm of you , me , you , me , you , me .
It’s the heartbeat of forever.