Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ANGEL
“I don’t know why you look like you’re about to throw up. It’s my ass on the line. You’re just arm candy.”
I look across the limo to find a crooked grin tugging at Noah’s mouth. “Sorry,” I mumble, smoothing my fingers over the red beads of my gown. “First red carpet jitters.” Then catching myself, I add, “You know, that I remember.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Piece of cake as long as you follow three rules.” Straightening his already perfect bowtie, he ticks them off on his fingers. “Don’t trip, smile like you’re at Disneyland, and don’t trip.”
“You repeated rules one and three.”
He nods, taking a generous sip of champagne. “Then you should listen.”
“Isn’t that a little dramatic?”
“So is taking out an entire row of ABC affiliates.”
I laugh, breaking the tension and my nerves, which never seem to settle these days. In the two weeks since our confrontation on the balcony, Dominic and I have existed in a calm and even-keeled state.
I hate it.
I miss the old Dominic. The one who threw out sarcastic comments and dared me to come back at him. The one who riled me up just to watch me burn, then turned up the heat and melted me into oblivion.
I know he still wants me. The passion is as potent as ever. It’s the presence that’s gone. We may be together, but he’s not with me. He’s somewhere else, and I don’t know how to bring him back.
“Don’t worry, doll,” Noah says, covering my hand. “He’ll be here.”
Yeah, lurking in the crowd pretending not to know me.
I force a smile. “I know. However, I’m happy to be your date. Even if it wasn’t by choice.” As always, my timing is impeccably bad. Noah’s good mood fades, the reminder drawing a scowl to his chiseled face.
Our pairing is another Greg Rosten publicity stunt. After Noah’s announcement sent our ill-fated “romance” down the toilet, Rosten has taken every opportunity to get back at him by putting me on his arm, making sure Brent stays hidden in the shadows.
Case in point, tonight—the red carpet premiere of Noah’s latest movie. A moment Noah should be sharing with the man who owns his heart, not me.
It’s not much easier for me. Dominic and I are still forced to sneak around like teenagers. The world may love and adore me, but Dominic insists they aren’t ready to accept him. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just wish he didn’t, either.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. By the time the car stops, my hand is on my stomach, and my lunch is threatening to come up .
Ever the professional, Noah plasters on a brilliant smile while exiting the limo then turns and offers his hand. “You ready to do this thing, Romanov?”
I blow out a shaky breath and take his hand. “Not in the least.”
The red carpet is everything like it seems on TV, only a hundred times worse. Noah is right, the carpet is boobytrapped with snags and rolls that catch my heels more than once. Thankfully, I have a tight grip on his arm, or I’d have long been paparazzi roadkill.
Every stop, every camera flash, every call of my name, I search for the man who’s become my island in this storm. I don’t care if he won’t acknowledge me. I don’t care if he’s here under the guise of a BTN reporter. I just need to see him.
But there’s nothing. No wild, dark hair. No thick stubble. No tattoos. No smirk.
My eyes sting with the threat of tears, and that’s when they start.
The voices.
“Stop crying! Tears are a tool not a weakness.”
The static.
“My name? It’s…it’s… Angel.”
The zigzag lines and unbearable scratching.
“Where are we going?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.”
“Alexandra?” Like a windshield wiper scraping across my muddled mind, Noah’s voice drags me back to the flashing cameras and incessant shouts. Blinking, I look up at him to find his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I run a hand down my gown. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
“Well maybe this will help.” Taking hold of my shoulders, he turns me forty-five degrees to where a pair of pale blue eyes ensnares me, dragging me under while lifting me up.
The breath I let out sounds like a prayer and feels like a punch. He doesn’t smile, but I don’t need him to. My Dominic doesn’t smile, he commands.
All too soon, we’re ushered into the venue, and I lose sight of him. But the calm I feel doesn’t waver. He won’t leave. Somewhere within these walls, he’s watching.
And that occupies all the space in my head, keeping everything else out.
The movie is a hit. Noah’s performance was flawless, and there’s talk of a possible Oscar nomination. After the credits roll, he’s immediately steamrolled by anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood.
Which makes it easy to slip away.
My skin feels like it’s burning from the inside out. I can’t explain it, and I’m not sure I even want to. It’s like the worst caffeine buzz mixed with a dangerously high fever.
After applying more lipstick, I fluff my hair and exit the ladies’ room, determined to finish out the night without having a complete breakdown.
Three steps later, I slam into a hard chest.
“Alexandra, a word please.”
A thick sense of foreboding hangs in the air, and when I look up into familiar eyes, it crashes around me. “I was just on my way back—”
Rosten’s fingers close around my arm, hushed words escaping between clenched teeth. “This is a disconcerting matter that requires privacy.”
“O-okay,” I stutter as he drags me away from the crowd and down the hallway. I wait for him to stop, to plant me on my feet and start hissing one of his usual rants, but he doesn’t. He quickens his pace toward a set of double doors. “Wait,” I argue, trying unsuccessfully to dig my heels into the carpet. “Where are we going?”
“To my car.”
“I came with Noah.”
Keeping his eyes forward, he pushes the door open and steps outside, dragging me along with him. “Noah is aware I’m taking you home.”
A black stretch limo waits by the curb. Rosten barely gives me time to lift my gown before he all but pushes me inside.
Following closely behind, he shuts the door. “Drive,” he instructs, pressing a button. My heart lodges in my throat as I watch a dark partition rise, blocking the back of the limo from the front.
This is bad.
Clearing my throat, I shift away from him. “What did you need to speak with me about?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Instead, he takes his time pouring himself a glass of scotch. Returning the bottle to the bar, he indulges in a slow drink. “Your performance, Alexandra. It’s lacking.”
I gape at him. “What? You’re just now telling me this? We’re six weeks into production. We go on location in a month.”
“I was waiting for that Romanov spark to appear. Your mother had it.” He raises his glass toward me, his gaze simmering. “You had it as a little girl. I know it’s in there. It just has to be coaxed out.”
“Coaxed out,” I repeat the words slowly.
Rosten slams the rest of his drink, something in his expression changing. It’s like a tiny crack in a windshield that suddenly splinters into a fractured web. “Until you reach your full potential, I want you in my office two hours before every call time. We’ll run the scenes together. I’ll read Noah’s lines.”
“You’ll read… Sebastian ?”
“Will that be a problem? Because if you can’t handle the work, it’s not too late to pull Greta back in.” His lips part in a sadistic smile. “Or maybe Kya would be more professional.”
I let out a rattled breath.
“Of course, if you break your contract with Silverline, then you break our contract. Do I make myself clear?”
Damn him to hell.
If Kya takes over as Isabella, her career is made and mine is finished. All the lies and risks would have been for nothing. But more importantly, his promise to leave Dominic alone would no longer be valid.
Clasping my hands in my lap, I sacrifice dignity for strategy. “I need this role.”
“Good. It’s settled then. We begin on Monday.” I watch him slide over, every muscle in my body strained with tension. I’m trapped, pinned between Rosten and the door, and I swear, I’m one heartbeat away from releasing the latch and taking my chances on the 405. “This will be good for you, Alexandra,” he continues, trailing his finger up my arm. “You’ll see. I’m a very good teacher.”
This time I welcome the static. I beg for the zigzag lines. I strain to hear the voices. Because they take me to a place where Greg Rosten’s finger doesn’t trace my collarbone.
And never ever dips below it.
Sitting on the floor of my shower, I hug my knees to my chest, staring at the water as it circles the drain. I wish I were liquid. Then I could join it and melt away.
Down…
Down…
Down the drain.
“Rook? Where the hell are you?”
I blink, droplets of water gathering on my lashes. “Dominic?” His name is a whisper. My voice is shattered along with everything else.
Tears are a tool not a weakness.
Turning away from the stream, I wipe the back of my hand across my face and stand on unstable legs.
“Don’t cry, little one.”
“Where are we going?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.”
“Enough,” I mumble. “No more tonight. Quiet.” Turning off the faucet, I tug a towel from the rack and wrap it around me seconds before Dominic comes barreling through the bathroom door.
“Hi.”
“Hi?” he roars, his chest heaving. “Don’t fucking ‘hi’ me! Someone said they saw you leave the premiere with Rosten. What the hell were you thinking?”
Stepping out of the shower, I hold the towel like a vice as I pass him. “He just wanted to talk about the movie, and then he dropped me off here.”
Please don’t ask me anything else.
Pulling on a silky white nightgown, I towel dry my hair and keep my head down as I climb into bed, my mind still churning.
I hear the clank of a belt and the rustle of denim hitting the floor, then the mattress dips as Dominic climbs in beside me. “Are you sure you’re all right? ”
I nod. “Yep. Fine.”
Apparently, he accepts that flimsy answer, or he’s tired of going in circles. Either way, he slides across the sheets and leans over me, kissing my neck while trailing a hand across my thigh.
My throat tightens. I can’t breathe.
“I’m really tired,” I rasp before rolling over, the back of my eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Rook, I…” Whatever he was going to say, he doesn’t. Instead, he lets out a frustrated sigh and flops onto his back. “Goodnight.”
I can hear the walls coming back up. The ones I’ve spent months tearing down. Even then I don’t let the tears escape.
“Tears are a tool not a weakness.”
Especially the ones I’ve held back from the moment I ran from the gate to the moment I laid next to the man I have no doubt I’m falling in love with.