Chapter 39
Present Day
I wear the floor-length black gown, and Daphne wears her white crocheted baby doll dress with long sleeves.
“We look like we’re getting married,” I deadpan when she meets me outside the Peacock Theater.
My hair is twisted up, and I have enough makeup under my eyes to hide the lack of sleep.
I always call in the professionals for red carpets, because it would be a shame to waste all that good lighting on bad glam.
“You should be so lucky.” Daphne loops her arm through mine. “Now, point me in the direction of the silver fox who plays Juniper’s dad.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I’m a sucker for a salt-and-pepper mustache.”
My hands tremble as I lift my dress and walk toward the red carpet, which is flanked by interviewers and cameras. On the opposite side of the carpet is a holding area filled with hundreds of fans carrying homemade signs. I can’t wait for this to be over.
“No comment about the mustache? And did someone famous get out of that limo?” She cranes her neck to see past a cluster of security guards. The crowd erupts in loud screams. “I guess that’s a yes.”
“I called West last night.”
Daphne gives me a sharp look. “Oh?”
“He didn’t answer. It was late. I left him a voicemail.”
She smooths a nonexistent wrinkle from my dress. “I’m sure he’ll call soon. Let’s just enjoy this. Are you excited?”
“Not really.”
“That makes one of us. This is objectively the coolest thing I’ve ever done. Isn’t this the theater where they film a bunch of awards shows?”
“I think so. My hair feels weird. Does it look weird?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Should I take it out? The pin is stabbing my head.” I reach back for the French pin, but Daphne cups her hands around my wrists.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Can we leave after the red carpet?” I ask desperately.
“You don’t want to watch the movie?” Her face falls.
“I don’t know if I can.”
She shakes her head firmly. “You forget—I was a Torched fan before I was your friend. I didn’t make my own dress not to see how the story ends.”
I sigh heavily. I have no interest in seeing Fox and Juniper get the happy ending I stubbornly refused to give them. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me toward a camera.
“I’ll meet you inside!” Daphne calls.
I nod, stumbling over the hem of my dress. I feel like I’m moving underwater. Everything is slow and surreal, right up until the moment a microphone is put in my face, and I snap into focus.
“We’re here with Margot Darling, the author of the Torched series. How excited are you to be here tonight?”
“Very,” I say in a voice that is unfamiliar to my own ears. Another loud scream erupts from the crowd. I don’t look, but I think the actor who plays Fox has arrived. “Everyone has put so much love and hard work into these movies. You can really feel that energy here tonight.”
“Will fans of the book be happy with the movie?”
What fans of the book? “I hope so!”
“Do you think the movie closely follows the book?”
I smile until it hurts. “I guess we’ll see!”
I’m ushered along the carpet for a handful of identical interviews. Once the cameras are off, I pull the pin out of my hair and shake it loose around my shoulders.
“I told you to leave it up!” Daphne scolds me as I take a seat next to her in the front row of the packed theater.
In addition to the cast, crew, and family members, the studio held a contest that selected one hundred fans to come to the premiere.
The room is buzzing with energy as Daphne tries to fix my updo, but the pin is difficult to maneuver, and as the lights dim, she settles for my flat, mediocre hair.
The movie is good, but the waiting is agony.
I find myself bracing for impact the entire last hour of the film.
The final battle arrives as the mortal and faerie realms are both unraveling, and I feel the entire theater collectively hold their breath in the moment when Fox and his wolf are supposed to die in an unremarkable, unsymbolic, unnecessary way.
When they don’t, the held breath becomes a gasp, followed by cheering.
I watch as Fox and Juniper fight side by side, defeat the evil, and—my stomach drops.
Juniper in a wedding dress.
“She’s like twenty years old,” I hiss into Daphne’s ear.
She squeezes my hand. “I have to pee.”
“Now?”
“Too much soda.”
“I’m coming, too.”
“No.” She presses her hand to my shoulder to keep me in my seat. “People are watching.” She jogs out of the theater as the wolf walks Juniper down the aisle.
“Traitor!” I whisper after her. So much for being a Torched fan.
It’s misery to watch Fox and Juniper get the happily ever after that West and I never will.
As the audience swoons and cheers, I can’t help but wonder if any of these people were the ones ripping me to shreds four years ago or last week.
I’ve tried so hard to give them what they wanted, and where did that get me?
Alone, unhappy, and desperately wishing for the end of what should be one of the highlights of my career.
Someone slips into the seat next to me as the credits roll and the lights on the stage come up. “You missed the worst part—” I say, but the rest of that sentence dies on my tongue as I turn and see West sitting next to me.
Around us, the crowd breaks into a massive round of applause. The director walks onto the stage alongside the actors who play Fox and Juniper as they prepare for a Q he’s the asshole who inspired Fox and insulted a bunch of fans. Said they needed to get a life and that no one cares about teenage love stories.” She raises an eyebrow at West. “Boom. Easy.”
“Yes. Succinct. Thank you.” He clears his throat and straightens his jacket again.
I’m overwhelmed by the urge to take his hand and drag him away from the eyes that are judging, scrutinizing, and categorizing.
My biggest fans will decide right now if he’s Good or if he’s Bad.
Nuance and context need not apply. For many, that label will stick forever, and if that label is bad, he’ll be a common enemy to rally against. His career will truly be over.
“I don’t need you to do this,” I tell West quickly. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“Not yet.” He addresses the confused crowd again. “I said some things that I regret deeply. I’m sorry. To everyone my words hurt, and especially to Mars.”
Someone to my left whispers, “Who’s Mars?”
“Margot!”
They’re immediately shushed.
“We’re not pathetic; you’re fucking pathetic,” a voice shouts.
A muscle in West’s jaw works. He sticks a finger between his collar and his neck. “No, I—I didn’t mean—”
I wrap my fingers around the microphone, overlapping with West’s. “We’re done here,” I say quietly.
He grimaces and lets his arm fall. “I can explain, I can say it better, apologize better. I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with it.”
I place my hand on his cheek. “I don’t need you to grovel to anyone but me, and you already did that in the form of a big-ass book.”
His lip twitches. “What if I want to?”
“You’ve apologized multiple times. It’s their choice what they do with your apologies, but I don’t need their approval. We’re done here.”
He hands the microphone to an extremely confused audience member and tips my chin up with his finger. Stunned silence fills the room as he brings his lips to mine. We miss the uproar that follows our kiss as we run out the back of the theater.
“Did Daphne know that you were coming?” I ask as he pulls me down a side hall and presses me up against a wall.
He brushes his nose along my cheek. “Yes. Apparently, she approves.”
“Hmm.” His kiss is soft but insistent, and it’s not long before I’m dizzy and overwhelmed, my hands, lungs, and heart full of him. I break away with a gasp. “There’s one more thing we need to talk about before we go any further.”
He draws back, curious.
“I love you. I’ve loved you since forever, it feels like. Since our twelve-hour first date, at least. Or maybe it started when you put your arms around me in the snow, or before that, when we laughed about the word ‘heartsick’ in Dr. B’s class, thinking we were too clever to ever need it.”
West kisses me softly and then wipes a tear from my cheek. “For a girl who hates crying in public, you do it a lot.”
“And for a guy who hates PDA, you keep kissing me where people can see.”
He laughs and traces my lips with his thumb. “You made that up. I’ve always told you that I’ll kiss you anywhere you let me, as long as you’ll let me.”
So this is what it feels like to get everything you want. Happiness with no strings.
I relax into him as that lovely unspooling happens inside me. “That’s pretty romantic, West Emerson. Should I put it in a book?”