39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lila
The after-party felt like a cosmic pop quiz I hadn't studied for.
A velvet-rope entrance that meant nothing because half the room wore badges that said they belonged and the other half acted as if they owned it anyway.
Music loud enough to turn conversation into leaning and lip-reading.
Flashing lights that made it hard to tell if someone was smiling at me or aiming a phone at my face.
I stepped in with Harper at my side and Finn behind us, and the whole space turned into a moving set.
People recognized me. People wanted a piece of the moment. People wanted the story that came with my name now.
I kept my smile polite, my answers short, my dress on my shoulders, and my chin up, even when my feet started to ache.
A producer grabbed my hand in the first five minutes and started talking about a "docuseries opportunity."
I nodded, made the right noises, and watched Harper's face harden into the expression she used on men who tried to touch her soundboard during a set.
Harper leaned in. "You want me to bite him?"
My mouth twitched. "Please don't."
She didn't look convinced.
Finn appeared at my other side like he had been summoned. "She has to greet the director."
The producer blinked, thrown off by Finn's calm authority.
I slipped away with Finn, whispering, "Thank you."
His mouth twitched. "I'm using my powers for good."
We made it four steps before someone else called my name.
River Hale popped up in front of us, drink in hand, grin sharp, eyes bright.
Of course he did.
The lead actor of Wedding Crasher moved through the after-party like he had been personally hired to create insurance claims. Tall, polished, dangerously pretty, and entirely too pleased with himself.
He looked every inch the man playing Oliver Russell on-screen, which was still deeply weird because Oliver Russell was my father and River Hale had just spent two hours making half the audience fall in love with a fictionalized version of him.
River lifted his glass toward me. "Okay," he said, delighted, "you were perfect in there. Your 'honest' line? Ten out of ten. No notes."
I laughed. "Hi, River."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Also, your dad watched my big romantic speech like he was deciding where to hide my body. I respect it. Very fatherly. Terrible for morale."
My mouth twitched. "That sounds like him."
"He did cry during the credits, though," River said, pointing at me with his glass. "Pretended he didn't. Classic leading-man behavior. I almost threw myself into the aisle and started clapping."
My pulse did a little tap dance. I kept my face neutral. "That's cool."
River's grin widened. "Oh my god, you're doing that calm thing. I love that calm thing. It makes people panic."
Finn cleared his throat, a subtle warning.
River waved him off. "I'm not saying anything dangerous. I'm observing the vibes."
Harper slid in from the side, eyes narrowing. "Stop vibe-observing."
River turned to Harper, delighted. "You. I like you."
Harper's expression stayed flat. "That makes one of us."
River laughed. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Go drink water. I'll protect you from boring men."
"You're drinking champagne."
River nodded. "I contain chaos and multitudes."
He spun away before Harper could respond, disappearing into the crowd like a PR crisis in designer shoes.
Finn glanced at me. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
His mouth twitched. "Sure."
Harper leaned closer. "He's here."
My chest did that annoying squeeze thing it does when the universe is about to get interesting.
She didn't say his name. She didn't need to.
My gaze moved over the room carefully, scanning through shoulders and sequins and suits and tiny clusters of people who looked too polished for a party that claimed to be casual.
Then I saw him.
Evan stood near the bar, half turned toward a man in a blazer who was talking too loudly.
His expression was polite and controlled, the face he wore when he had to be present without being consumed.
His hair had loosened slightly from the red carpet.
His jacket was open. He held a drink that looked untouched.
His eyes lifted as if he felt me watching. They met mine across the room.
A freeze moment, smaller this time, swallowed by the crowd. Evan's mouth curved, faint.
My body tried to move toward him before my brain could catch up.
Then someone stepped between us.
A woman in a shimmering dress pressed close to Evan, speaking into his ear with an intimate familiarity that didn't belong. Evan's shoulders went rigid. His smile tightened. He angled back to create space, but the crowd made it hard.
Jealousy flared hot and stupid.
Harper's hand touched my elbow. "Absolutely not."
I blinked. "What?"
"He's cornered. He's doing the polite exit thing. His publicist is about to rescue him."
"I wasn't going to..."
Finn said, "You were."
I glared at him.
His expression didn't change. "Breathe."
I sucked in a breath. The jealousy didn't vanish, but at least it stopped screaming long enough for my brain to reboot.
Evan's publicist appeared on cue, sliding between him and the woman with professional cheer. Evan stepped back, shoulders loosening. His gaze flicked toward me again, quick, as if checking whether I had witnessed the whole thing.
I had.
Our eyes held for a beat. His brows lifted slightly, asking the question without words.
I nodded once.
His mouth twitched with relief.
Then a director grabbed my shoulder and said my name like we were old friends.
I turned, the moment snapping apart.
The director praised the end credits sequence, used the phrase "emotional gut punch," and I smiled and thanked him while my brain stayed half locked on Evan across the room.
When I looked back, Evan had moved closer. Not directly at me, but near me. He was on the other side of a cluster of people, speaking to someone with a studio badge. His posture stayed relaxed. His gaze drifted toward me in brief checks, never lingering long enough to become a spectacle.
He was doing what he said he would.
He wasn't touching my spotlight unless invited.
The party kept shifting us like pieces on a board.
I got pulled into a conversation with a music supervisor who wanted me to consider a second placement. Finn hovered within reach, support without fuss. Harper glared at anyone who asked personal questions.
Evan got dragged into photos with industry people who wanted proof they had been near him. River appeared again, shoved himself into the frame, threw an arm around a producer like they were lifelong enemies, then vanished with a cackle.
Each time Evan and I got within a few feet of each other, something happened. A camera swung. A reporter drifted too close. A publicist redirected. A studio exec intercepted.
It became ridiculous. A dance with no music, a near-touch that never landed.
My body stayed wired, anticipation cutting through the fatigue. My feet hurt. My shoulders ached. My cheeks were sore from smiling.
I wanted out.
I leaned toward Harper. "I'm going to the balcony."
Her eyes narrowed. "Alone?"
"Yes."
Finn's gaze flicked over the room. "I'll walk you to the door."
"Fine."
Harper followed anyway because Harper didn't understand the concept of "fine" in a room full of predators with microphones.
Finn guided us through the crowd toward a set of glass doors guarded by a security guy with an earpiece. The security guy nodded at Finn, then looked at my badge.
"Balcony's open. No cameras."
Relief hit fast. "Thank you."
I stepped out.
The noise dulled behind me.
The balcony stretched along the side of the venue, lined with tall heaters that glowed orange. The city spread out beyond, lights scattered, traffic moving like slow rivers. Far below, people walked, unaware that a premiere party was taking place overhead.
I moved to the railing and rested my hands on it, careful of my dress. I let my shoulders drop. Let my jaw unclench.
For the first time all night, I could drop the act.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
I didn't turn right away.
"Hey," Evan said.
My chest tightened.
I turned.
Evan stood a few feet away, hands at his sides, posture easy. His hair was slightly messier. His eyes looked tired and bright at the same time, like adrenaline and emotion were fighting for dominance.
He didn't step closer.
He waited.
"Hey," I said.
His gaze moved over me, quick and respectful. "You okay?"
I let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Now I am."
His mouth curved. "Good."
We stood in the quiet pocket, city lights behind him, music muffled through the glass doors. A heater clicked as it cycled.
"I've been trying to talk to you all night," he said.
"Same."
His expression shifted. "You were incredible on that carpet."
"You did good too."
His brows lifted. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me in a while."
I rolled my eyes, but my smile stayed. "Don't make it weird."
"I won't."
A beat passed between us.
I looked out over the city, then back at him. "I watched you from inside."
"During the credits."
I nodded. "You cried."
His throat moved. He didn't deny it. "Yeah."
"You mouthed something."
His gaze held mine. "I meant it."
"I know."
His mouth curved. "You mouthed that back too."
My cheeks warmed. "I did."
The silence settled differently this time, not empty, but waiting.
Evan took a slow breath. "Can I say something?"
I nodded. "Yes."
His gaze stayed on mine, stripped of performance.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know I've said it before. I know apologies can become noise. I'm saying it again because tonight made it real in a different way."
I didn't interrupt.
"Watching your name roll up that screen and hearing your master in a room like that hit me how wrong I was." His jaw flexed. "I treated your career like it was part of my world. I treated you like you were an extension of me."
Old hurt pressed under my ribs.