Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Without thinking, my hand drifted over and fiddled nervously with the tips of his fingers. Testing. Like I was expecting him to pull away.
He didn’t.
His voice dropped, softer now. “You don’t need a script. If they ask what happened, just tell the truth. You stood up for someone being treated like shit. That’s it. People like honesty more than the polished fake version of you they think they know.”
I stared at our hands, quiet, my fingers brushing over his gently—like they were mine.
“And if you get stuck or freeze,” Miles added, smiling a little, “just remember that I’ll be there. Sitting right next to you, making dumb faces if I have to. I’ll be your idiot safety net.”
A breath hitched in my chest.
God, he made it sound so simple. Like the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on my shoulders. Like this was just...normal.
I glanced sideways at him. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Miles grinned wide, eyes crinkling. “Nope. You’ve got me now. No take-backs.”
For some stupid reason, I smiled. Small. Barely there.
But real.
And I let my fingers keep playing nervously with his.
I hated this.
Pacing back and forth like some anxious idiot while Bradley schmoozed the podcast host ten feet away, pretending this wasn’t a massive ambush. My palms were clammy. My heart wouldn’t slow down. Why did I agree to this?
Why did I ask Miles to come?
I should’ve stayed home. Let the internet chew me up and spit me out like usual. I wasn’t made for this “talking” part of fame. I was supposed to stand there. Pose. Smile on command. Not... explain myself.
“Julian.”
His voice.
I turned—and before I could even snap something, Miles was there, hands firm on my shoulders, steady and grounding like always.
“Breathe.” He gave me a small smile. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”
Then—God—he pulled me into him, just enough for my face to press into his chest. And to make it worse, or maybe better, he kissed the top of my head like it was normal. Like we were normal.
I blinked up at him, heart kicking harder for reasons I didn’t want to name.
“Just be yourself,” he whispered. “Tell the truth. You don’t owe anyone more than that.”
Before I could say anything, the host called from the doorway.
“Julian Vale? Ready when you are.”
Miles gave my shoulders one last squeeze. “You’ve got this.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him.
But as I walked into the small studio, I felt the heat of his gaze behind me. Steady. Solid. Like a tether.
I could do this. Maybe.
The host smiled wide, gesturing me to the seat across from him. Big headset. Big mic. Big nerves.
“Julian Vale. Wow. America’s Sweetheart, in the studio. What a surprise. How are you feeling today?”
I cleared my throat. “Uh... a little nervous, honestly.”
A light laugh from him. “Good to know even the perfect ones get nervous.”
Perfect. Yeah, right.
“We have to start with the viral video that blew up this morning,” the host leaned forward.
My stomach sank. “For anyone living under a rock, a clip surfaced of you defending Miles Bennett, from some... well, let’s say harsh comments on set.
The internet’s calling it ‘the most protective boyfriend moment ever.’”
I stiffened. Boyfriend?
God help me.
The host grinned. “So Julian, tell us, what made you step in like that?”
I swallowed hard. Glanced through the glass.
Miles stood behind the techs. Hands in his jacket pockets. Watching. Soft smile. Calm eyes. Like none of this mattered.
“I—” I rubbed my palms against my jeans. “I guess... I don’t like seeing someone I care about being treated like crap. Miles didn’t deserve what was said to him. No one does. So... I said something. That’s all.”
“Someone you care about?” The host wiggled his eyebrows. “You know the fans are obsessed, right? They’re calling you the bodyguard boyfriend.”
My ears burned. “Miles is... important. He’s a good guy. A friend.”
Liar. Almost.
“Just a friend?” the host teased. “Because the chemistry in Florence said otherwise.”
God. Kill me.
I gave a thin smile. “He’s just... Miles. It’s hard not to like him.”
The host laughed. “Fair enough. But seriously—has the agency or your team said anything about all this blowing up? The fans love protective Julian. It’s great for your image.”
I glanced away. “I haven’t thought much about the image part. Honestly? I just did what felt right. That’s all.”
For the first time... I wasn’t lying.
He shifted papers. “One last question—and forgive me for prying—but does Miles know the internet basically crowned him the luckiest guy alive?”
A laugh—a real, small one—escaped me. “I think he’s too humble to believe that.”
The host chuckled. “Well... America’s Sweetheart defending America’s Sunshine Boy. We love to see it. Thanks for being honest today, Julian. You did great.”
The light went off. My breath finally released.
I turned—to the glass wall—and there he was. Miles. Smiling like always. Like none of this scared him. Like he was proud.
I ducked my head, a blush creeping up my neck I couldn’t stop.
God help me.
The moment the interview ended, the host thanking me with a warm smile and the studio lights dimming slightly, I felt my shoulders sag like they were finally allowed to rest. My heart was still racing, palms faintly sweating, but I’d made it through. Without freezing. Without choking.
I turned, gaze sweeping over the small group behind the cameras—and there he was.
Miles.
Leaning casually against the wall, hands in his jacket pockets, that same easy smile on his face like none of this had ever been hard. Like I’d done this a thousand times. Like I hadn’t just fumbled my way through the most terrifying twenty minutes of my life.
I walked straight to him, not caring who saw. For once, not caring what anyone might whisper or snap a photo of.
And before I could think myself out of it—before the fear crept back in—I stepped right into him. Into his space. My arms sliding around his middle in the clumsiest, most un-Julian move possible. But it felt... safe. Solid.
I pressed my face briefly to his chest, breathing in his scent—warm, clean soap and something faintly like citrus.
“Thank you,” I muttered into his sweater, voice rough and quiet but honest. “For being here. For... everything.”
I felt him chuckle, low and real, and then his arms came up around me without hesitation. One hand cupping the back of my head, fingers brushing softly against my hair. The other resting gently on my back. “You did good,” he murmured near my ear. “I’m proud of you, Julian.”
That word. Proud. Like it meant something more than just surviving the spotlight. Like I was worth being proud of.
My chest squeezed. I hated how much I liked hearing that.
I let myself stay there—just for a moment longer—before pulling back, my hand still resting lightly against his side. His smile was soft now. Quiet. Like he knew what this meant.
“Come on,” Miles said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get out of here.”
And for the first time all day... I wanted to.