Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
The LoveSick Premiere
The average human’s attention span is eight seconds long. Long enough to hopefully keep them smiling at us as they move us down the red carpet, dazzling each stranger, one micro-moment at a time.
Sitting in the car next to him, I know what to expect.
Where other people may linger during a conversation, I can look at their eyes and see the exact moment they drift.
This carpet will be no different than any dinner party with the Whitemores.
I will play my part perfectly. Aloof, but sturdy.
Personable, but without getting too personal.
All I have to do is stare lovingly into his eyes. Even after the kiss we shared a few days ago, I won’t let a minor lapse in judgment cloud what I am doing here today.
This will be my last public appearance with him. Our unspoken agreement will come to an end soon.
This will all become a distant memory for Holden Strauss.
Today, we’ve spent more than eighty thousand seconds together since he strolled into our office. Not that I am counting… If we were doing easy math, that is way more than eight seconds. It’s been enough time to judge how he handles these kinds of moments.
Unfazed.
I fluff my hair to lay perfectly on each side of my shoulders, staring out the town car’s window as we creep to a full stop. The glass window reflects my fully made-up face, which took three hours to put together.
My long, chestnut-brown hair hangs perfectly straight, looking more lush and vibrant in color than usual. Its natural state is frizzy waves that are pulled back in a slick bun most mornings.
Creating this look that the hairstylist did for me in one hour would probably take me three, requiring all the products in my bathroom to tame the static electricity that could power my whole apartment building.
From my hair to my eyes, I observe the matte charcoal and black shadows on my eyes that are layered with precision to create the most perfect smokey eye. This look accentuates my hooded eyes, which I never knew quite what to do with until now. My pendant is activating a radiate shade of blue.
My unconventional mirror is morphed into a blistering crowd anxiously awaiting our arrival.
They are all smushed up to the gate, barricading them from the carpet. From both sides, they wait to sprint toward the illustrious individuals arriving.
My gaze immediately returns back to him. I don’t have to say a word, because one look his way and he is reaching for my hand.
“You look handsome,” I whisper. Holden gives me a quick peck on my lips as if this is routine for us.
This is the second time this week our lips have collided willingly without any coverage surrounding the event. An ache in my stomach starts to form.
We are now being told it’s our turn to walk. Holden scoots out of the town car first and extends his hand to me. My whole body glides into him, holding on to his arm. My legs wobble as I try to balance myself against him.
The shouting match commences…
“HC! HC! HC!” The words are building in my ears. I start to hear the shouting grow louder. I maintain a firm grip on his arm, holding his gaze to avoid the flashes aiming for my retinas.
“Everyone is staring at you,” he murmurs.
His face has softened. His feet don’t look wobbly. Yet, when I place my hand on his chest, there are beats louder than any rock band in the early 2000s, where drum solos were the highlight.
We both step into the center, where all the photographers are placed. I blink rapidly as the halos form in my vision. His lip curves on one side. I must be staring at him too closely because they are all screaming at me to look forward.
“Look this way!!”
“The cameras are over here, miss!!”
I quickly turn my head away from him and back to the cameras, where I flash a toothy grin in their direction.
Chris will probably be seething, champing at the bit when he sees these photos. The thought makes me relish in this a little bit more as I hold my smile for each flash.
Once we are done, a coordinator moves us down the carpet to the line of people waiting to take a new set of photos in front of the movie’s backdrop: a white canvas with the big, bold red lettering all over it. The movie title LoveSick with the lead actress’s name underneath it—Sloane Swanson.
The sight of her name reverberates in my mind, a constant reminder that she’s here.
It’s about ten minutes of waiting before we are up next in line for the “proper” photos in front of the backdrop.
Holden does a few solo shots with the same three poses before bringing me back into the picture to dote on him for a few more. We snap quickly from resting my arm on his lapel to being pushed down the line once more.
Pushing closer to the vultures with video cameras and microphones. Every flash becomes more disorienting to my nervous system. Every limb stiffens when we come to the first reporter.
“Holden Strauss. We are so excited to see you here today. It’s been a while. How does it feel to be reunited with your old costars?”
Of course, they went straight for the jugular. My hand grips onto his arm.
This is the best he has ever looked. His hair is out of his face. His face isn’t displaying that brooding, cold demeanor. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t partied since that night I found him after leaving Aidan’s house. Just a clean-shaven face with a genuine smile slapped on it.
“I am equally excited. I am just grateful to have a date for this one,” he says, nudging my side.
The reporter thrusts a microphone in my face. “Speaking of dating, I hear you got a new ship name.”
Holden and I both look over at each other in unison, raising our eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?” He questions.
“HC… Holden and Charlotte,” the reporter confirms. I hold my stomach, feeling a full belly laugh creeping up, making its way to the surface.
“What’s so funny?” the reporter asks.
“I was wondering what they were yelling. Just connecting the dots in real—” I pause, smiling back at Holden, giving a sheepish grin.
I wave my finger between both of us. “They were talking about us,” I say back to the reporter.
Holden smiles at me for all of two seconds before we are shuffled through a round of people coming our way. His gaze is no longer on me and his smile has fallen.
His attention is stuck in front of us, eyeing the huddle of people down the press line. Fans slam their bodies again and again on the giant barricades while the security team forces them to hang back.
Leaning into his shoulder, I hear the drumming in his chest again. I tug on his arm, propelling us forward. The next microphone shows “Down to the Wire”—a trendy media outlet for Gen Z that gets the scoop on everything and everyone.
“Long time no see,” the reporter says as we make our way over to her.
“Yes, how’ve you been, Tricia?” he says sternly, jump-starting him into the new round of questions.
Holden is about to open his mouth when the microphone is pointed toward me.
“Charlotte, what are you wearing? You look gorgeous.”
“Um…” The word trails on as I hope it can give me enough time to think of the answer. Couldn’t it be multiple choice? I know what designer Holden is wearing. I didn’t think to remember mine.
The awareness builds before I forget the question entirely, concentrating on only his lips. He only kisses me for a few short seconds, but it’s slow and intoxicating.
The kind of kiss that removes the outside world right from under you.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Isn’t she gorgeous tonight?” He sweeps his arms up and down my body, gesturing to my dress and hair.
The reporter is eating it up. I hear her talking to the camera man to zoom in on us before she responds with, “Beautiful, for sure.”
I don’t think I know how to be aloof anymore.
I turn away from Holden, unsure of where to put my hands or even where to look. We are moving down the line quickly. In the next few interviews, I am locked into my fifteen-year-old self, waiting to escape my parents so I could hang out with a boy.
All I have to do is make it through this next round of questions to the girl at the very end of the press line.
“Are you excited to reunite with Sloane and Graham?” the reporter asks.
Holden says nothing for a good moment as the reporter points to Graham and Sloane, both taking photos at the center of the backdrop.
Fashionably late.
He darts his eyes from the carpet to the camera, and I cling onto his jacket.
“I can’t wait to meet the friends Holden grew up with.” My voice is pitched higher than normal, and I’m cheesing so hard that my face physically hurts.
In between the setup at the coffee shop, the styling suite and the way he kissed me with no one around, it escaped my mind to tell him his ex was going to be here.
I am sure he looked it up. He had to, right? The backdrop, the trailer—he must’ve known. But the look on his face displays a little fawn caught in headlights. No emotion, just stunned into stillness.
“Have you spoken to them since the show ended?” The interviewer points the mic directly in Holden’s face.
“This is our reunion,” he says, smiling at only me.
This answer satisfies the interviewer and they don’t reply with anything but a smile. We shake hands before moving closer to the door that opens to the theater.
He holds the door out for me, letting me step into the room first. My senses instantly pick up the savory smell of movie theater popcorn.
“I am going to grab us a bucket, okay?”
He nods as I politely smile back at him, heading toward the line for concessions, gnawing at my gums with each passing moment. My eyes are never too far from where Holden is in the crowd.
I forgot how much of a recluse Holden is. Everyone is vying for his attention, and I can visibly see him turtling into his shell.
Reverting back to day one, where all he could do was stand, stare and make you uncomfortable with each passing second where he didn’t talk.
All I want to do is get back to him.