Chapter 31
The ghosts of relationships past.
And of the ones that never were.
“You know, Leah does have a point,” Emma muttered as they crossed the lobby. Her nerves jumped as she scanned the crowd, half expecting the My Little Pony girl to spring out again. “We’re very visible right now.”
Darren had let go of her arm to text someone, but he stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. “We’ll be safe in a minute. The car is just around the corner.”
“Where are we going?”
His eyes sparkled. “Wait and see.”
The black SUV pulled up just as they stepped out of the hotel. Darren opened the door for her, and she exhaled as he closed it behind them—a small pocket of privacy to hide in.
“Travis,” Darren told the driver, “let’s take the scenic route. End at the place I just texted you.”
“Sure thing,” the driver said.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “You’re being very mysterious.”
“Correct.” His expression was unreadable, except for the faint curl around his lips. “Seatbelt, please. I need a few minutes to set something up.”
She let her gaze linger as he turned his attention back to his phone, but then obeyed, clicking her seatbelt into place.
The driver turned right at the port, following the curve of the bayside. Emma looked out the window. A giant cruise ship was docked at the terminal. Beyond it, sailboats dotted the water—small flecks of white against the bright blue.
It was a relief to just be for a moment. No laptop, her cell phone tucked away. Just air, sea, and Darren’s steady presence beside her.
“There,” he finally said, slipping his phone away. “Arrangements are being made.”
Emma shook her head at the secretive glee on his face. “You realize that if you actually kidnap me, Leah will hunt you down like Liam Neeson.”
“As tempting as that sounds . . .” His hand found hers on the seat between them, fingers lacing. “No. I’ll bring you back. Promise.”
A gentle warmth spread through her chest at the soft-spoken words, at the way his thumb drew small circles against her skin.
“I’m sorry about the TikTok girl,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She shrugged, looking down at their joined hands. “I don’t even dare to check how bad it is. Maybe it’ll blow over. Or maybe everyone hates me now, and I’ll just go back to being a controller.”
His fingers tightened gently around hers. “Look at me, Emma.”
She did. Sunlight flickered through the window, striking his hair, softening the darkness of his eyes. The sincerity there made her heart pinch.
“I know this is a lot right now. But trust me, it will blow over. The people who jump on this kind of thing aren’t your true fans. They just feed on the drama because they have nothing better to do. That doesn’t define you. So don’t let it.”
She let the words sink in. “You’re right. And I shouldn’t complain. You’ve been through much worse.”
He gave a somber smile, squeezing her hand lightly and then pulling free. “So I guess you know about Alana. Yeah . . . that was a lesson. But it’s not a competition. Doesn’t make what you’re feeling any less valid.”
Emma hesitated. Normally, she would’ve taken that kind of retreat as a boundary. But the tight set of his jaw hinted they were at the edge of something raw, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What . . . happened with her?”
He turned to the window as the car veered away from the bay and into the city streets, his gaze distant. “I was young and in love. New to the celebrity thing, and far too full of myself. He sighed quietly before he continued.
“Alana was a whirlwind, drawn to the spotlight like it was the sun. Or maybe more like oxygen. And I went along with it. Everything we did was public. Max was my manager even back then; he helped us set things up. Always a photographer waiting wherever we went. Needless to say, the tabloids loved us. For a while.”
He cocked his head. “Or well—they loved us even more when things fell apart. One tabloid owner claimed he’d bought a car exclusively with the profits from our breakup.”
Emma’s stomach dropped. To think she was spiraling over one silly interview. “That’s horrible.”
He shrugged. “That’s British tabloids for you. And we should have known better. If you take the public route, you don’t get to take that back when things go south.”
“But you were so young. Max should have warned you, not fanned the flames.”
“He did,” Darren said. “He laid it all out when Alana and I first got together. But when I made the choice, he respected that. And he did his best to manage it when things got out of hand. Max can come across as very . . . industry. But he’s a decent guy when it matters.”
Emma didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t convinced. The tabloids probably weren’t the only ones who had profited from Darren’s public profile. “What happened between you and Alana?” she asked instead.
“She was fragile,” Darren said. A trace of sadness crossed his eyes. “Needed constant validation, attention, worshipping. As if she would cease to exist without it. When she got it, she was the most charming person you could imagine.
“I was blinded by it for a long time, and she triggered something protective in me. But it became unsustainable. She got more and more clingy, and eventually I . . .” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair.
“It got too much. I cheated on her. A makeup artist. Alana walked in, and . . . yeah.” He trailed off, something pained sharpening his features.
“Hard blow for someone with a fragile confidence,” Emma murmured.
His jaw flexed. “I’m not proud of it. I think part of me wanted her to find out, so I wouldn’t have to be the one to end it. You asked before why I was drawn to playing villains?”
He let the question hang, the answer clear but unspoken.
Emma’s chest ached at the self-disgust in his tone. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words tangled in her throat. Because what did you say when someone laid their worst mistake bare?
Darren shifted in his seat. “Well, you have me at a disadvantage.” His voice lightened a shade, but it seemed to cost him some effort.
“Any exes on your end I should know about? Someone waiting to challenge me to a duel after all this media frenzy? Keanu Reeves, perhaps? I’m not loving the idea of taking on John Wick, so a heads-up would be nice. ”
Emma let out a low laugh, then shook her head. “Nothing to worry about there. Apparently, there’s this whole relationship procedure you have to go through in order to get yourself an ex.”
The joke slipped out too easily in the wake of his confession, and she instantly regretted it. What kind of weirdo would he think she was?
He sat back. “Wait, are you telling me you’ve never had a boyfriend?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she didn’t quite manage to meet his gaze. “Nope.”
Curiosity chased away the last of the shadows on his face. “But . . . sorry. That just surprises me.”
Emma searched for the right words. “I’ve dated,” she said slowly. “But every time it started to feel real . . . I pulled back. It just never seemed worth the risk of getting hurt.”
She felt his eyes on her, but didn’t look up.
“You don’t let people close easily, do you?”
The question was soft. Gentle.
She hesitated, turning it over. The “why” of it. Maybe that was just the thing. The reason she was scared to let someone close wasn’t because she’d been hurt before—but because she never had been.
“I was always drawn more to books and stories than real life. I should have grown out of it at some point, I suppose, but . . .” She shrugged.
“I’ve always had this ability to immerse myself in fantasy.
To feel things deeply without ever having to risk anything.
To fall in love with the idea of someone, from a distance. It felt . . . safer.”
For a moment, silence filled the car, the city flashing by outside the windows. Her pulse moved in her neck, and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. That she’d fallen in love with him that way.
Except there was nothing safe about it now, was there? Not with his body so close that she felt his presence, not with his attention fully on her and nowhere to run.
Then Darren’s voice came, low and thoughtful: “Safer, sure. But not the same.”
She risked a glance at him. His expression wasn’t judgmental. Just . . . open. Like she’d handed him something delicate, and he was holding it carefully.
“No,” she breathed. “Maybe not.”
Darren looked out the window. His posture shifted, settling back into that easy composure she’d come to recognize.
“Well,” he said, his tone lighter. “Speaking of stories and fantasy.”
Emma blinked and followed his gaze. Ahead of them, the white tents for the Hall H line came into view.
“We’re back at Comic-Con?” she asked, baffled.
That mischievous spark was back in his eyes. “See? Told you I’d bring you back.”