Chapter 37
ANNA
I stared at the photo on my aunt’s phone. It was me.
“At least they got my good side,” I winced. Might as well look on the bright side.
Luke’s mouth twitched. “That jester hat is doing you a favor.”
“Right?” I managed a weak laugh. “Very flattering angle.”
But my thoughts were already racing ahead to what this meant: headlines screaming that we didn’t belong together. That he was Luke Fisher, and I was just... me.
And once he saw those headlines, once the world started pointing out how mismatched we were, would he start to see it too?
“Anna.” My Nonna’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. She was squinting at someone’s phone. “You’re on the internet. Does this mean I need to friend you on the Facebook now? I don’t even know my password.”
“Nonna, you don’t need to—"
“Your cousin posted a casserole recipe last week, and I couldn’t comment. This is important, Anna."
Aunt Mona appeared at my elbow, peering at the photo over my shoulder. “The jester costume really brings out your eyes,” Mary added helpfully.
Uncle Charlie squinted at the screen. “Says here you’re a ‘cater-waiter.’ Isn’t that what we used to call waiters?”
“It’s fancier,” Aunt Sharon explained. “Hollywood fancy.”
I needed air. Or a locked room. Preferably both.
I mumbled something about needing water and escaped to the kitchen, gripping the counter as I tried to catch my breath.
“Anna?” I looked up to find Luke in the doorway, his expression concerned. “Can we talk about this? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault—"
“It is, though.” His jaw tightened. “I took off the disguise. I should’ve thought this through better.”
I stared at the photo on my phone again. Me in that ridiculous jester costume. The headline reduced me to a cater-waiter, like that was the most interesting thing about me.
“What happens now?” I asked quietly.
Luke stepped closer, his hand warm on my arm. “What happens now is that my team steps in. My publicist and my manager are the best in the business. This is what they do. We’ll control the narrative, make sure the story’s accurate. I promise, Anna, we’ll handle this."
His voice was steady, reassuring, but I could see something flickering behind his eyes. Something that looked almost like... fear? Was he worried that I was going to bail?
His hand tightened on my arm. “I’m worried you'll realize this isn’t worth it. The paparazzi, the headlines, people dissecting every part of your life…” His voice cracked slightly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided it was too much.”
My heart twisted. This wasn’t the confident movie star I’d gotten to know. This was just... Luke. Vulnerable, uncertain, and terrified that I was going to walk away.
I reached up, covering his hand with mine. “Do you really think a little fan craziness is going to scare me off? After everything?”
“It’s not just fan craziness. It’s everything else, too.”
“I know what it is.” I squeezed his hand. “And I’m still here. The press doesn’t scare me. That’s not what matters.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “I care about you, Anna.” His voice dropped lower. “So much. And I need you to know that. I need you to know that your feelings are the only thing that matters to me.”
The lump in my throat grew. “I care about you, too. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His mouth curved into a small, relieved smile. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you from this.” His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so tender it made my chest ache. “I promise.”
Man, he was sweet. Standing here in my kitchen, worried about me when his entire team was probably having a collective meltdown.
Looking at me like I was the one who might break his heart, when the tabloids would probably spend the next week explaining in excruciating detail why we didn't belong together.
But the way he was looking at me, the way his thumb was tracing absent circles on my arm, I realized something: I really, really liked him. More than I’d let myself admit. And if he thought a few invasive headlines were going to change that, he clearly didn’t know me very well yet.
From the backyard, Uncle Charlie’s voice boomed: “Alright, folks, I think we’ve overstayed our welcome! Let’s give these two some peace!”
“We’re not leaving yet!” Aunt Mona protested. “There’s still king cake!”
“There’s always king cake, Mona. We can take it to go.”
I heard the sounds of my family beginning to pack up: coolers being dragged across the grass, chairs folding, Nonna issuing instructions about who was driving whom home.
Luke glanced toward the back door, then back at me. “Should we go say goodbye?”
We walked out together, and I felt his fingers tighten around mine as my family spotted us.
But instead of the scrutiny I’d been expecting, I saw Uncle Ray give Luke an approving nod.
Aunt Sharon winked at me. Even Nonna, who never approved of anything, patted my cheek and whispered, “He’s a good one.
Don't let the internet people scare you.”
One by one, they hugged us both, packed up their things, and filtered out through the side gate. Uncle Charlie was the last to leave, clapping Luke on the shoulder.
“You take care of our girl,” he said.
“I will,” Luke promised.
When the gate finally clicked shut, the backyard fell quiet. The sun was setting, casting everything in golden light. Luke's hand was still in mine.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said softly.
“No,” I agreed, squeezing his hand. “It wasn't.”
He pulled me closer, and I let myself lean into him, breathing in the familiar scent of him, soap and something warm and distinctly Luke.
“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured against my hair. “Together.”
And standing there in the fading light, surrounded by the remnants of crawfish boil and family chaos, I believed him.
Whatever came next, we’d face it together.
And that was enough.