by Gina Azzi
I pull open the passenger door and Harlow stills. She tugs on the front of my shirt until I dip. She presses a hard kiss against my lips. “It’s okay to be emotional, you know?”
“I know.” I clear my throat, knowing she caught how unsteady I was during our visit with Pop.
She leans closer, lowering her voice. “You can even cry.”
I snort.
She offers me a knowing, gentle smile. “I love you, Connor Scott. I love the man you are now more than the guy I fell for years ago.”
21
Harlow
Connor’s whistle cuts through the air. His eyes widen, his mouth tipped up in a smile. He’s looking at me like I’m the most exquisite creature he’s ever seen, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
I beam at him. “Thank you, kind sir.” I extend my hand to his as he helps me down the steps toward my mother and Kent’s living room.
“You weren’t kidding about this dress,” Connor whispers, kissing my hair. His hands shadow my hips.
“Or these shoes. Don’t let go, I may topple over,” I joke, but not because my shoes are incredible. I am definitely teetering in them.
“I’ll hold you the whole night, baby.”
Even so, his hold on me relaxes when we reach the bottom of the stairs and my mother swoops in.
“Ah, Harlow, you look beautiful.” Mom presses an air kiss to each of my cheeks as I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Thank you, Mom. You remember Connor?” I say, hoping she is polite.
Her gaze flicks to Connor. She stayed in her room when we arrived, not bothering to come down and welcome us to the house. Maybe it was for the best, as Connor’s first interaction in the Reid-Kinsley household got to be with Jack. They clicked instantly and spent the afternoon drinking beer and goofing off in the pool while I ran around like a lunatic sorting out last-minute mishaps for Eli.
“Hello, Connor.” Mom finally extends her hand but averts her gaze.
Connor takes her hand and hesitates. “Ma’am,” he says finally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, dear.” Mom pulls her hand from his hold and looks over our heads. “Kent, we really must be leaving.”
Effectively dismissed, I lace my fingers with Connor’s and pull him toward the front of the house where the cars are already waiting to take us to the premiere. Once we are seated and driving away from my mother’s coldness, I glance at Connor.
His jaw is tight, his lips pressed in a thin line.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be, baby. Just be you.” I hear the edge in his tone.
“We’re going to have fun tonight,” I say but it comes out more like a question. As if I’m already doubting that we’re going to enjoy this premiere, this special night out, all dressed up in L.A.
“Of course we are,” Connor says, his other hand encasing mine. He shoots me a grin. I can tell it’s forced, but the fact that he’s trying as hard as he is, especially after my mom’s blatant repudiation, calms my nerves. “You look beautiful, Low.”
“You’re really rocking the shit out of that suit, Connor,” I whisper back. He snickers.
The closer we get to the premiere, the more Connor’s muscles lock down. I know he’s nervous, feeling out of his comfort zone, and unsure of what to do or where to go when we arrive.
“Zoe’s going to meet you when we get there,” I remind him.
“I know.”
“She’ll show you where to sit and everything.”
He squeezes my hand. “I got it. I know you have a job to do. Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy,” he says, exasperation in his tone. My nagging is starting to irritate him.
“Okay.” I silently vow to let the issue lie.
As soon as we pull up to the premiere, the swarm of bodies overwhelms the car. Photographers, journalists, paparazzi. Bright lights, video cameras, noise. Red carpet, celebrities, chaos.
I hear Connor’s audible inhale but I don’t comment on it. This scene is overwhelming, even for those of us seasoned in the industry. When the door opens, I slip out of the car, my gaze scanning the crowd. Relief fills my chest as soon as I spot Zoe. She makes her way to us, arriving just as the car door is closed behind Connor.
She shoots me a knowing glance, kissing my cheek in greeting.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, clutching Connor’s arm.
“You’re not walking in with Eli?” Connor asks her. I hear the thread of frustration in his tone. He thinks we’re all babying him because we know how much he dislikes events like these.
Zoe’s hand passes over her stomach as she shakes her head. “No, he went in on his own. There are going to be enough rumors about my little baby swell without me posing for photos from every angle. I’m still in my first trimester.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry, Zoe.” Connor shifts, angling his body to hide her stomach from view.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, glancing at them.
“Go. We’ll be fine,” Zoe shoos me away.
“Rooting for you, beautiful,” Connor kisses my lips.
While his words are sweet and the fact that he’s here fills me up with a wild giddiness, the ease with which he reacts to Zoe’s predicament, which I didn’t realize until this moment is real and not just a ploy to put Connor at ease like I previously thought, nags at the back of my mind. In many ways, Connor and Zoe are outsiders to these events. They aren’t in the industry and they don’t hitch their identities to whatever is trending in the moment.
Leaving them to make their way inside, a part of me is grateful that they have each other. But I’m also frustrated that I can’t soothe Connor’s worries with the same ease that Zoe can.
I dislike knowing that I can’t be enough for what he needs in this moment.
Sighing, I show a badge to security who lets me pass. As I work through throngs of people, I’m quickly snagged by Helen.
“Glad you’re here,” she says, glancing around. “We need to get Eli up front for interviews and photos.”
I scan the crowd for him. “Where is he?”
Helen grimaces. “Signing autographs.”
“Of course he is.” I switch gears, diving headfirst into the work that needs to be done.
Bryce is phenomenal.
I hate to admit it, but there it is. Watching his performance in Reckless Waters tugs at something inside my chest, scraping over and over until my emotions are raw. The film is deep, ripe with all the feels, and Bryce executes perfectly.
On film, it’s impossible not to fall a little bit in love with him. Or rather, the character he is playing.
My mind is captivated, my body on edge. I’m utterly transfixed.
Too late, I realize Connor is more focused on me than the film. His pinkie finger grazes along my forearm and I swallow, coming back to the moment.
I turn toward him. His eyes gleam in the darkened theater but it’s impossible to read them.
“You okay?” he whispers. I know he’s asking because of Bryce. The concern he shows me, even when I know how much he can’t stand Bryce, causes shame to burn in my chest.
Here I am, at a film premiere, dressed up, ready for a wild night out, and at my side is the man I’ve always wanted. I used to dream for a moment like this and instead of reveling in it, I’m letting the guy who made me into a pathetic meme get inside my head.
Through a freaking film.
I smile at Connor gratefully and slip my hand in his.
We turn our attention back to the film. Slowly, Connor relaxes beside me.
When the final credits roll, applause breaks out in the theater and the lights flicker on. Up front, I spot Eli as he stands, grinning at the crowd and shaking hands with the head director. Pride for him, for his involvement in such a spectacular film, swells in my chest. Zoe’s hair, styled in beach waves, is visible but she quickly ducks behind Eli. I realize how uncomfortable she is about fielding questions related to her pregnancy
. My misplaced irritation from earlier fades away and I glance at Connor.
“We need to shield Zoe from all the cameras at the after party.”
He nods, biting the corner of his mouth. “Got it. Eli did an incredible job.”
“Yeah, he really did.”
Neither one of us says anything about Bryce’s performance, which is like ignoring the massive elephant in the room.
I scan the crowd, clapping along with the other viewers, and my eyes lock onto Bryce’s. The laughing and praise filling the theater instantly fade away. It’s as if I’ve been plunged underwater and I can hear the noise from a distance, but everything is muffled.
My heart sounds in my ears and my palms tingle.
A grin stretches across his irritatingly symmetrical face as he accepts congratulations from industry executives, but his eyes never leave mine and the flare of regret in them picks at my wounds.
Connor clears his throat next to me, and I feel the tension rolling off his shoulders, crashing over me. I can’t move. I can’t turn toward him to reassure him that I’m fine.
Instead, I watch everything as it unfolds, as if from above, as though it unravels in slow motion.
Bryce excuses himself and strides toward me.
Eli’s concerned expression hovers over Bryce’s shoulder.
An incessant chatter hums, like buzzing bees, through the crowd.
Connor stiffens behind me, his fingertips pressing into the small of my back.
By the time Bryce reaches me, the theater seems paused. Like everyone huddled inside is collectively holding their breaths, waiting for whatever comes next.
A reunion.
A brawl.
I’m sure the crowd would prefer the latter, but no one will admit it. In my peripheral vision, I see several cell phones twitch in their owner’s hands.
Thank God cameras and paparazzi aren’t permitted inside the theater.
“Harlow,” Bryce says, his voice washing over me like a thousand memories at once. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart.”
“Hello Bryce,” I manage to reply, relieved my voice comes out neutral. “Your performance was flawless. Congratulations.”
He grins, his signature smile causing my heart to stutter even as anger flares to life low in my belly, fanning out to my fingers and toes. Is he seriously going to pretend like we’re friends? Casual acquaintances? Like the last eighteen months didn’t even happen? Like I didn’t think we’d be engaged right now, celebrating his film premiere on the eve of wedding planning?
“I’m glad you decided to come.”
“I came for Eli.”
Bryce’s smile slips as his eyes narrow but in the next breath, his face is smooth again and I wonder if I imagined his annoyance. “Of course. I hear you’re his manager now.”
“That’s right.” I lift my chin higher, knowing an insult is coming.
I’m too in tune to the inner workings of Bryce Hawke. Knowing he’s going to try and tear me down right now, on his big night, flares in my mind like a warning. Why have I ignored it for so long? Why didn’t I admit that his inner ugly doesn’t match his outer beauty when I first suspected it?
Bryce turns his head, lowering his voice. He touches my hand. To anyone staring at us, it would look like a sweet gesture. His face dips toward mine, his lips just brushing my cheek as he murmurs, “Must be nice to always have that safety net. I doubt Holt would be so forgiving if you didn’t stick with him from the start. I guess he feels bad watching you flounder, shaking your ass and trying to corral drunk frat boys, and calling it television.”
Connor growls next to me but I place out a hand, letting him know I’m fine.
Bryce doesn’t miss the movement. A flicker of surprise flares in his eyes before he shifts his weight back, his grin turning sinister. “Oh, you brought a date.” He flips his gaze back to mine. “Where’d you hire this ex-convict?”
He glances back at Connor, his voice still quiet. Menacingly so. Still, his face never slips, which is credit to what a great actor he is. “I’m sure you need the money, man, but if you want some action tonight, I wouldn’t try with her. She’s less engaging than your right hand.”
“You motherfucker,” Connor steps closer, not bothering to lower his voice. Fury is etched in every line of his face. It’s impossible to be conscious in the theater and not feel his wrath.
Several people standing near us gasp. One woman exclaims, “Oh my.”
Eli appears, chuckling but I don’t miss the anger in his eyes. He clasps a hand on Bryce’s shoulder, harder than necessary. Bryce winces from the slap.
“You’ve got somewhere to be, Bryce. Better start moving.”
Bryce nods, his smarmy smile still in place. But when his eyes meet mine, they’re cold. “Take care of yourself, Harlow. Someone should.”
“Go fuck yourself, Bryce,” I mutter back, proud of myself for saying the words and for keeping a straight face while I say them.
Bryce snorts, jerking his arm out of Eli’s hold and striding toward a crowd of women. He holds out his arms as he nears and a cheer rings out.
Sickening.
“You okay, Low?” Eli asks.
Connor’s hand is splayed across my hip now, holding me against his frame. His touch is comforting and I lean into him.
My finger twists my nose hoop for one full turn as a sense of calm washes over me, stamping out my anger and hurt from moments ago. “Yes,” I say, and I mean it. “I’m okay. I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.” A bubble of laughter bursts from my lips.
Eli exchanges a look over my head with Connor as my laughter tumbles out of me, drawing more curious gazes.
Connor’s hold tightens around me as he pulls me into his side and drops a kiss to the crown of my head. “Okay, Rocky. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Rocky?” I snort, looking up at him. “Shouldn’t I call you that?”
“I don’t know, Low. You looked like you were going to sock him square in the jaw.”
I giggle and Connor’s expression softens.
“I’m proud of you, Harlow,” he says, steering us to the exit.
“For what?”
“For standing up for yourself.”
“Even though you wanted to do it for me?”
“I would have laid his ass out in two seconds,” Connor says flatly.
“He’d deserve it.”
“He deserves a hell of a lot more than a busted face.”
“Ahh.” I sigh, snuggling into Connor’s side. “Let’s forget Bryce. We’ve got an after party to attend.”
“What happens at the after party?”
“You’ll see.”
22
Connor
The after party is nothing like I expected.
First off, it’s themed. It’s got this dark and twisted vibe with an ocean, water thing going on. Sure, it fits the depth of the film, but drinking a tiny blue shot with what looks like goldfish swimming in the bottom is fucking weird.
Second, after the first hour, the amount of drugs I see passing hands is mind-blowing.
Harlow is pulled away the moment we enter. Everything in this circle is always urgent. I don’t know how urgent anything can be when people are snorting lines of coke and taking shooters with tiny, fourteen carat goldfish in them, but what do I know?
Zoe appears at my side. “Thank God you’re here.”
Some of my apprehension of being at this party, surrounded by people who look vaguely familiar but who I still can’t place, eases with her presence. “Could say the same to you, Zo. Where’s Eli?”
“Talking to someone.” She gestures toward the little groups of people. “Are you having fun?”
I glance at her and she laughs.
“I know. I remember what my first few events were like. Terrifying.” She shudders.
“Yeah. Want to eat?” I dip my head toward the elaborate spread. “There’s no line.”
“That’s because no one ever eats at these thi
ngs,” Zoe explains, setting off toward the plates.
“Seriously?” I scoff, taking a plate from her hand.
“More for us to enjoy.” She smiles at me, dumping a big spoonful of salad on her plate.
I trail her down the table. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. The morning sickness is mostly gone. I just feel tired. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay out tonight.”
“I hear you. If you need to go at any time, let me know.”
Zoe glances back at me.
“What?” I ask, adding shrimp cocktail to my plate.
“Are you offering out of your good heart or because you’re desperate to leave?”
“Both.”
“Thought so.”
A roar at the other end of the room draws our attention. I watch as Harlow is pulled into a group of girls. She’s shaking her head, but she’s also laughing. She looks radiant, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
One of the girls presses a shot glass into her hand which Harlow tries to dodge, but moments later I watch as she drinks it, her face twisting.
“Are those Harlow’s friends?” I ask Zoe.
Her eyes are dimmed when they meet mine again. “Sure,” she says. I immediately understand that no one in this room save for us and Eli would put Harlow’s interests above our own.
The music changes, a DJ jumping up to a raised platform. House music blares and the crowd starts hollering, dancing. Suddenly, the space seems transformed, like we’re suddenly in a nightclub. The energy is wild, raucous, pulsing through the room until it seems like even the floor and walls are vibrating.
In the distance, an entire wall of sliding doors overlooking the sea are pulled open, spilling out onto a deck.
I lose sight of Harlow.
She’s working. I remind myself over and over, even though after twenty minutes of not being able to spot her, my frustration flares into concern.
I’m sitting along the periphery of the party, shielding Zoe from view, picking at my plate, when I catch sight of her green dress.
Strands of her hair have slipped from her updo. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright, and she looks like she’s having the best time. Carefree in a way that I haven’t seen in a long time. As if she’s completely present in this moment and never wants it to end.
