Her Red-Carpet Romance

by Marie Ferrarella

  “All you can do is play the odds, dear— That one,” Cecilia suddenly exclaimed, gravitating toward a long, light blue gown covered with sequins of a single silver color. The sequins winked and blinked, casting their own beams of light.

  Removing it from its hanger, Cecilia offered the gown to Yohanna. “This is perfect for you,” she pronounced without any fanfare, cocking her head as if she was studying Yohanna for the first time. “The blue brings out your eyes and it makes you come alive—I mean, more than you already are,” Cecilia amended tactfully.

  “Understood,” Yohanna replied, not wanting the woman to worry about hurting her feelings.

  Her mother certainly never had such concerns. There were times that she was convinced her mother went directly for the jugular just to keep her in line.

  Too bad it hadn’t worked. She was still her own person. She hadn’t been brainwashed into believing her mother’s ancient mantra. That a woman wasn’t complete until she was married.

  She was complete, Yohanna thought fiercely. Moreover, she was doing just fine without a male in her life.

  And maybe just a little more fine than that, she silently insisted.

  “Try it on, dear,” Cecilia coaxed, still holding out the gown to her.

  Beaming, Yohanna took the gown from Cecilia and headed to the first changing room.

  It took her all of three minutes to get out of her own clothes and into the gown Cecilia seemed to have inadvertently stumbled across.

  And then it took her an extra two minutes to tear herself away from the reflection in the mirror that she found awe-inspiring and overwhelming.

  “Are you all right in there, dear?” Cecilia inquired, raising her voice. Yohanna was taking a long time inside the changing room.

  “Just fine,” Yohanna called back.

  She was still mesmerized by what she saw—a reflection that just couldn’t have possibly been her. Instead, the reflection was of a startlingly sexy woman who just happened to be looking back at her.

  Yohanna could hardly tear her eyes away, afraid if she did, when she looked back, the reflection would be gone and she’d be left in its stead.

  Plain, reliable Yohanna.

  She turned slowly to the side, exposing the floor-to-upper-thigh slit in the gown. She absolutely loved this gown.

  Holding her breath, she ventured out of the change room to present herself to the woman who had brought her here in the first place. She wanted to hear Cecilia’s opinion even as she crossed her fingers, hoping that Cecilia would give her stamp of approval on this one. Granted, she could buy it if she had no choice, but in this virgin effort to get just the right gown, she knew she needed backup.

  Someone to tell her she was right.

  Besides, it would be rather rude not to ask Cecilia what she thought of the gown. After all, she had been the one who had found the gown.

  As for herself, she was half in love with the gown and on her way to proposing to it.

  “So?” Yohanna asked hopefully as she very slowly turned in a full circle for the woman’s benefit. “What do you think?”

  Cecilia’s pleased smile said it all. “I think Mr. Spader is going to need a cold shower before and after the premiere. Also after the party that’ll follow.”

  She’d almost forgotten about that. Maybe Lukkas wouldn’t want to attend. “Are you sure there’s a party after the premiere?” she asked Cecilia.

  “Honey, there is always an after-party,” Cecilia answered knowingly. “A party before. A party after. The people in the film industry work hard at what they do, so when it’s all said and done, they like to party hard, too, sort of to balance everything out,” Cecilia explained. “And also because there’s always that chance that after the party’s over, nothing further comes their way. This is a very, very hard business people have consigned themselves to.”

  Cecilia paused to take a breath and then smiled warmly again, her eyes crinkling. “I think I forgot to mention the most important part—you look perfect.”

  Yohanna could feel her cheeks growing warmer. Compliments always embarrassed her. “Thank you—even though that’s not possible.”

  “Why not?” Bemused, Cecilia challenged her opinion, but amicably so.

  She’d felt like an ugly duckling most of her life. Her mother had branded her as such, lamenting that it would be difficult to find her a husband because of that. To have Cecilia compliment her this way was flattering—but it almost didn’t feel real.

  “Because nothing human is perfect, no matter how hard we might try.”

  “All right, I’ll amend my statement,” Cecilia said indulgently. “You’re as close to perfect as possible.” Cocking her head just a shade, the woman looked at her. “Happy?”

  Maybe that reflection in the mirror really was her.

  “Deliriously,” Yohanna responded.

  “Wear that,” Cecilia instructed, indicating the gown. “And you’ll knock ’em all dead,” she promised.

  Happy that she’d found something and relieved that she didn’t have to go on searching for the “right” thing to wear for the better part of the day, Yohanna started to go back to the change room. As she walked, she glanced at the price tag attached to the garment and stopped dead in her tracks.

  Surprised, Cecilia came closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

  She was still staring at the price tag, all but shell-shocked. “This dress costs around the same amount of money it would take to feed a third world nation for a week.”

  There was an extremely practical side to Cecilia. “You’re not paying for it, are you?” she asked, softness creeping into her voice despite the harsh nature of the question she’d just asked.

  “Mr. Spader gave me his credit card,” Yohanna confessed.

  “Then, charge away,” Cecilia urged with a laugh as she nudged her into the change room. “In your producer’s pretty green eyes, the money is being put to good use.”

  As she changed, Yohanna still thought it incredibly wasteful to be using that much money to purchase a simple gown.

  “But this money could feed so many kids,” she protested, exiting the change area.

  “And it will, eventually,” Cecilia assured her. “Spader is a very compassionate man. If someone calls him with a hard-luck story, Lukkas Spader is on the phone, calling one or more of his security team to find the caller, and then he delivers the money to them in person.”

  Cecilia was only repeating what Theresa had already told her about the man. Her friend had been impressed with the size of the producer’s heart in an industry that notoriously had no heart.

  “Now buy that gown and give that man something beautiful to look at,” Cecilia instructed.

  Yohanna smiled as she went up to the register.

  * * *

  Directed by Cecilia’s keen instincts, Yohanna found herself going to several other stores, notably Neiman Marcus, to buy accessories that she hadn’t realized she needed for the night ahead. New shoes. A tiny purse hardly big enough to house a lipstick and a house key. A wrap to throw on her shoulders in case the evening grew chilly. All these things, Cecilia had maintained, were necessary to complete the portrait of a woman who could easily fit into Lukkas’s world.

  After a while Yohanna had the feeling she was on an endless treadmill and that the shopping would never end.

  And then finally, finally—after nearly giving up hope—she was home.

  Home with only a few hours to get ready. Her nerves all but went into overdrive. Already worried that she’d somehow wind up putting her worst foot forward, Yohanna tried not to dwell on anything negative.

  The butterflies in her stomach were already threatening to hollow out her insides with their ever-increasing wingspan as they perpetually took off and landed.

  Being Yohanna, she
was ready long before she needed to be. That left her time to pace and to anticipate the worst. The more she did either, the more nervous she became even though she really hadn’t thought that was actually possible.

  Willing Lukkas to come early, she kept looking at her watch to see how much time had passed.

  The hands on her watch were moving so slowly, she felt certain that the minute hand had been dipped in honey.

  The inside of her mouth was dry again—something that had been going on all day—actually, ever since he’d asked her to accompany him.

  The moment she turned away from the window and began to head to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. She nearly jumped out of her skin, grateful that no one had been there to take in the sight.

  Taking a breath, she went to answer the door.

  Fully prepared to see Lukkas when she opened the door, she offered him a cheerful “Hi.”

  “Wow,” he heard himself say in response. When the door had opened to admit him, he’d fully expected to see the young woman he’d hired three weeks ago, and instead he was all but bowled over by the absolutely gorgeous woman standing in the doorway.

  “Hanna?” Lukkas asked hesitantly.

  He couldn’t be certain it was her.

  The woman standing right in front of him looked like Hanna and yet didn’t.

  “It’s me,” she assured him, opening the door wider for him to enter.

  Pleasure spiraled through her as she noted the way Lukkas was looking at her.

  “I take it by your initial comment that you like the gown.”

  “Like it?” he echoed. “I think I’m in love with it. You look nothing short of fantastic,” he told her with genuine feeling in his voice.

  She decided she might as well tell him now rather than later. After all, he was the one putting up money to fund the next project. She couldn’t just take more from him because she thought the gown was gorgeous.

  “It was awfully expensive,” she apologized. “I saved all the tags and, if I’m super careful, I can reattach them and take everything back to the store so that you can get your money refunded.”

  He caught himself wondering if she was for real and then decided she was. That in turn made her a rarity. And special in his eyes.

  “Number one, I don’t want my money back,” he told her. “If you don’t want to keep this gown after the premiere, I guess we can return it. Any money we get will be forwarded to the charity of your choosing. Although, personally, I vote to make it simple and just keep the gown. You never know when you might need to show up somewhere wearing something drop-dead gorgeous to win over the crowd.

  “Number two. The sight of you in that dress is well worth any investment into this evening that I’ve had to make. Now loosen up a little, smile and have fun. You’re walking into a movie theater, not walking your last mile to get a lethal injection,” he reminded her, then prodded a little further. “Why don’t you try smiling? In case you didn’t know—” and he was certain that being Hanna, she didn’t “—you’ve got a really terrific smile.”

  Without thinking she raised her hand and brushed her fingertips along her lips, as if that could somehow allow her to “see” herself the way he saw her.

  “I do?” she asked a little hesitantly. “My mother always said I put too much teeth into my smile. I guess it made me a little self-conscious.” Or a lot, she added silently.

  “They’re your teeth,” he told her kindly, and then reminded her, “You can put them anywhere you want to.”

  She laughed. “You make it sound as if they were false teeth I could just take out and leave lying around somewhere.”

  “I was hoping to coax a smile out of you with that.”

  “You don’t have to coax,” she told him warmly. “The only thing I want from you is to give me your word that you won’t leave me stranded at this premiere.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Why would I?” he asked, perplexed. “The whole purpose of taking you is so that you can run interference for me, be my shield against a possible wall of female humanity. If I wanted to wander off and leave you stranded, I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me to begin with.” Lukkas lowered his head a little so that he could gaze directly into her eyes. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” she echoed, sounding a little more heartened than she had a few minutes ago.

  “Then, Cinderella, your coach awaits,” he told her, putting out his elbow so that she could hook her arm through it.

  * * *

  They arrived at the movie theater—originally the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, Yohanna noted with a secret thrill—by stretch limousine. She found the ride exceedingly smooth, but then she was so focused on the evening ahead that she felt she wouldn’t have noticed if there’d been a raccoon in the limo with them—unless he’d gotten out of line.

  The driver was the first to exit the black, highly polished vehicle. He hurried around to the back and opened the door for her and for Lukkas.

  Yohanna got out first.

  The cries, calls from fans and photographers vying for their attention, formed almost a deafening wall of noise. She found it almost dizzying in its intensity.

  “Don’t worry,” Lukkas told her, whispering the words into her ear so that she was able to hear them. “You’ll get used to it after a while.”

  She didn’t see how.

  It was all very different on this side of the TV monitor. Whenever she caught a glimpse of a premiere on TV, it seemed moderately exciting and a tad boring.

  This...this was just completely overwhelming. Boring was the last adjective she would have applied to the event.

  When she suddenly felt Lukkas threading his arm through hers to lead her down the red carpet—the red carpet—instant relief flooded through her.

  He was still with her.

  Just as he’d promised.

  Chapter Ten

  It was, Yohanna thought the next moment, not unlike being in the center of an all but blinding light show.

  Along with the raised voices of reporters who were all vying to snare the majority of Lukkas’s attention, she heard the lower somewhat rhythmic sound of cameras going off, automatically snapping photographs while other cameras were videotaping their every move until the next stellar subject came into view.

  Her natural inclination was to pick up speed and get away from the noise, the reporters and the flashing lights of their cameras as quickly as possible.

  But she wasn’t here as herself; she was here in connection with Lukkas. This was his night, not hers, and she was well aware that whatever she did, good or bad, would ultimately reflect on him. That was just the way things were.

  So despite the fact that she found being photographed almost nonstop from every single possible angle more than a little unsettling, she reminded herself that this wasn’t about her. It was about Lukkas. She wasn’t Yohanna Andrzejewski; she was the production assistant who Lukkas Spader had brought with him to this important Hollywood premiere. As such, she had to convey the proper message as well as conduct herself accordingly. In no way was she to act as if she was his “date” beyond the fact that she was attending this premiere with him.

  A second later she realized that not only cameras but questions were being directed at her.

  “How long have you and Lukkas been dating?” a disembodied voice, a shade louder than the rest, asked.

  Here we go, Yohanna thought. She took a breath as inconspicuously as possible, then answered, “We’re not.” Yohanna flashed a smile in the general direction the question had come from. “I work for Mr. Spader. Bringing me with him to this premiere is just his generous way of thanking me for doing what he considered to be an excellent job.” She glanced toward Lukkas as she added, “I’m really excited to be here.”

  “How about it, Lukkas? Is what
she just said true? Or are you really just trying to put one over on the public?” the same loud voice asked.

  He had been the subject of endless speculation ever since his wife’s funeral. After almost three years he was prepared for these kinds of questions.

  “I wouldn’t dream of insulting the viewing public that way. The only fantasies I create can be seen right up there on the screen,” Lukkas replied genially.

  There were more questions, fired at them from any one of a number of people swarming around them. Lukkas politely dealt with several of them, and then, just as politely, begged off.

  “That’s all for now, guys. The movie’s about to start and I make it a point never to be late for my own productions,” he explained amicably. His hand on the small of Yohanna’s back, Lukkas gently ushered her along with him.

  Moving briskly beside him, Yohanna didn’t allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief until they were finally inside the theater.

  Turning to Lukkas, she confessed, “I had no idea that reporters were this intense.” Red carpet or not, going from the limousine to the inside of the theater was almost like being subjected to a baptism by fire.

  “Actually, I think they were taking it easier than they normally do,” he told her. “The reporters and paparazzi aren’t used to me attending premieres with anyone. Not in the past few years anyway,” he added, an unmistakable touch of sadness in his voice. He pushed it aside as he smiled at her, approval evident in his eyes. “By the way, you handled yourself very nicely.”

  He’d made the last sentence sound almost like an afterthought, but the fact that he’d said it at all made her feel as if she was successfully doing her job. She focused on that rather than the fact that his hand was still against the small of her back, ever so lightly guiding her through the lobby.

  Warm, delicious pinpricks of heat were darting through her.

  “Maybe I can add that to my résumé someday,” she responded whimsically. “‘Will shill on demand.’”