Chapter 29

CHAPTER29

SCARLETT

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I run my hands down the front of the sleek white Louis Vuitton dress, staring at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. This is the first time I’ve ever worn something designed by them before, and the dress fits so perfectly you’d think they’d made it just for me.

The moment Tate and I returned to the house after our busy—and fun—afternoon at the beach, I jumped right into the shower and then went over my outfit options for tonight’s movie premiere, finally FaceTiming my mother to get her opinion.

Gloria Lancaster has the best style of anyone I know. I trust her taste completely, and when she audibly gasped upon seeing me in the white dress, I knew that was the one I had to wear tonight.

“The photographs of you in that dress will be everywhere tomorrow,” she gushed like she always does. “You’re stunning, Scarlett. Absolutely stunning.”

She also asked me how it was going, and I gave her a vague reply, which she accepted. I’m sure she thinks we’re having filthy sex in every room of this house, the two of us alone all night long together. Which is the furthest thing from the truth.

Unfortunately.

I’m curious about sex—specifically sex with Tate—but I’m also nervous. And while I’m not 100 percent ready to do the actual deed yet, I am definitely interested in doing some . . . things.

Hookup-type things, like the ones he described when he was questioning me that night at the restaurant. Before everything took a drastic and somber turn.

I didn’t tell my mother about that night, and she’s never brought it up either, so I assume she didn’t see the video of the woman chasing after us through the restaurant, saying horrible stuff. The video didn’t go viral like I’m sure that woman wanted. In the end, she’s the one who looked terrible, not us.

I take a step closer to the full-length mirror, angling my face first left, then right, checking out my makeup. I didn’t do too bad of a job. Even got my vaguely winged black eyeliner on perfectly the first time around, which is pretty amazing. I grab a lip gloss from the little desk in my bedroom and uncap it before carefully applying the shiny pink shade to my lips, filling them in completely. Rubbing them together, I take a step back and examine myself in the mirror from head to toe.

My wavy hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. The dress fits to perfection, with little cutouts at the waist.

Well, more like big cutouts. And the top of the dress fits so tightly I decided to forgo a bra completely, but the fabric isn’t thick enough to completely hide my nipples.

I can see them.

Oops.

There’s a knock on my door, and I reply, “Come in.”

The door swings open, and there’s Tate, taking my breath away completely in a stark black two-piece suit accompanied by a dark-pink button-down shirt, the first couple of buttons undone at the neck, exposing some of his chest. There’s a thin silver chain around his neck, scruff on his face, and now he’s the one who’s golden from the sun, thanks to our afternoon by the ocean.

Our gazes meet in the mirror, and I see the approval shining in his eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

I turn to face him, letting him get the full effect of the dress. “So do you.”

“Black and white.” He enters the room, slowly walking toward me. “Opposites attract, maybe?”

“Good cop, bad cop,” I correct. “Though I don’t think I’ve seen the bad cop wear pink before.”

“I’m starting a new trend.” He glances down at his shirt before meeting my gaze once more. “Is the pink too much?”

“No, I love it.” I smile when he stops directly in front of me, towering over me despite the silver stiletto Louboutins on my feet. Simon went all out with the clothes and accessories he had sent over for us. “Is it Gucci?”

“Prada. Harry has got the Gucci market cornered.” Tate slips his hands into his pockets, his gaze lazily roaming over me from head to toe. “Damn, Scar. I don’t know if I want to take you out tonight.”

I’m immediately frowning. “Why not?”

“I don’t want anyone to know what a snack I’ve been keeping.” He laughs when I scowl at him. “What, you don’t like being referred to as a snack?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.” I’m trying to look like it offends me, but I give up and let the smile free.

I don’t mind being called a snack at all.

He crowds me, staring at himself in the mirror, and I turn so I’m standing right next to him, contemplating the both of us. He slips his arm around my waist, his hand resting loosely on my hip, fingers brushing the cutout in my dress just above my hip bone. “I like the holes.”

“It’s called a cutout,” I correct him.

“Whatever. I like them. You’re utterly elegant, and also a little naughty.” He smiles at me in the mirror, tilting his head toward mine. “What do you think?”

It’s been such a whirlwind of planning and meetings since the moment I whispered the word deal to Tate on the sidewalk. I’ve barely had a moment to really focus on me and him. On us.

As a couple.

“I think we look good together,” Tate continues when I still haven’t said anything. “I think the paparazzi are going to lose their damn minds when they see you tonight.”

“When the ladies see you in the pink, they’re all going to scream,” I tease him.

His face falls ever so slightly. “Tell me the truth. You hate the pink.”

I turn so I’m actually facing him, not staring at our reflection in the mirror. “I don’t hate it. I love it.” I touch his chest, let my fingers drift down the front of his shirt, savoring the heat of him beneath the soft fabric. “It looks really good on you.”

He settles both of his hands on my hips, his expression turning serious. “This is a big night tonight.”

I blink up at him, remaining quiet.

“We’ve been sort of playing at this couple thing, but this is our first official appearance. They’ll photograph us on the red carpet, take a bazillion photos, and probably ask us a ton of invasive questions. You’ll be tempted to answer.”

I part my lips, ready to speak, but he keeps talking.

“You can’t answer them. You just smile and nod and wave, and we keep walking the red carpet. I’ll do the same. The minute you give them any information, they’ll take it and twist it to fit their agenda.”

“No one has an agenda when it comes to me,” I reassure him, but he’s already shaking his head.

“They all have an agenda, and right now, it involves you and me and ‘How long will those two crazy kids last?’ That’s what they’re focusing on. I’m sure there are plenty of publicity people out there who don’t believe we’re even in an actual relationship.”

Oh. I never thought about that. And they would be correct.

“So I’m warning you—I’m going to be all over you tonight. Be prepared.” He leans in and presses his lips to my temple, breathing deep. “I’m going to kiss you and hold you all damn night. I’m going to make it look like I can’t get enough of you. As if I’m obsessed with you.”

Every part of my body is tingling in anticipation at his words.

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“Do you have a problem with that?” His hands shift to my shoulders, holding me away from him at arm’s length, his head bent, his gaze at my level.

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“Perfect. I’ll need you all over me too then.”

My mouth goes dry. We’ve been building up to this. I knew it would happen eventually. I can do this.

I know I can.

“That won’t be a problem,” I reassure him.

His smile is faint and even full of pride. “I knew you could. Roger and Simon will both be watching. They’ll have expectations, and we need to meet them.”

“You won’t buckle under the pressure?” I ask, suddenly concerned. It was his use of the word expectations that did it.

“I won’t. I swear.” He drops his hands from my arms and slowly backs away from me. “Are you ready to go? Simon sent a private town car for us to use.”

“I’m ready,” I say with a little nod.

Once I find the tiny white bag that accompanied my dress, we climb into the car and are on our way to the movie premiere. Traffic is relatively light—a rarity in Southern California—and by the time we arrive in front of the theater where the premiere is happening, I’m a nervous wreck.

“Do I look okay?” I ask as we wait in line behind the many other black cars and SUVs dropping people off for the event.

Tate glances over at me, his gaze downright smoldering. “Good enough to eat, Scar.”

I take that as a compliment, but I’m still nervous, tucking my hair behind my ears, my hands fluttery with nerves. By the time it’s our turn to get out, our driver about to open the door, Tate murmurs, “You do realize you’re getting out first.”

And I’m so incredibly grateful the dress isn’t short. “And you’re following right after me, right?”

“Absolutely.” The door swings open, and Tate gives me an encouraging smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be directly behind you.”

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I climb out of the car, my hand clutching one side of my skirt. I rise to my full height, startled by the many people screaming my name.

“Scarlett!”

The bulbs flash what feels like hundreds of times. All these giant cameras aimed right at me, taking photos of me standing there frozen next to the car.

Tate miraculously appears beside me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and tugging me in close to him. “Smile,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

I jerk my gaze toward him, noting how at ease he seems, his smile in place, his gaze scanning the crowd. “How can you see anyone?”

“I can’t. Just smile for the camera.” He faces me, leaning in and kissing me before I can even paste on a fake smile.

The crowd goes wild, most of them chanting for Tate now. They want his attention—our attention—and act like they will do whatever it takes to get it.

“Come on,” Tate murmurs as he withdraws from me slightly, taking my hand and leading me down the red carpet. Past the barricade that contains the photo corps, ignoring their shouts and questions.

“Tate! Tate! Look over here, Tate! Scarlett!”

“Tate, is it true you’re going on tour next spring?”

“Tate, how’s the album coming?”

“Are you two engaged yet, Scarlett?”

“How’s Tate in bed?”

“Word on the street you’re reuniting with your Five Car Pileup bandmates!”

Tate stops at that question, frowning at the guy who asked it. “Where did you hear that?”

The man shrugs. “Saw it somewhere on the internet. Reddit?”

Tate groans and keeps walking, my hand still firmly in his. “Reddit,” I can hear him muttering. “You can’t trust that site.”

All I can do is smile and look pretty, feeling like a doll. A blind doll who can see nothing thanks to the constant shutter of the flashes.

We enter the building and are greeted by publicity people who are wearing headsets, and they murmur our names into the tiny speakers, not even having to ask who we are.

Weird.

Once we’re checked in, we stand in front of a promo screen for the movie and take a few photos together, Tate’s hand always resting on my waist, his fingers brushing against my exposed skin thanks to the cutouts. A shiver steals through me every time, and I know he knows. I can tell by the way he smiles.

The way he looks at me.

Once the last of the photos are taken, we go to the concession stand, where all the items are free for the night. I order a bucket of popcorn and a Coke in the largest size they have.

I was too nervous to eat when we were getting ready, and now I’m starving.

“You going to share that with me, or should I order my own?”

Turning to my right, I find Tate smiling at me, standing in front of the counter as the concession employee gazes at him with wide-eyed wonder.

I’m probably her age. She might even wish she were me, just for the opportunity to be with Tate tonight.

“I’ll share,” I tell him teasingly. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you got some M&M’s.”

“You heard my date,” Tate tells the employee, flashing her that devastating smile. The poor girl. I can barely withstand it myself.

“Are you really going to eat greasy, buttery popcorn in that gorgeous white dress?” the publicity woman asks me, her tone snide.

I glance over at her, frowning. She looks to be in her midtwenties, maybe even late twenties, with a pinched expression and overly bleached blond hair. She’s clearly not impressed with me.

Well, that’s just great. I’m not impressed with her either.

“I am.” I take the bucket from the concession worker and lift it toward the publicity woman in a sort of cheers gesture. “This is my dinner.”

“Better make sure you take some napkins,” the woman says as I grab my giant cup.

“What, are you her mother?” Tate slides his arm around my waist and guides me away from the concession counter. “What the hell was her problem?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s tired of dealing with celebrities.” I carefully nudge my elbow into his waist. “Did you get the candy?”

He holds up the familiar brown box. “Sure did. You going to share that drink with me?”

“And the popcorn,” I reassure him.

“You’re so generous,” he says as we enter the darkened theater and follow a gentleman who takes us to our seats. Once we’re settled in, Tate leans over and whispers in my ear, “Think you’ll let me make out with you back here?”

We’re in one of the farthest-back rows. And who’s going to be watching us? They’ll all be focused on the movie.

“If you’re lucky.” I toss some popcorn into my mouth.

He rubs his hands together, then reaches over and grabs the soda from where I left it in the cup holder between us. “Pretty sure I’m going to get lucky tonight.”

Maybe even in more ways than one.