25. Sparks

25

Sparks

Emma

When the doorbell rings, I’m nowhere near ready. Sure, I’ve done my makeup, and I’m dressed for the night, but emotionally, I’m not there yet. Although, come to think of it, I don’t think I ever will be. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and I approve of the dress. Definitely premiere-worthy with that deep slit and the way it hugs my body in all the right places. I tried walking around the apartment in it, and the slit isn’t too revealing. The fabric is smooth and comfortable, but it doesn’t help with the nervous adrenaline coursing through my veins. None of this is me—not the dress, not going out with a guy who makes my head spin, nor attending such a fancy event. But then I remember, it doesn’t have to be. Because this is all pretend.

Taking a deep breath, I give one last cuddle to Mr. Darcy, who seems to have adopted the reading nook as his new sleeping corner, before walking downstairs.

I knew tonight was going to be excruciating, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. Because Auston Buckley in a tuxedo is too much for my poor heart to handle.

“Hey,” he says, then takes a step back, trailing his eyes over me. “Wow. You look . . . wow.” His gaze is burning through my dress, heating my body until it reaches a boiling point.

I swallow hard. “Um, thanks. So do you.”

“I brought you this,” he says, offering a black rose corsage with a sly grin. “You know, since I wasn’t there to take you to prom.”

A surge of heat wells inside me, mingling with those annoying butterflies. Auston Buckley got me a corsage, and as much as I want to hate it, I don’t. Because it’s simple, elegant, and it goes perfectly with my dress. I never really cared about the fact that I missed prom. But right now, I really wish we’d had that m oment. I know we would have had a blast together.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “It’s gorgeous.”

He fastens it on my wrist, and we stay like that, gazing into each other’s eyes, for far too long. Thank goodness my friends are in France right now, or they’d be all over us, taking pictures and making this situation even more uncomfortable.

“Shall we?” he finally says, offering me his arm. I look at it with the intent of refusing. I’m perfectly capable of walking to the end of the street by myself. But my mind decides otherwise, and I place my arm in his. What can I say? It’s the Auston Buckley effect.

We get into the car, and he begins the drive to Manhattan. Part of me feels bad that he has to drive me around again. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have survived being driven by someone else and having Auston squeezed next to me in the back of the car. That look on his face when he first saw me in my dress? Way too real for my taste. Wait, what am I saying? He’s a professional actor. Making people believe his actions are genuine is literally his job. Focus, Emma.

We don’t talk much during the drive, aside from some small talk. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say or because he respects m y fear of being in a moving vehicle. Either way, I appreciate it.

The traffic intensifies, and the blinding spotlights coming into sight tell me we’re almost there.

“Are you okay?” Auston asks. “You did great last time on the red carpet.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod, even though nothing about me is remotely good. Sure, I did fine last time, but that was different. I wasn’t spontaneously combusting every time Auston touched me or glanced my way. I was in control.

He pulls up to the curb and asks me to wait for him to open the door for me. That also means he takes my hand to help me out of the car, and I almost trip when a weird zap of electricity jolts me as we touch. Here I thought that was just a device authors used to make us feel the connection between the characters. Well, I stand corrected. Those sparks are real. I felt them. And if I’m to believe the look in Auston’s eyes, so did he.

We stare at each other for a second, and everything seems to fade around us. There are no more lights, noise, or screaming fans. It’s just us—and those weird sparks that I can practically see flickering out of our hands.

“Right this way,” someone says, breaking the moment, and I both hate them and want to thank them for it.

Robyn and Cillian appear at our s ide, leading us to the red carpet while a tall guy gets into the driver’s seat. I want to ask how we’re going to get the vehicle back, but they probably have it under control. Unlike my emotions right now.

This red carpet is nothing like the one we did for the perfume launch. It’s a lot bigger, for one, and all the fans are here for Auston, screaming his name and waving at him. The overeager admirers are leaning over the barricade on the other side of the road, and Auston tells me to stay put as he saunters toward them, flanked by Cillian. He spends the next few minutes signing autographs and taking selfies with his loyal supporters.

“He always makes time for his fans,” Robyn says. “He’s a good man.”

“Right.” I nod, gritting my teeth. Really, Robyn? I didn’t need that nugget of information. It’s hard enough to resist him as it is. Ugh. Who am I kidding? I always knew he was a good person. I saw it in Porthaven, and in every interaction he’s had with the crew on set.

He hustles back toward us, and we step onto the red carpet. Auston poses for some shots by himself first. Immediately, the photographers shift from standing puppets to fully-animated movie characters, waving and yelling for him to look left or right. To smile. To wave. He does as he’s told, then he beckons me to join him.

His arm loops around my waist, bringing me close, and I do everything in my power to remain standing and smile for the cameras. Tugging on my dress to make sure it still covers most of my legs, I try to appear more confident than I feel. After a minute, we move to the right to stand on the next cue, and he turns to me.

“Hold on,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair to free my eyes. I didn’t even notice it was out of place. Satisfied, he secures his arm around my waist again, and we look straight at the photographers. Some of them are asking for a kiss, but thankfully, Auston doesn’t seem to hear them.

Just when I think we’re done with the photo ops, Auston’s co-star steps onto the red carpet, and he’s asked to take a few shots with her.

I step back, forcing a serene expression. I’ve never hated anyone so much in my entire life. She’s absolutely gorgeous, and Auston has his arm around her just like he did around me a few minutes ago.

Acting, Emma. That’s what you’re doing. What he’s doing. The proof is right there. Now, it’s time you believed it.