I held Damon’s hand, wearing a hastily thrown-together outfit of a black shift dress and heels. Damon wore jeans and a T-shirt with a casual navy jacket. Despite the lack of effort, he looked incredible. Or maybe I just thought that because I was so completely infatuated.
Every time he looked at me, every time we touched, no matter how casual, it had my heart doing somersaults and my stomach fluttering with happiness.
Stepping out of the cab, we were immediately met with the blinding flashes of cameras. I’d been so lost in a sea of Damon that I completely forgot about all the press who were covering our opening night. My stomach tensed when Damon’s hand tightened around mine. I knew he didn’t like this sort of attention and I didn’t want him to become angry or upset.
Glancing up, I saw his jaw firm as he stiffly surveyed the wall of paparazzi that surrounded us. His eyes came to mine and I widened my gaze at him before mouthing, just smile. I could see from his expression that he remembered our conversation from weeks ago, when I’d told him that if he simply embraced the attention it wouldn’t bother him so much. Besides, being photographed on a daily basis was part and parcel of the business.
It was as we silently communicated that his tension subsided. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw loosened, and he no longer held my hand in a death grip. His mouth moved and my heart leapt when I saw his lips slowly curving into a smile. The photographers called his name, asking how he’d enjoyed his opening night, who I was, whether or not he’d return to film after the show’s run ended. All manner of questions. Damon didn’t answer a single one.
But he smiled.
He embraced the situation instead of hiding, and that was how I knew he’d be okay. He might never love this side of the job, but he’d get through it, and that was all that mattered.
“Look at you, freshly fucked and ready to party,” Julian whispered teasingly in my ear as soon as we entered the bar. Damon had gone to get us drinks.
“Shut your face,” I said, biting back a smile. Trust Julian to be the first one to notice the signs of recent shagging.
“Oh, my God, I’m right, aren’t I? I have to say, Rose, sex looks good on you. You’re practically glowing.”
I blushed profusely and elbowed him in the side. “I said, shut up.”
Julian laughed as he lifted his glass of orange juice to take a sip, the move full of masculine elegance. “You know the more embarrassed you get, the more I’ll just keep going. You need to own it. I’m glad you and the dashing Mr Atwood finally managed to reconnect. It was becoming downright depressing seeing you wallow around the flat like Bridget Jones after she broke up with Darcy.”
“First of all, stop referring to him as ‘the dashing Mr Atwood.’ You make him sound like he should be in a Jane Austen novel, and secondly, I haven’t been the only one wallowing.” I eyed him pointedly, but he waved away the comment.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m over the whole Alicia thing. We’re friends now. It’s all good.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“You mean since the night you eavesdropped on our little tête-à-tête?” said Julian nonchalantly. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “Don’t even bother trying to deny it. The fourth floorboard from your bedroom door has a creak in it. I knew you were listening.”
I frowned, realising he was right. I kept forgetting about that bloody creaky floorboard. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”
“Of course not. I would’ve done the same thing. And besides, I’m eagerly awaiting the night you and Damon decide to do the dirty at our place. I’ll have a glass up against the wall for that show, you mark my words,” he quipped, and I slapped his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare.”
“You know I’m joking. Listening to you have sex would be like listening to my own sister, and even I’m not depraved enough to give incest a go.”
I laughed loudly just as Damon returned with our drinks, his warm fingers skimming mine as he handed me the glass. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and pulled me close before pressing a kiss to my temple. The show of affection had Julian doting like a drunk aunt at a wedding reception.