Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,77
easier for me. Dominic and I are still forced to sneak around like teenagers. The world may love and adore me, but Dominic insists they aren’t ready to accept him. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just wish he didn’t, either.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. By the time the car stops, my hand is on my stomach, and my lunch is threatening to come up.
Ever the professional, Noah plasters on a brilliant smile while exiting the limo then turns and offers his hand. “You ready to do this thing, Romanov?”
I blow out a shaky breath and take his hand. “Not in the least.”
The red carpet is everything like it seems on TV, only a hundred times worse. Noah is right, the carpet is boobytrapped with snags and rolls that catch my heels more than once. Thankfully, I have a tight grip on his arm, or I’d have long been paparazzi roadkill.
Every stop, every camera flash, every call of my name, I search for the man who’s become my island in this storm. I don’t care if he won’t acknowledge me. I don’t care if he’s here under the guise of a BTN reporter. I just need to see him.
But there’s nothing. No wild, dark hair. No thick stubble. No tattoos. No smirk.
My eyes sting with the threat of tears, and that’s when they start.
The voices.
“Stop crying! Tears are a tool not a weakness.”
The static.
“My name? It’s…it’s… Angel.”
The zigzag lines and unbearable scratching.
“Where are we going?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.”
“Alexandra?” Like a windshield wiper scraping across my muddled mind, Noah’s voice drags me back to the flashing cameras and incessant shouts. Blinking, I look up at him to find his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I run a hand down my gown. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
“Well maybe this will help.” Taking hold of my shoulders, he turns me forty-five degrees to where a pair of pale blue eyes ensnares me, dragging me under while lifting me up.
The breath I let out sounds like a prayer and feels like a punch. He doesn’t smile, but I don’t need him to. My Dominic doesn’t smile, he commands.
All too soon, we’re ushered into the venue, and I lose sight of him. But the calm I feel doesn’t waver. He won’t leave. Somewhere within these walls, he’s watching.
And that occupies all the space in my head, keeping everything else out.
The movie is a hit. Noah’s performance was flawless, and there’s talk of a possible Oscar nomination. After the credits roll, he’s immediately steamrolled by anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood.
Which makes it easy to slip away.
My skin feels like it’s burning from the inside out. I can’t explain it, and I’m not sure I even want to. It’s like the worst caffeine buzz mixed with a dangerously high fever.
After applying more lipstick, I fluff my hair and exit the ladies’ room, determined to finish out the night without having a complete breakdown.
Three steps later, I slam into a hard chest.
“Alexandra, a word please.”
A thick sense of foreboding hangs in the air, and when I look up into familiar eyes, it crashes around me. “I was just on my way back—”
Rosten’s fingers close around my arm, hushed words escaping between clenched teeth. “This is a disconcerting matter that requires privacy.”
“O-okay,” I stutter as he drags me away from the crowd and down the hallway. I wait for him to stop, to plant me on my feet and start hissing one of his usual rants, but he doesn’t. He quickens his pace toward a set of double doors. “Wait,” I argue, trying unsuccessfully to dig my heels into the carpet. “Where are we going?”
“To my car.”
“I came with Noah.”
Keeping his eyes forward, he pushes the door open and steps outside, dragging me along with him. “Noah is aware I’m taking you home.”
A black stretch limo waits by the curb. Rosten barely gives me time to lift my gown before he all but pushes me inside.
Following closely behind, he shuts the door. “Drive,” he instructs, pressing a button. My heart lodges in my throat as I watch a dark partition rise, blocking the back of the limo from the front.
This is bad.
Clearing my throat, I shift away from him. “What did you need to speak with me about?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Instead, he takes his time pouring himself a glass of scotch. Returning the bottle to the bar, he indulges in a slow drink.