It was in this moment that I realized something: while all of this was terrifying and new to me, it was as normal to him as his morning run. As his two dozen cups of afternoon coffee. (of course I’m exaggerating about his coffee, but it was a lot!)
This whole time, the last two years, we’d been living in two completely different worlds.
Me—safe on my side of the camera lens.
Him—trapped on the other.
There was a shifting beside me, and I felt the tickle of warm breath as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “It’s okay...I’ve got you.”
A second later, the ground beneath me disappeared.
I stifled a shriek as a pair of warm arms circled around me, lifting me off my feet as if I weighed nothing more than a doll. A cloud of familiar cologne misted over me, and I turned my head instinctively into Nick’s chest as he carried me effortlessly down the stairs—no doubt flashing his perfect smile the whole time.
I measured the time in terms of his heart beats—steady, despite the madness closing in on every side. One second...two seconds...three...
Every silent marker was punctuated with a million screaming cries, firing at us from every direction.
“NICK—who’s the new girl?!”
“NICK—what happened to Ella?!”
“NICK—will you sign my baby’s face?!”
...a baby’s face?!
Was that one normal? Had I always just tuned that one out before?
I cringed farther into him, and his chest shook slightly, as if he was trying not to laugh. I supposed, from a client’s perspective, this had to be the ultimate revenge.
Finally, the publicist learned how it felt on the wrong side of the camera. Finally, the publicist knew how hard it was to do what they asked their clients to do on a daily basis.
Just a few more steps to the car, just a few more steps to the car...
I chanted it over and over in my mind. But Nick had rather different plans.
When we got to the bottom of the stairs, there was a slight hitch in his breathing. He lifted me higher still, so that he could whisper again in my ear.
“Little detour...do you trust me?”
“What?” I lifted my head, but was blinded again by the lights. “Nick—no!”
I might as well have saved my breath. With a grand flourish worthy of princes of old, Nick lifted his head to address the crowd, cradling me delicately all the while.
“This is Abigail Wilder.”
His hands tightened protectively around me, and my breath caught in my chest. There was something strange about hearing him say my name. He’d said it a million times, of course, but for some reason, it never sounded like how it did today.
It was...possessive, somehow. Said not as a call for attention...but as a caress.
“What happened to Ella?” a brave reporter near the front ventured.
Nick’s body tensed for a moment, and his voice was sharp.
“We don’t say that name, anymore.”
Then, as quickly as it had flared up, his temper cooled. Softened. Giving way to something both gentle, but exciting all at the same time.
“Abigail used to be my publicist. But when we were on holiday in Spain, the relationship blossomed into...other things.”