Page 182 of On Guard
“They’re losing their minds for you,” he murmurs against my neck. “But who could blame them? You’re starlight in human form.”
“Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real,” I whisper back.
“Of course it’s real. You’re the most real thing I know,” he admits, and there’s something unguarded in his smile that makes my chest ache with tenderness.
We reach the reporters. Questions come at me fast.
“Reese, who are you wearing tonight?”
“Reese, what’s your fitness routine?”
“Reese, how do you balance love and work these days?”
Before I can answer, Dante interrupts, his tone conversational but firm. “Maybe ask her about the stunt sequence she performed herself. Or her executive producer credit. Or the film Fighter Films is producing next summer.”
The reporters blink, recalibrating.
I smile sweetly. “What he said. Also, Haider Ackermann, I eat whatever I want, and I don’t ‘balance’ anything—I excel in every aspect of my life.”
Dante’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “She’s being modest,” he tells the reporter. “She excels because she’s extraordinary.”
“Stop,” I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You’ll ruin my reputation as a hard-ass.”
“Never,” he promises, and that single word carries years within it—fights and reconciliations, late-night script readings and early morning coffees.
We move through interviews. At the step and repeat, Dante suddenly shuffles back.
“All yours, fighter,” he announces, kneeling dramatically. He gestures to the empty space before me. “The world awaits.”
I laugh at his display. The photographers capture his devotion and my surprised delight. “You’re insane,” I whisper, loving him for it.
The crowd cheers as I pose in my suit. His devoted gaze is on me the whole time.
“Insane for you,” he smiles back.
As we enter the theater, his fingers lace through mine. He stops walking suddenly and pulls me into a small alcove just before the entrance.
His forehead rests against mine for one euphoric moment before we rejoin the world, our private universe temporarilyclosed. But it’s there, always there, a sanctuary we’ve built heartbeat by heartbeat.
“I love you, Reese Sinclair,” he whispers.
“I love you.”
When the lights dim and the film begins, his hand will find mine in the dark. And that will feel better than all the applause in the world.
