Page 311 of Rush

I laugh again—genuine. The tension between us has found a rhythm now, a quiet pull like a tide I could lean into or let pass.

And then something shifts in the air.

Subtle, but enough to pull my attention upward.

Front row. Three seats down. Elbows braced on his knees, head tipped just slightly, that steely gaze fixed on me like he’s been watching for a while.

Alex.

Heat climbs my neck, slow and unwelcome, and I can’t tell how long he’s been sitting there—how long he’s been looking at me like that. It was inevitable I’d run into him. I am in his court, after all. But I’m not as ready for it as I thought.

I straighten without thinking.

Julian follows my line of sight and lets out a quiet scoff. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” I say, too quickly. “It’s nothing.”

He studies me for a second, then leans back, easy and unbothered, draping an arm along the back of my seat.

Alex doesn’t look away.

Julian leans in again, closer this time, his lips brushing just behind my ear. “You let me know if it ever becomes something,” he murmurs. “I’m very good at undoing bad decisions.”

My breath catches, my heart knocking hard against my ribs.

He pulls away and stands up, sauntering back to his seat just as the house lights dim and the next presenter takes the stage.

But my pulse doesn’t settle.

I can still feel the ghost of Alex’s eyes on me, burning into the side of my face.

Before I can steady myself, a hand taps my shoulder.

A production assistant wearing a headset leans in. “You’re on in twenty minutes. We’ll take you backstage now.”

I stand, smoothing the skirt of my dress, nerves buzzing under my skin. The gray tulle rustles like wind with every step.

Backstage is darker. Applause reverberating from the other side of the curtain.

Mike Schneider—comedian and my presenting partner—is already there, drink in hand.

“Miss Montgomery,” he says, passing me a glass of champagne from the nearby table.

“Thanks.”

He wanders off to talk to a stagehand—leaving me alone with nothing but my messed-up thoughts.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, fingers brushing the chain at my neck.

This is Alex’s category. If he wins—be polite. Smile. Breathe.

I pace once, then again, heels quiet against the floor, smoothing my hands over my dress for what has to be the hundredth time.

He looked furious seeing me with Julian. It drags me right back to New Year’s Eve.

You’ve got this. You’re grown. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. You perform on stage all the time—this is no different.

My fingers find my necklace again, twisting it between them.