Page 105 of Burn the Script

“And I’ll pretend to be completely surprised. Might even shed a tear.” He brushes off my lapels. There’s no lint; he made sure of it five times before we left the house. “At every opportunity tonight, I’ll be smiling the biggest and clapping the loudest because I’m your number one fan. You did it, baby. You made a phenomenal movie. And everyone inside the theater will love it as much as I do.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his temple, then our heads meet in a huddle. “I’m so nervous, Miguel.”

“Me too.” A trilling giggle comes out of him, but it cuts off as the limo slows.

He leans forward to look out the tinted window, and his breath hitches. The number of people with cameras is shockingly high for a small premiere, but they’re not here for the movie. They’re here for us.

The atmosphere is electric and terrifying at once. As the limo comes to a stop, I gauge the distance from our current position to the theater doors. The red carpet looks a mile long, and for the first time in my career, it’s the last place I want to be.

Eyes blown wide, Miguel grabs my hand and weaves our fingers tightly together. “Graham, this is madness.”

Turning toward him, I speak in a rush. “Keep moving forward. If you get overwhelmed, focus on me or the entrance. Judge is waiting for us at the top of the steps.”

“Judge is here?”

The car door jerks open, and Marcus appears, his large body blocking us from view. A loud barrage of questions is already coming our way, but he’ll make certain nothing else can get to us.

“I’ve got him,” he says, referring to Miguel, and my relief is immediate.

We don’t see Marcus and Judge often. Their personal security business took off like a rocket after Tatum retired from music. Even if they hadn’t volunteered to be here tonight, I would’ve hired them. Miguel deserves nothing but the best, especially where his safety is concerned, and I trust these men with the most important person in my life.

Marcus’s usual, stern glower lands on Miguel and softens. “Ready, Miggy?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he says, chin raised high and shoulders drawn back like a soldier prepared for battle. Miguel’s courage is a beautiful, inspiring thing. It’s also a turn-on when he tugs my arm and gets bossy. “Don’t you dare let go of my hand.”

Smiling, I cup his cheek and brush my thumb over his dimple. “May you never forgive me if I do.”

THE END