Page 69 of Claim to Fame

“Alright, good. I’ll see what I can line up for when you’re back in the City. We’ve gone almost a week without any new photos from Jackson’s camp, so after the premiere, the press should lose interest and you can come home.”

It should have been good news, but instead of feeling comforted by the idea that she’d soon be back in her little New York apartment, she felt like Micah had released a swarm of bees in her chest.

“We’ll re-evaluate after the premiere,” Micah continued. “This will be good, Hannah, you’ll see. I have to go meet a client, but hang in there. I’ll see you Friday.”

The line went dead and Hannah set the phone on the step beside her, clasping her hands between her knees.Garlic knots, turtle pie, mozzarella sticks, mozzarella sticks, mozzarella sticks.She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing the way they’d taught her in therapy, focused on feeling the unsettled buzzing beneath her skin, on naming the sensations as they moved through her.

“Hey, what’re you doing out here?”

Hannah looked up as Ethan sat down on the step beside her, his bare feet in the early spring grass.

“Just checking in with my manager,” she said.

“Everything alright?”

“Great.”

He eyed her curiously but didn’t push.Onion rings, mozzarella sticks, maybe some chicken tenders with extra honey mustard...

“I told him we’ll drive down Friday morning,” she said, talking so she could drown out the litany of fried foods running through her head. “Micah arranged an early check-in and a car will meet us at the hotel to take us to the premiere when it’s time.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About the premiere? Not really. A little. Like the smallest amount possible. I’ve never been on a red carpet before.”

Ethan brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll be great.”

“I might trip and fall. Or say something ridiculous to the press.”

“You might,” he agreed, “but you might not. And either way, I’ll be there.”

The buzzing beneath her skin calmed to a low hum, the relentless recitation of fried foods quieting, like someone had turned down the volume. She ran her thumb over the crinkles at the corner of Ethan’s eye when he smiled at her. “Thank you. I know how protective you are of your privacy.”

“It’s not about privacy, at least not for privacy’s sake,” he said, catching her forearm and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I protect the people I care about. Sometimes that means keeping things to myself. Sometimes it means putting on a suit and holding your bag while you smile for the cameras.”

“You’ll hold my bag?” she asked, unable to control her smile. He’d included her amongst the list of people he cared about.

“Your bag, your shoes, your dress—”

She laughed. “My dress will be staying on at the premiere.”

“After, then.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. She wanted to melt into it, to melt into him, to focus on nothing but the movement of his mouth over hers, but her thoughts were still racing with the thousands of ways this premiere could go wrong. He moved down to her throat, nuzzling against the curve of her jaw, his beard rough on her skin. “You’re distracted,” he said, his lips skating down her neck.

“I may be more nervous than I want to admit,” she said.

He chuckled. “You don’t say.” He sat back, taking her hand in his and squeezing. “What exactly are you nervous about, aside from the very slim possibility that you might trip on the red carpet?”

“All those cameras.” She closed her eyes, seeing the bright bursts of the flashes behind her eyelids. “All those people looking at me.”

His brows knit together. “Hundreds of people watched you every night on stage when the show was on Broadway.”

“True, but they weren’t looking atme. They were looking at Bridget. If the dress didn’t fit right, it was becauseBridgetwas wearing the wrong thing, not me. They didn’t care about me at all as long as I sang well enough and made them laugh.”

He nodded, understanding. “And now they’re looking at you instead of the character.”

“So far, when the press has looked at me as just me, they haven’t liked what they’ve seen.” A low noise rumbled in his chest, like the warning thrum of an angered predator. “Though, even then, they weren’t really looking at me. They were looking at Jackson Hayes’ alleged girlfriend.” She winced, groaned. “And if it wasn’t bad enough that they compared me to photos of the models he was caught with, now they’ll be comparing us in person.”

Ethan slid his hands into her hair, cupping her face and tilting it up to him, his gaze hard and hot on her skin. “There is no comparison.”

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