Page 19 of A Spy is Born

The theater darkens, and the screen lights. A tribute to Jack begins to play. My skin grows clammy, and my fingers fidget in the folds of my skirt. Julian leans over, bringing his lips close to my ear. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yes, of course."

Julian reaches down and winds his fingers through mine, stilling them. I let him, let him believe it's just normal grief, not guilt or repressed memory that makes me shake.I have to believe it too.

As Jack's accomplishments flash across the screen—clips and snippets from his long filmography—I take in measured breaths, pushing one thought through my mind.

It was just a dream—a nightmare. It never happened.

By the time the movie starts, I've convinced myself again that none of it was real. Now I’m ready to enjoy the movie I spent most of the last year making.My first major role. The film that will make me a star.

The after party is loud,and the drink in my hand is cold. I sip the strong vodka and smile at Julian, who’s leaning over me so we can hear each other above the noise. His hair falls across his forehead, and his dark blue eyes sparkle.

Mary, a ways behind him, is involved in another conversation but gives me a small knowing smile.She approves.

My heart beats faster as I think about her sending me off to Jack's that night. Did she know what was going to happen? Could she have guessed? Julian leans closer, his lips brushing my cheek. “Want to get out of here?"

"Let's stay a little longer." I turn my own mouth to his ear. "I've only had one drink."

"Yes, I know.” His hand cuffs my elbow loosely. "I don't want you to drink anymore."

He leans back to catch my eye.He wants me sober.A thrill runs over my body, and a shy smile pulls at my lips. It’s coy, and I note it—this is a good smile, authentic and subtle. Perfect for a close-up. I take a mental snapshot of this moment to use for later.

Maybe Julian Stiles—heartthrob, drop-dead gorgeous, pretty damn good actor—is also a pretty darn good man.

"Okay," I say. He grins, those dimples of his setting loose a flock of butterflies in my stomach.

Julian’s hand moves down my elbow, and he intertwines his fingers with mine. He pulls me forward, and I put the still mostly-full martini glass down on a passing waiter’s tray. "I have my car,” Julian says as we move through the crowd.

Mary watches us go, giving me that smile again. It almost makes me stop. The fact that she wants me dating Julian is annoying.I may need to fire her. Should I ask her if she knew about Jack?

Knew what?That was just a nightmare.

I squeeze Julian’s hand. Because he's here, now, and this is not dream. This is reality. I just left the screening of my first big movie.

As we step outside, the world explodes with flashes of cameras. I almost stumble, but Julian is holding me tight. He smiles for the cameras. People are yelling questions, but Julian doesn't answer.He’s used to this.

We move through the crowd, and Julian speaks with the valet, handing him the ticket.

Julian leans in. "You'll get used to it, love,” he says.

That smile comes back, the genuine one. I look up at him in the strobing lights of the paparazzi’s flashes. They are capturing this moment—seeing the reality that I like him. It's authentic.It can help sell tickets.

His car pulls up, a black Bentley with tan leather interior, classy and super expensive. Julian opens the front passenger door for me. I get in, arranging my skirt so he can close the door.

Julian climbs in behind the wheel and pulls into traffic, using his turn signal.A good driver.

"Want to come back to my house?" he asks.

"Where do you live?"

“I’ve rented a place out in Malibu.” That’s a long drive, plenty of time for me to fully sober up. "Don't worry." He looks over at me, his famous sparkling blue eyes sincere. "I don’t expect anything from you—just looking for a quiet place to talk. So we can get to know each other better. Somehow, that seems easier now that we’re not both absorbed with making the movie." A short laugh escapes, and he cocks his head before turning his eyes to the road. "What?" he asks.

"Sorry, it's just—you’re acting like such a gentleman."

He shifts as we get onto the highway, turning to me and flashing a smile. "Don't all men treat you like a lady?"

I just shake my head, looking down at my hands nestled in the black folds of my skirt. "Not exactly."

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