“How was your day?” I ask when there’s a break for us to talk, keeping my voice low.
“Long. Getting ready to start shooting, but Verity is also tweaking the London scene in the tube during The Blitz.”
“I’m licking my chops for that scene. It’s already fantastic. Can’t wait to see how she makes it even better.”
“If anyone can, it’s Verity. And how wasyourday?”
“Long.” I laugh. “Monk is as bad as you are.”
“I try to tell people, but they don’t believe me. He fools them with the smile.”
“Whereas you don’t bother with a smile?”
He flashes an exaggerated caricature of a grin, which looks so odd on him, I snort.
“Was that a snuckle?” he asks, taking a bite of his chicken.
I lean my shoulder into his, laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that. I was so nervous around you that night.”
“And now?” he asks, his voice husky, his eyes smoldering. “Do I still make you nervous?”
I don’t answer, just shake my head. Someone across the table asks him a question, and Takira pulls me into a debate about some love at first sight or arranged marriage reality show. Canon and I go our separate ways conversationally, both being drawn in different directions, but he anchors usby holding my hand under the table, and it’s so sweet it makes my heart ache.
He calls me his girlfriend.
He seeks me out in front of everyone.
He holds my hand.
I’m not starstruck by Canon anymore. That’s not where this surreal feeling comes from. You don’t really know a person when you’re starstruck. You’re awed by the idea of them and your idea of them is filtered through a public lens. What has me tripping is that Canon is so much more, so much better in private, when we’re alone. And he’s so guarded that most of the people at this table are still a little in awe of his talent and his reputation. Starstruck.
Me? I’ve kissed the star. I’ve felt its burn and held it close.
And when Canon squeezes my hand under the table, stealing a look that is private even at a dinner for a hundred people, I feel like, as improbable as it seems, this star belongs to me.
When they light the bonfire, everyone gathers around, singing songs and getting a little drunk.
“You wanna go for a walk?” Canon asks.
I nod, gripping his hand as he leads us away from the large circle of people rimming the fire.
“This brings back memories,” Canon says, taking off his shoes and holding them in the hand not holding mine.
I slip off my shoes and do the same. “You mean of New Year’s?”
“Yeah. That was such a great time.” He slides me a hot, teasing glance. “Though we barely left the house. We only walked on the beach once.”
“And got caught! Canon, is thatyou?” I imitate Sylvia Miller’s fake surprised tone.
“We can laugh about it now, but that shit pisses me off.” The smile fades from his face, and in the moonlight, his expression hardens. “Camille didn’t just come after me. She wanted to sabotage you. Not cool.”
I step closer and he slips an arm around my waist. For minutes, neither of us speaks. I don’t know if Canon is lost in the myriad things he musthave to do before we start shooting tomorrow, but I’m not. My mind is clear of everything but him and this moment with the stars as our chaperones. When he finally speaks, his words surprise me.
“Mama loved photographing at night, too.” He stares up at the sky. “She thought the darkness, the stars, were almost as beautiful as the sunset. You know what an aspect ratio is, I assume. The ratio of an image’s width to its height. Well, she used to look up at the sky and say aspect ratio infinity: immeasurable.”
“I wish I could have met her,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
“She would have loved you.”
