“You better dry them tears,” Takira says, fanning her own wet eyes. “After all the time I spent getting that makeup just right.”
I choke out a laugh and stand, turning to pull her into a hug.
“You got nothing to be nervous about,” she whispers, patting my back. “You’ve done all the hard work, Neevah. Now let the world shower you with the praise you deserve.”
“Kira.” I tighten my arms around her. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Thank you for bringing me along. I’ve gotten to see my work onscreen in one of the biggest movies of the decade. Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” I agree, smiling and landing a kiss on her cheek.
“Now let’s get you into this dress.”
The cast got rooms in the hotel where the press junket took place today. It’s close to the theater and most of us just stayed here to get dressed for the premiere. Takira walks over to the rack of dresses several designers sent for our consideration and pulls off the one we chose.
“Boy, Canon’s tongue gon’ fall right outta his mouth when he sees you wearing this.”
The white, one-shouldered Elie Saab gown contrasts starkly with the gleaming brown of my skin. It molds to every curve faithfully—cupping my breasts, cinching my waist, clinging to my hips, thighs, and ass. It flares at the knees, belling to my ankles. Borrowed Harry Winston diamonds glitter at my ears, neck, and wrists. Takira even pinned a few in my hair.
“How do I look?” I turn in a little circle, a smile already splitting my cheeks.
“Like a woman who has the world at her feet.” Takira clasps her hands together under her chin. “Damn, I’m good.”
I swat her arm and laugh. “Get outtta here and go get your own self red carpet–ready. Is Naz coming?”
“Yes.” She flashes that smile that seems reserved specifically for the NBA baller who swept her off her feet. “So glad he didn’t have a game tonight. I’ll see you at the theater.”
Takira packs her makeup and styling tools, admonishing me the whole time to be careful not to ruin the perfect image she pulled together tonight.
“Your man ready?” she asks, hefting the bag over her shoulder.
“He’s mighty quiet in there.” I tip my head toward the corridor that leads to the bedroom we’ve shared in this suite. “I better go check on him. You know this is his least favorite part of the business.”
“Good idea.” She inspects me from top to bottom one last time and puts a staying hand on my arm, waiting until I meet her sober eyes.“Everybody gonna see you shine on that screen and on that red carpet tonight, Neeve. What makes you glorious isn’t even what you do on that screen, but what it took for you togetthere. You’re a survivor and I’m so proud of you.”
“You must really not care about this makeup.” I hiccup and fan at my watery eyes. “Saying stuff like that.”
“Suck it up and keep it dry.” Takira laughs, blows me an air kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Once she’s gone, I turn to face the mirror. My breath catches, and even though I watched Takira building this elegant vision piece by piece, seeing the luminous whole startles me. The woman is a vision swathed in glamor. Delicate and glowing from the crown of her head to the soles of her very expensive shoes. For a moment, I don’t recognize myself in the reflection, but then I study closer. It’s in the eyes that I find myself. There is the world-worn weariness of a fighter, the resolve of someone who has lived through some shit. If I were to lift this gown, you’d see the scar from my kidney transplant. You’d see a few blemishes from particularly stubborn rashes and lesions. You’d see the marks of battle.
My stomach, which has felt a little floaty and nervous all day, settles. My heartbeat steadies. After all I’ve made it through, what is the red carpet? What is the scrutiny of a thousand eyes tonight? I have dragged myself back from death’s door. Who cares if people speculate that I’m here because I’m dating Canon? Nothing critics can say will diminish me.
“Shit.”
The softly uttered expletive draws my eyes up to meet Canon’s in the mirror. He stands in the doorway, devouring me at a glance. His gaze roams with hunger and tenderness over every dip and curve and flash of skin.
I send a seductive grin over my shoulder, hoping to lure him to me. In a few long-legged strides he eliminates the distance between us, coming to stand so close I feel enveloped by the warmth of him. I turn in his arms, and he slides one hand to the base of my spine, fingers splaying over the curve of my ass.
“Are you sure we have to go to this thing?” He bends to drop soft kisses along the slope of sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder, leaving a fleet of goose bumps in his wake.
“Thisthing,” I say, glancing up at him through a sweep of mascaraed lashes, “is the biggest movie of your career and mine. The thing we’ve worked so hard on for so long. The whole world gets to see it tonight. So, yeah. I’m pretty sure we have to be there.”
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
“A deal? You’re negotiating with me to get you to your own movie? Let’s hear it.”
