And then, because she was Juniper, she rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at me. “You’re insufferable.”
I caught it easily, grinning like an idiot. “You love it.”
Her cheeks flushed as she tried — and failed — to hide her smile.
I was halfway to crawling onto the bed when my phone buzzed. My publicist.
Juniper nodded at it, lips twitching. “Answer it. I’ll wait.”
I swiped to accept. “Yeah?”
“Ansel Barlowe,” Marianne hissed, somewhere between furious and gleeful. “Do youeverthink before you open your mouth?”
“Occasionally.”
“The internet is melting down.My girl? That kiss? Ansel, you’ve just handed me the best PR moment of your career. You are trending infifty-four countries. I don’t even have to do my job tomorrow because you did it for me.”
I should’ve cared.
But I was watching Juniper — watching her laugh at something on her phone, watching the way she absently brushed her fingers along her collarbone like she didn’t know how beautiful she looked in my dress, my world, myeverything.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah, Marianne. This feels like it might be the best thing I’ve ever done,” I said quietly, eyes still locked on her.
There was a pause on the other end.
“God, you’re in trouble,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” I admitted, lips curving helplessly. “I really am.”
“Don’t ruin this Barlowe,” her voice changed — harsher now. “It’s thebestpress you’ve had in years. Half the internet wants to marry you, the other half wants to be her. Do not —do not— ruin this, Barlowe.”
“Duly noted,” I said before hanging up, tossing the phone onto the dresser without a second thought.
Juniper sank onto the edge of the bed, still holding her shoes like a shield. “So… I guess you just called methe onein front of half of Hollywood?”
I crouched down in front of her, slow, deliberate, taking the shoes from her hands and setting them aside. “Guess I did.”
Her eyes searched mine, wide and a little glassy. “Ansel…”
“Don’t freak out on me now, Junie,” I murmured, sliding my hands up her bare calves, thumbs brushing the soft skin there. My voice came out low, rough. “Hell of a night.”
She fiddled with the strap of her dress for a beat, not looking at me. “Um… Ansel?”
“Yeah, kid?”
Her gaze darted to mine, then away again. “Will you—” Her fingers twisted into the fabric at her side, knuckles white. “Will you help me with this zipper?”
Every nerve in my body lit up.
I rose slowly, giving her every chance to take it back. She didn’t. She just stood there, back straight, breathing shallow.
“Turn around,” I said, softer than I meant to.
She did, sweeping her hair over one shoulder.
