Then just a few shared, silent breaths behind the curtain, Darren so close she felt the heat of his body. Their names were called and she followed Jenna up on stage, Darren just behind her.
A sudden camera flash jerked her back into the present.
The four of them sat in the armchairs she’d seen on the screens backstage: Karen on the far left, Emma on the far right, Darren next to her, with Jenna on his other side.
Darren.
Beside her. On a stage.
His presence tugged at her as if it had its own gravity, making it an effort not to constantly glance his way. He looked maddeningly at ease—one ankle resting on his knee, his expression almost sly, as if he knew something the rest of them didn’t.
Emma smoothed her blouse down and swallowed, maybe for the seventh time.
Karen wrapped up her intro—none of which Emma had managed to absorb—and tapped her cue cards against her knee.
“So, guys, just to get us started,” she said, her voice booming through the room. “Favorite antihero of all time, first name that pops into your head. Jenna?”
Jenna removed her sunglasses, dangling them from her fingers. She moved as if every gesture was choreographed. “That’s not even a question. It’s Spike, obviously.”
A few scattered cheers answered her. Apparently, Buffy hadn’t kept quite the chokehold Jenna thought.
“Right?” Jenna pressed, despite the feeble response. “I mean, that British accent...I’m always hungry for more of that.”
She threw a sideways look at Darren, dark lips curled into a pout. His expression barely shifted—just the slightest lift of his brows. “Warning received.”
Emma swallowed a laugh, hiding it behind a cough.
“Well,” Darren filled in, “I’ll go with Jay Gatsby.”
“That’s an unorthodox choice,” Karen said. “Care to elaborate?”
Darren shrugged, unbothered—as if he were hanging out at a friend’s place, not sitting in front of hundreds of strangers. Then again, he was an actor. Unlike her, the stage was his natural element.
“Not the obvious pick, maybe,” he said. “But he builds an entire world out of a dream he chases so hard it destroys him. There’s something about that. About someone who loves so deeply that it corrupts everything.”
Karen gave an impressed nod, then dropped her voice to the crowd like a co-conspirator. “Wow. Literary too? Take notes, ladies.” Then, “Emma? How about you?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” Emma said without hesitation.
The approving roar startled her. Right. There were movies now, TV shows.
But her version of Sherlock was always the original, the one she read curled under a blanket in her old armchair, with a glass of red wine beside her and her aptly named cats curled up by her feet. Just thinking about it made her shoulders relax a fraction. “He’s brilliant, but broken.”
It was unnerving at first, hearing her own voice echo from the speakers, as if someone else was talking. But it sounded right—steady, sure. The waiting had been worse than the doing.
Her breathing came easier as she went on. “He distances himself from people, and yet he’s hopelessly lost without someone to pull him back—to keep him grounded. It’s kind of beautiful. That even someone so extraordinary needs connection to survive.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. Even as she looked at Karen, she sensed Darren’s eyes on her. Something alive and almost defiant stirred under her skin. Shecoulddo this.
“Alright then,” Karen said. “So let’s get into the real stuff. Why is it that we love antiheroes so much? What makes them so irresistible?”
Jenna jumped in immediately.
“That’s obvious.” Her red hair caught the light as she tossed it over her shoulder. “Because they’re never boring. Good is dull. Evil is predictable. But someone in the middle? Someone who breaks the rulesandyour heart? That’s sexy.” She put her sunglasses back on with performative flair, wiggled a little, and peeked at the crowd over the rims.
A few laughs rippled through the crowd.
Darren’s gaze slid toward Emma almost imperceptibly. She felt the subtle tilt of his attention and ducked her head, hiding a smile. As if sharing a private joke, right there in front of everyone.
