The next fan called out from somewhere on the left side, without being given the word. “Who’s your dream cast for Lucen?”
The audience instantly erupted in cheers and whistles.
Emma raised her hands, mock defensive. “Oh, come on, I knew that one was coming.”
Shouts of Darren’s name thundered through the room, making her suddenly very glad he’d disappeared. Someone actually yelled, “Colehart forever!”
She flushed, but masked it with a crooked smile. “Alright, you’re all very persuasive, I’ll give you that. Let’s just say whoever plays him has some very, very high expectations to meet, don’t you think?”
That earned a new round of applause, giving her a moment to regain her composure.
Finally, a small voice from the third row. A girl no older than fifteen, with yellow nail polish bright against the fingers clutching herBonds of Lightcopy.
“Do you ever...feel that he’s wrong for her? Because of the power imbalance between them?”
Emma tilted her head, watching the girl. She had expected something lighter. The room went very still.
“Well, yes,” she said softly. “All the time. And I think that’s what makes him so dangerously appealing. They’re dancing around it, both of them knowing it’s wrong. That’s why she has to find her own power before they can be anything real. Why when they finally come together, they do it as equals.”
The hush that followed was different—deeper.
“Alright,” she said, keeping her voice muted. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ll be around if anyone wants their book signed.”
Her eyes lifted on their own. The mezzanine loomed above her, dark and abandoned.
Still, he’d been there. Stayed for her words. To stand inside her world, if only briefly.
It didn’t make them equals. But it did meansomething.
She just wasn’t sure what.
Chapter 22
Waves below, stars above, three little dots at her fingertips.
The boat swayed gently under Emma’s heels, the engines humming beneath the rise and fall of voices. String lights looped along the deck rail, their reflections rippling over the dark water. A cool breeze slipped through the sheer sleeves of her royal-blue dress.
She rested her arms on the railing, looking out into the night. The harbor was already far behind them, gold and white glittering from the San Diego skyline. In the distance, the Coronado Bridge stretched like a lit ribbon through the darkness. Like a connection of pure light. It made her think of Catlyn and Lucen.
Near the bow, a jazz trio played a mellow tune—low brass, brushed cymbals. A perfect backdrop—elegant, romantic—if she’d had someone to share it with.
The polite smile she’d been wearing for most of the evening was starting to make her cheeks ache. She’d just endured a twenty-minute monologue from a literary agent on how AI would be the death of authorship and managed to escape only by interrupting him mid-sentence, pretending to be seasick.
She shifted her weight, restless. The only reason she had come was that Leah had waved an invitation in her face and saidIt’s a boat, Emma. Boats are fun. Also, free champagne. And then convinced her towear heels, which made every step across the swaying deck feel like a baby deer learning to walk.
At least accidentally grabbing people for balance was a good icebreaker. So far, she’d acquainted herself with two producers, a seasoned scriptwriter, and a semi-famous actress that way. But whoever she talked to, her gaze kept slipping past their shoulders, scanning the crowd behind them.
Darren wasn’t there.
Not that she’d expected him to be. San Diego must have been swarming with events during Comic-Con. He was probably somewhere less formal, maybe a secret club, or wherever the movie stars went to entertain themselves away from the mortals.
Even though she was certain by now that he wasn’t on the boat, her eyes kept sweeping the deck of their own accord. As if he’d been hiding in the engine room for most of the journey, waiting for the right moment to pop out and make a grand entrance.
“Champagne refill?” Leah appeared at her side, pressing a fresh glass into her hand. She was a true vision, wearing a white power jumpsuit that somehow managed to look both formal and like she could win a yacht race in it. One of her brows arched. “You’re looking for someone.”
“I’m not,” Emma said automatically.
Leah leaned in, lowering her voice like a CIA informant. “There are rumors of a private screening party tonight. Mostly A-listers. My guess? Whoever you’re not looking for is probably there.”
