The corner of his mouth twitched. “Keanu and the mysterious, gravity-defying bus?”
“Don’t mock.” She nudged him with her elbow, surprised at how natural it felt. “That movie is a masterpiece. Tension, stakes, pacing—textbook storytelling. I’ve probably seen it twenty times.”
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. It was closer to triple digits, depending on how you defined “seen.” Emma loved putting on a familiar movie or show in the background as she moved around the apartment. It felt like having company, but in a way that asked nothing of her.
Darren’s gaze hovered, warm with something just shy of teasing. “And here I thought you’d pick something bookish and profound.Turns out you’re a total adrenaline junkie. Sheds a bit of light on your decision-making process in the elevator yesterday.”
“I do love action movies,” Emma admitted. “Especially the part near the end where they are breaking every rule to beat the ticking clock. I’m not much of a rule-breaker in real life, so I guess I’m drawn to the idea of having a really good excuse to drive like a maniac or chase through the crowd at an airport.”
He smirked. “Either that, or you just had a crush on Keanu Reeves.”
She gave a low snort, suddenly very interested in an exhibition of vintage superhero costumes. The truth was, he wasn’t wrong. And it hovered unspoken between them—Darren’s resemblance to Keanu was uncanny. Except younger, more handsome, and infinitely more charismatic.
He caught her hand, ignoring her tiny, startled twitch. “Now come on. I want to show you something.”
The easy pressure of his fingers sent a shiver through her. Part of her wondered if he was really so oblivious to the whole touching thing or if he knew full well what it was doing to her.
She brushed the thought away. That would have been a Lucen move—manipulative, controlling. As far as she could tell, the real Darren was intent on honesty. Even if he had those small, shifting moments where she couldn’t tell what was really going on behind his eyes.
They passed an aggressively pink Mattel booth with a human-sized, two-story Barbie house, and a Doctor Who display where the familiar whooshing sound of the Tardis made her do a double-take. Then Darren stopped short. Emma almost crashed into him. “What?”
He tipped his chin toward a familiar sight at the end of the aisle: an enormous black chair bristling with swords, set on a raised platform.
Emma inhaled sharply, the dramatic score practically playing in her head. “No...Is that the Iron Throne?”
“Replica,” Darren said, eyes glinting. “But still. Want to try?”
She glanced around them. “They’ll kick us out.”
“Of course they won’t. Perks of being VIPs.”
Before she could protest, he moved the velvet ropes aside, gallantly holding his hand out for her. Emma climbed the step, the chair growing more absurd and magnificent the closer she got. She lowered herself onto it, hands clutching the thick armrests. Replica or not, it was made of real metal, cold and rough through her clothes—unforgiving, like power itself.
Her legs didn’t quite touch the ground. She dangled her feet, laughing at the ridiculousness. Darren just stood there with open amusement, arms crossed.
She sat a little straighter, trying to assemble her face into something regal. “Well? How do I look?”
“You look terrifying,” Darren said. “In the best way.”
Emma shook her head, trying not to grin too hard. “HugeGame of Thronesfan.”
“I know.”
She blinked, but Darren confidently met her gaze.
Sure, she’d mentioned it in interviews a few times, but it wasn’t exactly headline material.
Which meant he’d looked her up. He’d led her here deliberately. The realization wound through her, surreal and disarming at once.
When she finally hopped down, his hand caught her elbow, holding on just a second too long for simple balance. This time, she didn’t even flinch.
Maybe he really did know what he was doing.
Chapter 26
Because nothing says romantic tension like a minor
meltdown over childhood Disney trauma.
