And what skin was he wearing now?
He suddenly looked to her like Darren Cole, the movie star. Not like the man who had shown up at her hotel room because she had been falling apart. Taken her out to have fun when she needed it the most.
Kissed her in a corridor, breath soft against hers.
Those things felt like a daydream. Something she might have invented herself, the kind of vivid fantasy she’d escaped into as a kid.
Emma stayed near the door. “Sienna found me.”
“Good.” He picked up the canvas bag and held it out. “I imagine you’d like to get out of that costume. Even though I still like you in it.”
The words warmed her, but it only lasted a heartbeat. His eyes searched hers a little too carefully. Did he sense that something was off—or was there something else going on behind those eyes?
She took the bag. Familiar denim and cotton peeked from the open zipper. She longed to be back in her own clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to change in front of him. Not now.
“Did Leah give you a hard time?” There was an undertone in his voice, as if he were testing the waters between them.
“No,” Emma said, too quickly. She swallowed, trying to steady her voice. “I’m sorry about before. Leah’s just...protective.”
Darren’s jaw ticked. “Protective? She practically skinned me alive.”
Emma watched him carefully. Tried to read him.
He’s an actor, Emma.
“She’s not wrong.” Her grip on the bag tightened until the canvas bit into her palm. She slowly set it down on the table. “We should’vebeen more careful. That photo’s everywhere now, and the only thing we can do is—”
“Don’t.” His voice was low, but sharp enough to cut. “What happened back there—that was ours. Not theirs. I don’t care that the photo leaked. That doesn’t get to take the moment away from us.”
Emma pressed her lips together. “We can’t pretend it isn’t out there. We have to be smart about this.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Is that you talking or Leah? Because right now, I honestly can’t tell.”
The words hit hard, finding a weak spot. “Does it matter?” she shot back. “It’s not wrong either way.”
“Oh, come on, Emma.” He stepped closer, frustration edging his movements. “I’ve tried smart. I played it up for the cameras with Alana. Hid in private with everyone else after that. And do you know what? Either damn way, you’re still living your life on someone else’s terms. I’m done doing that.”
The bitterness in his tone made her throat ache.
“I get that,” Emma said, voice thick. Each word seemed to drag them further apart. “But it still affects us. If we at least try to take control of the narrative—”
“It’s not a narrative!” Darren bit off. “This is my life. The constant risk of attention isn’t the best part, but it comes with the package. And I refuse to let it define me.”
She hesitated, the words burning against her lips before she let them out.
“Even when it plays to your advantage?”
The silence tightened between them, the buzz of the lights too loud.
Darren turned toward her, rising to his full height. His expression was closed, restrained.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said, each word slow and razor sharp. “What are you saying exactly?”
Her skin went cold under the dark anger in his eyes. Not gleaming, not teasing, not dangerous. Just dark.
“I know the panel moment wasn’t spontaneous. You planned it with Max.” She held her voice together by sheer will. “Last-minute or not, you weren’t honest with me.”
His expression shifted. Anger first, then something almost like hurt. “Planned?” He gave a short, disbelieving scoff. “You think I needed Max to tell me how to talk about your book?”
