The conversation shifts to lighter topics, small talk that fills the space without actually saying much. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed.
When dessert arrives—a rich, chocolate something-or-other that Shelley insisted on—Ashlyn picks up the fork, holding it out to me with a raised brow.
“For the cameras,” she says, her voice teasing again.
“For the cameras,” I echo, leaning forward to take the bite she offers.
The dessert is sweet, decadent, but it’s nothing compared to the way her lips curve into a smile as she watches me.
For a moment, the paparazzi outside don’t exist.
It’s just her.
And damn it, if I don’t want this to be real.
The waiter returns with the bill, and I pay quickly, eager to leave before Shelley’s plans somehow escalate further. Ashlyn stands gracefully, her movements fluid, and I step beside her, offering my arm again. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before sliding her hand into the crook of my elbow.
As we walk toward the door, I steal a glance at her. She looks calm, her face composed in that way only Ashlyn can manage, but I can feel the tension radiating from her grip. She’s bracing herself.
Outside, the paparazzi are still there, waiting like wolves circling their prey. The flashes start immediately, blinding and relentless.
“Over here!”
“Are you going home together?”
“Is it official?”
“Are you going to claim her?”
I clench my jaw, my arm tensing beneath Ashlyn’s hand. The last question twists something in my chest, but I don’t let it show.
We reach the car, the driver already holding the door open, but I stop.
Ashlyn looks up at me, her eyes widening slightly. “Todd?”
“For the cameras,” I murmur, my voice low enough that only she can hear.
Before she can say anything, I turn toward her fully, my hands settling on her waist as I pull her close. Her breath catches, and for a second, I think she might pull away. But then her hands find my shoulders, and she tilts her head up, her lips parting slightly.
I close the distance, capturing her mouth with mine.
The world falls away in an instant—the cameras, the shouts, the blinding flashes. All I can feel is her. The way she melts against me, the breathy sigh that escapes her lips, the way her fingers tighten against my shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.
It’s not a chaste kiss, not the kind of kiss you give when you’re just pretending. It’s hungry, consuming, filled with everything I’ve kept bottled up for years.
Ashlyn responds in kind, her body pressing closer to mine, her lips moving against mine in a way that sends a surge of heat through me.
By the time I pull back, we’re both breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes are wide as she looks up at me.
“For the cameras,” I say again, though my voice comes out rougher, raspier than before.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Right. For the cameras.”
Neither of us moves for a beat, the air between us charged and crackling.
The paparazzi are shouting louder now, their questions a chaotic blur I can barely make out. But I don’t care.
I help Ashlyn into the car, closing the door behind her before circling to my side. Sliding into the seat, I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead, gripping her clutch like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.
