Marcie behind the counter is watching (concerned expression)
Chloe is about to bolt, again (I can feel it in her posture)
If I say no to the photo, fan gets pushy, scene escalates
If I say yes, one photo, done, we can leave
Simple math.
Except nothing about this is simple.
I take a breath. Feel my shoulders roll back—automatic, years of training. The mask slides into place like a second skin I hate but can’t take off.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. Smooth. Easy. Candy Kane, reporting for duty. “Always happy to meet fans.”
Liar.
The girl beams. Looks at Chloe. “Is this your girlfriend? Can she be in it too?”
And here’s where I make the decision that’s going to haunt me.
Here’s where I choose performance over truth.
Here’s where I become exactly what Chloe’s going to think I am.
I don’t hesitate. Don’t think. Just react—the same instinct that made me chase down that purse thief in Barcelona, the same protective reflex that got me into this mess in the first place.
“Yeah,” I say. “She is.”
Chloe makes a sound. Like a gasp, or maybe she’s taking a breath before she bolts.
So I slide my arm around her back—gentle, not possessive, justthere—and she doesn’t pull away.
All right, she’s not exactly leaning in either. But it’s something.
“Smile,” I murmur. Not for the photo. For her. Apologizing without apologizing, because I don’t have time to explain and I don’t know how to anyway.
This is why I ran in Barcelona. The photographer, taking our picture après kiss. And, as it turned out, during said kiss. Admittedly, I panicked.
But now, I’m in the game and smiling with that signature Candy Kane smile, because that’s what I do.
The fan is grinning, phone up. “You guys are SO cute together! Okay, ready?”
