He didn’t tune in because he’shere.
And I could just about melt into the stage at the sight of him.
“You’re here,” I say, my broken voice cast loud into the room by the mic. If anyone in the audience wasn’t paying attention before, they are now.
I step around the podium, my legs finding their way to the stairs and down the center aisle of their own volition. I make my way toward him, his face coming into clearer view as I swipe at the moisture clouding my vision. God, he looks good. Wary, maybe, a little beaten down, but fucking gorgeous. A sight for cried-out eyes.
The silence is so absolute that, despite my having left the mic back on the stage, my voice rings out, clear as day.
“Did Celine call you?” I ask.
“She did.” His tone is hesitant, his gaze darting around the room as everyone’s attention turns on him. Having just arrived, he has no idea why I’ve interrupted my speech to approach him, or why the whole ballroom is rapt by this moment.
“Ryan…I’m so sorry.” The words feel small, insignificant. “For everything.”
His eyes land on mine, surprise registering in them. “Hey, we can talk about this later—”
“No, it’s too important. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.”
“Ana, you don’t owe me—”
“I was lying. All along.”
A groove etches itself between his eyebrows as a gasp rises from the audience members nearest where we stand. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“I lied to you and to myself. I said it was casual. Insisted on it, because I thought that would be safe. If I kept my heart out of it, it couldn’t be hurt. I could keep you at a distance, not let you know me deeply enough to be turned off when you see I’m not always the sparkly, charismatic woman you were drawn to.”
The lines melt off his forehead, his expression softening. “That’s not—”
“And I tried,” I say wetly. “I tried not to feel anything for you. Told myself those tugs in my heart were just because you’re an attentive publicist and a thoughtful friend, taking care of me in ways nobody ever has. Defending my work, standing up in my honor at every turn, listening and understanding and supporting me when I opened up to you about things I’ve never told anyone. Or maybe it was because you’re hands-down the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.” Even though I dropped my voice for that part, for his ears only, pink flushes up his neck as heat flares in his eyes. “I swore to myself that I wasn’t feeling the things I was feeling.”
He swallows. “What were you feeling?”
“Besides terrified?” I take his hands in mine and notice the tremble in his fingers. “I haven’t ever felt…safe, being my full self. Showing any hint of the dullness behind the shine has only ever resulted in people pulling away. But it wasn’t fair of me to put that baggage on you. Not when you’ve proven yourself different at every turn. And not when…” I steady my voice. “Not when I feel so, so much for you.”
His shoulders drop from up around his ears. “Don’t toy with me, Ana, I can’t take it. Not after the hell I’ve been through these past few days.”
From the corner of my vision I see audience members clutching their chests, their mouths. You could hear a pin drop on carpeting in here.
“I’m not toying with you,” I say. “I’m finally being honest. I’m sorry I wasn’t until now. I want something real with you, Ryan. Not just for a night, or the length of a tour. I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”
His eyes are glistening silver pools in the morning sun. “You’re serious.”
I nod, flash a hopeful smile. “You want to be my boyfriend?”
He exhales shakily. “Watch your mouth or I’ll commit public indecency.”
My cheeks hurt from the size of my grin. “I like you indecent,” I say.
“Good,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Because as soon as this is over, I’m going to get you alone and make you call me that again and again.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him fiercely. The crowd rises to their feet, applauding and howling at top volume.
“Will you make me pancakes in the morning?” I murmur into his ear.
“I’ll make you pancakes every morning.”
“Good, ’cause that’s kind of a deal-breaker.”
