Perry was right. This is social suicide for Brinley and me both.
We arrive at the event before I’m mentally ready, but I pull it together because it’s part of my job. I only wish I could shelter Brinley in some way. If she has a bad experience here, she could decide that she’s just not cut out for life with someone like me. I can’t let that happen.
We’ll have to stop for at least a dozen of the half-a-hundred interview options along the red carpet. In the limo, a cue card gives us the dos and don’ts regarding what we can say about the show.
Bulbs pop the second we step out of the limo. Brinley lifts her chin and moves her gaze with me as I direct her so we’re looking in the same direction for each group of photographers. “One o’clock,” I say under my breath. “Two. Now three. You’re doing great, by the way.” I squeeze her hand. “A couple more,” I say, directing her to look toward four, and then five o’clock.
She aces that one, and we head over to our first brief interview. The stations have a heads-up about us by now, which is refreshing. Also refreshing is the way Brinley charms anyone behind a mic. She’s all snark and wit, and I find myself laughing out loud along with the enchanted hosts.
“I don’t blame you for not getting over this one, Dawson,” host Landon Carmichael says. He lowers his voice and leans in toward Brinley with his famously chiseled jaw. “If things don’t end up working out between the two of you…you know who to call.” He lifts an insinuative brow.
“You wish,” I growl, cupping a hand over the man’s shoulder.
“Indeed I do,” Landon admits shamelessly.
The end of the red carpet is in sight. We agree to one final interview, and then we’ll head for our table. We feel warm and seasoned now, ready for anything they can throw at us. Our final interviewer is Walt Meacham, popular sports commentator who weighs in on Hollywood with his appearances on several tabloid talk shows.
Brinley works her magic on this guy too. Though she doesn’t have an ounce of false flattery in her, she wins him over the way she did the rest—with that unassuming grin, authentic insight, and her talent for sarcasm.
“Before I let you head in there,” Walt says, “I have one final question. Is it true that Golf God Kyler Ray is your father?”
Brinley goes rigid. I feel it in the muscles along her back. I see it as her jaw clenches and her lips go tight. “Yes,” she says. “Thank you, have a good night.”
I can’t escort her away from the situation quickly enough. We’ve taken two fast steps by the time we hear Walt’s voice one more time. “Maybe they’ll put you at the same table.”
Brinley only walks faster, but I know she heard it. Once we get past security and into the wide, quiet hallway, she speaks up again. “Does that mean he’s here? Why would he be here?”
I shrug. “A lot of reasons. The guy’s on TV. And he’s famous.”
“But we won’t be at the same table, right?” The fear on her face rouses the protector in me once more. Forget about the bear—I’m a dragon now. Guarding my princess at all costs.
“Definitely not. I won’t let that happen.”
She nods, but I see her composure melting like wax under the heat of her past.
“I bet Char’s here too.” She’s looking around now, and fidgeting with her earrings, her necklace, and then the softly curled lock of hair that barely grazes her high cheekbone.
It’s definitely quieter in here, but there’s still a decent crowd making their way toward the banquet hall. “Come here,” I mumble as I spot a cubby a few feet down. I guide her into the small space and cradle her gorgeous, heart-shaped face in my hands.
Her eyes dart toward the hall as she tips her head slightly.
“Brinley,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Look at me, please.”
“Huh?” Her cheeks are so flushed she’s breaking out in a sweat. On her it looks good, making her glow like the angel she is. The problem is, she’s unraveling, and I have to stop it.
“Please look at me. Look at my eyes.”
She nods before finally moving her gaze back to me.
“Hi,” I say.
She barely grins. “What?”
“Breathe with me,” I suggest, employing an old trick she taught me back in the day. I place her hands on my shoulders. “In, big and deep, with me.” I inhale slowly, puffing my shoulders and chest, and Brinley does the same.
