Page 132 of Keep Me Close

“I never stopped being yours, Evie.”

The words shatter whatever resolve is left within me, making it impossible to speak or even breathe. I can only stare at the ring gleaming on my desk and the man kneeling before me, and know, with sickening certainty, that nothing in my life will ever be the same again.

Epilogue

Cheyenne

Cast members move around me in a blur of satin, makeup, whispered lines, and quick costume checks. One of the actors laughs a little too loudly as another curses under his breath over a snagged zipper. The stage manager moves through it all with a clipboard in hand and the kind of calm authority I envy with every shaky beat of my heart.

Beyond the curtain, the murmur of the audience swells into a low roar, and my stomach drops. For one terrifying second, I can only stand and stare, my fingers curling around the edge of the dressing table until my knuckles ache.

This is a live production. There aren’t cameras or retakes. No one calling cut and telling me to do it again with a different smile, from a different angle. It’s just me, a packed theater on opening night, and the dream that felt so out of reach, I nearly convinced myself it would never happen.

A laugh ripples through the audience, followed by the rustle of playbills and the muffled hum of anticipation. That’s all it takes for panic to slither down my spine.

Oh God.

What if I forget my lines?

Or freeze?

What if I walk out there and every fear I’ve been carrying turns out to be true?

What if everyone who looked at me and only saw a reality star playing dress-up was right?

I press a shaky hand to my stomach and force myself to breathe, but the inhale catches halfway in.

“Hey, babe. You doing okay?”

Relief rushes through me at the sound of his voice, and my knees nearly buckle. I pivot, and there Knox is, broad shoulders filling the narrow backstage hallway. He’s dressed for opening night in dark slacks and a white button-down that stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He’s clean-shaven, and his hair is pushed back as his eyes lock on me.

My throat constricts. “I’m fine.”

When one of his brows lift, I huff out a weak laugh. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m nowhere near fine.”

He closes the distance between us with a couple easy strides, stopping only when he’s a few feet away. His gaze drifts over me, as if taking in every detail.

His expression softens. “You look the part, baby.”

Emotion rises within me. This costume isn’t flashy the way the things I used to wear on red carpets were. It isn’t built to sell something or catch a camera. It’s elegant and fitted, with cream silk, a soft shimmer, and delicate beading at the neckline.

It makes me feel like the woman I’ve been reaching for my whole life. And Knox looks at me like he understands that.

“Hopefully, I won’t humiliate myself,” I say, trying for lighthearted even as nerves vibrate through every word.

His mouth curves into a devastating smile. “You could walk out there and stand still for two damn hours, and every person in that audience would think they got their money’s worth.”

I snort. “I very much doubt that.”

“It’s true.” He reaches into his pocket. “I brought you something to celebrate opening night.”

My gaze drops to the small velvet box in his hand, and a different kind of flutter works its way through me. “Knox…”

“Go on and open it.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s a quiet thread of command beneath it that always makes my pulse skip.

I take the box carefully, and our fingers brush during the exchange. That tiny touch manages to steady me. When I lift the lid, my breath catches. Inside is a delicate gold necklace. Instead of being overdone or flashy, it’s dainty and understated. Unmistakably expensive because Knox McNichols doesn’t know how to do anything halfway.