Page 45 of Now Their Starlet

My face while I’m internally spiraling and freaking out about being stuck with a pissed-off Ezra for the rest of the night, but still.

I think my reaction to being around him—the clammy hands, the racing heart, the bitter taste at the back of my throat—is a reminder that even if I’m okay being around him when he’s seemed to make improvements, my body still remembers who he was to me not that long ago.

The SUV pulls up in the line of other SUVs, ready and waiting to drop off other attendees for tonight’s event. I don’t calm down, at least not internally.

Especially not when I catch sight of the red carpet and the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras.

It’s like my body isn’t even mine as Stuart steps out and holds the door open for the two of us. I’m floating above myself, watching myself step out and smooth my dress down like I’m watching a video game character in a tutorial scene, just following the prompts expected of me.

“Hey,” Ezra murmurs as the two of us start making our way to the photo area. Stuart still hovers behind us, but with the chaos of the other celebrities and their teams bustling about, security standing tall with their crisp black suits and ear pieces, and the yelling paparazzi, his presence feels less oppressive.

“Hmm?” I blink up at Ezra, desperately clinging to that floating feeling to try to keep the anxiety away. The last thing I need is to have a mental breakdown on this carpet. I’d never see the light of day again. The world—which already thinks I’m pretty crazy—would think I’m insane.

“You’re cold,” Ezra grunts, nodding down at my arms.

I glance down at myself and let out an absent-minded hum. I’ve got goosebumps. This carpet is outside, and it’s a bit chillier tonight, even though we’re well into spring. I’ve been feeling cold all the time recently.

There’s also a slight tremble to my shoulders, as if I’m shivering.

“I’m okay, I don’t even feel it,” I murmur, my gaze drifting away from him.

“Shit, Andi—” Ezra runs a hand through his hair as we wait in the small line for our photos to be taken. “Fuck, I should’ve noticed something was wrong when you were so quiet.”

Wrong?

Is there something wrong? Probably. But what hasn’t been wrong?

I don’t think there’s been a single thing that’s been right for the past month.

“Look, I’m not good with omega hormone stuff, but you’ve gotta pull it together, okay? We’re getting our photos taken soon. I’m sorry I’ve been so pissed. Is that why? It’s got nothin’ to do with you, promise. I just...” He shakes his head, his gaze cutting back towards Stuart, who’s hovering, standing by the other assistants.

His words barely register with me. Nothing can touch me in the headspace I’m in.

Ezra’s hands tremble as he starts typing away on his phone. He lets out a quiet curse, and I glance down at his screen.

Signs that omegas are in distress from long-term isolation.

Is he worried about me? He doesn’t have to do that. I’m fine.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself on the surface. Deep down, I know I’m not. I know there’s something really wrong, but what’s the point in dwelling on something that’s not going to change? After this event, I’m going right back to that god-awful cage.

“Shit, Andi, do you want my jacket? The internet’s telling me that’ll help,” Ezra offers.

The person ahead of us in line for the photo area—an older alpha country singer—starts getting his photo taken. That means we’re going to be up soon.

The thought of having Ezra’s warm jacket around my shoulders, sinking into his familiar coffee scent, tickles at the back of my mind. The omega part of me, starved of any and all things she needs to feel safe and sane, screams that I should take him up on his offer.

But the thought of getting my photo taken in his jacket seems far too intimate. This is a music event. What if there’s someone here who knows Beck?

I doubt Gina would sign off on sending me to an event where he’s actually present, but the risk of it getting back to my guys that I’m doing something as intimate as publicly getting Ezra’s scent all over me leaves a bad taste at the back of my throat.

“No,” I mumble. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Okay, if you’re sure,” Ezra says, resting a hand at the small of my back and guiding me up. “Show time. Just a few quick pics and I’ll get you inside.”

I stand on the first mark, hitting a practiced pose I can only do in the emotional state I’m in because I’ve been trained to do this sort of thing in my sleep. The paparazzi yell questions at me, but Stuart is quick to shut them down.

But I still hear them.