Page 77 of Enzo

“Who the hell is Molly Dean?” Father yells.

“The lady in the orange dress,” Zlatan replies.

I rush over and grab the phone out of Father's hand. That’s when I see her. It would be impossible not to. Molly’s in a bright orange dress. Yellow sneakers.

She texted a few days ago, and I didn't reply.

But what the hell is she doing here?

Relief, shock and happiness war inside my chest. The heaviness that's been sinking inside me, vanishes.

She's here.

Behind her I see the journalists and photographers with their telephoto lenses. The security gates look like they're going to give way.

“Why didn’t you let her in?” I yell, before rushing out.

Father shouts at me, “Where are you going, boy?”

But I’m at the elevator, jabbing the button to summon it. The elevator arrives and I rush inside, jabbing the buttons to the ground floor. It seems to take forever.

What is Molly doing here?

Not just in New York, but here, outside our offices?

What was she thinking?

Knowing Molly, she probably wasn’t.

As soon as the elevator gets to the ground floor, I race across the lobby to the revolving doors and make it outside. I see the flash of orange first. She appears to be arguing with the security guards.

She wants to leave, but they won’t let her. I race towards her and the crowd surges. The journalists behind the security gates roar. There’s a flash of lights. Molly looks scared and I'm scared for her.

“Leave her!” At once I’m by her side. “Molly.”

I wrap my arms around her and she falls against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. “Molly,” I murmur, my chin presses down on her hair and I breathe in the flowery smell of her shampoo.

“Are you together?” someone shouts, pulling me roughly back into the present.

“Care to comment, Mr. Knight?”

“Nice video of you both dancing in the moonlight.”

My blood freezes. Molly and I exchange worried glances. Dancing in the moonlight? That was in Venice. How did this footage come out?

I push the thought away and grab her hand, determined to get her to safety.

Someone shouts something I can’t make out. Someone else leaps over the security barrier and races towards us. The other journalists surge forward. I'm temporarily blinded by flashes as I take Molly’s arm and pull her inside.

They've got what they wanted. A photo of me and Molly. We’re not even together but that's the picture they want. The rest? They’ll fabricate some crazy story, but this media interest isn’t going to die down. Not now.

“What's going on?” She’s visibly shaking.

“She's with me,” I snap as another security guard steps forward. I get her inside the elevator, desperate to get her to safety.

The elevator doors shut and soon, it's only me and her.

My heart pounds. Her breathing is loud and fast. I look down and see that we're holding hands. I don’t let go. She looks shaken, her face white, her body trembling.