I want to tell her that there’s no possible way we could forget any of this, since she and Keith have been hammering it home the entire 45-minute ride over. What to say, how to look at each other, which reporter is going to ask us the question, how they’re going to distribute the pictures later.
She’s stressing me out more than the looming press line is.
It’s a relief when she and Keith get out of the car to go do whatever they’re going to do to prep people for our arrival while we circle the block a few times.
“Can you believe we pay them for this?” River asks.
“At the moment, no.” I start fidgeting like I always do before things like this, it’s a nervous tic that I developed that I can’t quite get hold of. Normally my family would be here to calm me down, but Beckett and Macy couldn’t come down from Port City, and my parents are off at a wedding in Italy. I didn’t want to tear Kendall away from her work, and tonight should be focused mainly on River and me, so…I’m just left to my own devices.
I try not to pick at my nails, because they’re the easiest target. River notices the movement, and reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. It’s practice, maybe, but it also feels like a gesture meant to comfort, and it does.
I take a deep breath. “Fake Skye hates red carpets, and Real Skye doesn’t like them very much either. So we’re both battling against the tide over here,” I tell him.
“What do you hate about them?”
“The people calling my name, never knowing where to look, worrying about whether I’m going to say something stupid or if my picture is going to be splashed everywhere tomorrow with lipstick all over my teeth.”
River turns in his seat and folds his free hand over our joined ones. The warmth of it makes my eyes flutter closed, and I try very hard to focus on this new-friend-slash-fake-boyfriend-slash-crush-of-mine.
“Listen to me,” he says, dipping his head so I can look into those sky-blue eyes. “There’s nothing we can do about them calling your name, unfortunately, but Claudia’s going to be there to point at which camera to look in so we don’t have goofy pictures where we’re looking in opposite directions, right?”
I nod. Yes, this sounds familiar.
“You aren’t going to say anything stupid, because you don’t say stupid things.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know me well enough to be able to say that,” I argue.
He grins, then reaches up and glides his fingertips along my cheekbone. “Call it a hunch. And as for your teeth? Smile for me.”
Reluctantly, I do as he asks.
“Lipstick-free,” he confirms. “I’ll be there, and if you say something stupid, I’ll butt in and say something stupider. The red carpet is gonna be fine. People are gonna love the movie and love you in it; it was a great flick. It’s gonna be a great night.”
Wait, what? “How do you know it was great?”
“Because I watched it this morning. I got a screener from Keith.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I mean…when someone asks me what I think of it, I’d like to be able to give them a well thought-out answer.”
Yet another point in his book.
“You’re a pretty good fake boyfriend, I have to say. And you haven’t even made your debut yet.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well…what can I say, I like you.”
Before I have a chance to digest that, the car comes to a stop and the door swings open.
Showtime.
“You ready?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
He winks. “C’mon, let’s go.”
For as much as Claudia tried to prepare us for what to expect, she did a terrible job of explaining the absolute frenzy that the two of us together was going to create on the red carpet. It’s already weird enough having a hundred photographers yell your name, it’s even worse when they’re getting a show they didn’t expect and want to be the first person to get the best shot.
She’s standing behind the gaggle with this giant pointer, indicating which camera we should be looking at as we make our way down the carpet. River’s hand is on the small of my back, his thumb tracing gentle patterns there that are soothing even through the fabric of my dress.
The motion is calming me down in one way and working me up in another. I want to run inside to get away from River to make it stop, and pull him closer to keep it going. Fake Skye is tossed to the curb as the real me has this unfortunately timed epiphany that I want River, and I want him now.
But no, no, that’s just the adrenaline talking. Once we make it down the line and my heartbeat settles down, my brain will tell my heart (and my hormones) to shut the hell up.
We come to Emmy with Entertainment Now!, and she’s the one who throws us a softball question about how long we’ve been together. Claudia told us to keep it vague enough to be true so that we don’t contradict ourselves. I tell her that we’ve been together for a little while and that we’re very happy. River echoes the sentiment and tells me that he’s happy to be on the arm of the most beautiful girl on the carpet.
I grip the back of his jacket to steady myself, flexing the fabric in my hand until I remember that wrinkles are a thing and I don’t want River to have them.
“Have you seen the movie?” Emmy yells at River over the commotion.
“I’ve seen it, and she’s wonderful in it,” he explains, voice raised so that she can hear him. “I think audiences are going to fall in love with Skye playing Pearl like I did,” he says, looking at me with a soft kind of awe that makes my legs feel unsteady. “I
