I can’t do this on my own.
I’m not prepared, Christian isn’t here…
What would I even say?
They stared at me. One man had a look of disappointment on his face. His brows contorted together; his eyes enlarged the preposterous vein bulging on his forehead. The female next to him snapped a quick picture before turning to another reporter beside her who simply laughed. They were making fun of my picture—me. It had to be the outfit. The yellow was outrageous, diabolical, insane.
Five minutesto nine.
There was no time to change.
There was no time to do anything.
I’d embarrass myself.
People would laugh at me.
Hyperventilation slapped coherency and confidence out of my system and into someone else's.
I wanted it back.
Ineededit back.
“Adelaide!” My mind walked back over to its seat from the overstimulation of galvanic jolts.
Disorientation put itself back together piece by piece like an eighties puzzle set, the most vivid speck stood in front of me. My abdomen clenched like an entity of un-shot bullets—holding no wound in particular.
Gentle and patient, Christian held my hands in his.
“Christian,” I whispered hoarsely. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” His thumb caressed my hand and I almost disintegrated there and then. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Slowly, with barely-there nods, “Okay.”
Then this is also an accident. As if someone snapped their fingers in front of him, I took a step back—breakingour connection.
No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, Christian Hayes saved me from having a panic attack in front of hundreds of cameras.
He protected my sanityandmy dignity.
We stood to the side. There were two minutes remaining.
Osama stood onstage, talking about Daniel’s reign to ‘his’.
Christian took a step forward, his chest brushing up against my back.
Overpowering, solid,familiar.
“Turn around.”
Slightly tilting my head to the right, I shook my head.
“Please.”
How could I refuse him?
Turning around, I had to stretch my head all the way back to meet those mysterious hazels. Christian wore a full suit perfectly tailored for him.
