“Not exactly my colour,” he said dryly, then watched me laugh again before pressing his lips quickly to mine again.
“Enough of that,” Chaucer snapped, but she was smiling. “Get out of this car and go be fabulously pretty for the evening and woefully bored.”
“Will do,” Adam said cheerily as someone opened my door and offered a hand to help me out. “Wait, I’ll do that.”
He left the car from the other side before I could insist I was fine to get out of the car myself, and then he was suddenly pulling the door open farther and reaching in to help me smoothly to my feet. His arm braced me as flashing lights exploded across my vision.
He had learned to avoid the flares a long time ago, but I was still momentarily blinded by the chaos of cameras. We had to make our way slowly through the crowds of cars and arrivingcelebrities, escorted by an event planner and a security guard, until we reached the security screening area. It was a part of the carpet they didn’t show on TV that was decidedly unglamorous as they checked ID tags, X-rayed bags, and passed us through metal detectors.
Once we were done with that, Adam took my arm again and we stopped at the edge of the red carpet entry.
“I know I already briefed you and you’ve done a short version at the CCAs, but first we have the step and repeat wall for photos. We’ll have most taken together, but a few apart. Then there are the more traditional media outlet interviews, the fan section where we can sign autographs and take some photos for the masses or just blow through with a few waves, and the social media zone where we might be asked to participate in content creation.” He paused to make a face, which made me laugh because it was well known that Adam abhorred social media. Given the extremity of his fame and the blackmail Oscar had been holding over his head for almost a decade, I couldn’t really blame him. “Finally, the photo bridge where they’ll shoot your marvellous dress in a three-sixty camera, and then we can actually move into the theatre.”
“I got it,” I assured him.
“It will probably take us close to an hour to run the gauntlet,” he warned. “And we’ll be stopped by some of my mates and acquaintances along the way. If it gets to be too much, just say your safe word and I’ll extract us from the situation.”
I grinned. “Adam, I’ve got this. I know these events aren’t your favorite, but honestly, I’m new on the scene and I’m actually fairly excited to be walking the red carpet at the Academy Awards withtheAdam Meyers.”
He scoffed lightly at my teasing, but a little pleased smile remained tucked into the folds of his mouth. “Well then, prepare for battle.”
It wasn’t exactly battle, but it was a kind of oddly organized, overwhelming chaos. People screamed Adam’s name desperately from the fan bleachers, and photographers shouted their directions as we posed in front of the step-and-repeat wall. Adam allowed them to take a handful of photos of both of us separately before he collected me with a possessive arm around my waist, shocking me by curling me deeply into his side and slightly over his arm in a backward bend.
“Adam.” I laughed breathlessly even as I steadied myself with my arms around his neck.
He grinned, a wide, boyish expression of real joy, and then he kissed me.
The explosion of flashes from cameras blinded me even with my eyes closed.
His tongue parted my lips and dived deep, plundering me with a deliberate thoroughness as if we were in the privacy of his home and not in front of thousands.
When he finally parted from me, my knees were weak and my lips were swollen. He didn’t move far, righting us but staying close enough to rub his thumb under my mouth to capture the smudged lipstick.
“I think you might need to reapply,” he murmured, eyes dancing.
“What has gotten into you tonight?” I asked, but there was no reprimand in my tone.
To be so publicly claimed resonated somewhere deep in my soul.
The idea that a man who was so accomplished, so wonderfully talented, and beneath it, almost terribly tender and sweet could want to claim me?
My heart turned over in my chest, that sensation of a dream coming true that was almost painful.
“You, Linnea,” he said somberly. “The sunbeam lighting my lonely dark.”
I slid my hand up to cup his face and said, “I have waited a long time for someone to say my name like that.”
“And how do I say it?”
“Like a poem and a prayer,” I admitted. “I only knew it was possible because of the way Sebastian has always spokenyourname.”
Adam gripped my chin in his big hand so delicately it made me shiver. “You are his poem, I think, and my prayer. I did not even know I wished for you before you showed up.”
This feels like love, I thought, my heart galloping like something wild and free across the plains of my chest. This feels like what I always thought love should be.
One of the event volunteers ruined the moment by approaching to nudge us out of the photography line and into the gauntlet of reporters waiting with eager eyes to interview us as a couple for the first time.
Adam took my hand, threading our fingers together, and led me forward, giving me a moment to fix my lipstick before we made our way to the first interview.
