“You bet,” Brad responded without taking his eyes off the TV.
Leah shifted a sparkling gaze up to Michael, who opened the door, guided Leah through it.
She stopped on the porch and gave a squeal of delight. “A limo?” she gasped, twirling around to Michael.
“Of course. Nothing but the best for you, baby.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “I feel like Cinderella,” she said wistfully, and then grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the car. “Let’s go!” she said eagerly.
Inside the limo, Leah took in the various bottles on the mini bar, the console TV, and the velvet seats. “This is so damn cool,” she said excitedly.
“Have you been in a limo?”
“Yes—exactly twice, the same number of times I’ve been a bridesmaid. But those limos had blue shag carpet and cheap scotch. This,” she said, reaching for the bar and lifting up a small bottle of Grey Goose vodka, “is really uptown.”
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, shifting forward.
“I think I would,” Leah said brightly. “Something to settle my nerves.”
“Don’t be nervous,” he said as he got a glass, some ice, and mixed her a vodka tonic, just like they’d never been apart. He handed her the drink. “All eyes will be on Vincent Vittorio and Ewan McGregor. Kids like us will be a bunch of background noise. It’ll be fun to watch.”
“It’s already fun—I don’t have many opportunities to wear a dress like this. Actually,” she said, looking down at the dress, “I’d say I’ve had zero opportunities to wear a dress like this.”
“You should wear dresses like that every day,” Michael said sincerely. “You should have the best of everything. I never thought you would be even more beautiful to me than you already are, but Leah, I’m absolutely breathless.” And he meant it. She looked like a star in that dress. Her carriage, her smile—everything about her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, red carpets and dresses like that are a normal part of your life.”
“Oh stop,” she said with a roll of her eyes, then quickly slanted him another look. “You really think so?”
“I think so.”
Her cheeks turned a very appealing shade of pink, and she looked down. “Well hey, you look pretty good, too, Raney. Some men are born to wear tuxedos, and you are definitely one of them. The photographers will think you are one of the stars.”
He laughed. “I don’t think so. And anyway, men are meant to fade to black when women appear, and that’s just as well by me,” he said. “I’d much rather do the admiring than be the admired.”
“Then you should have been born with a different face.” She abruptly reached up, laid her palm against his cheek. A kiss wouldn’t have felt as tender as the touch of her hand. He covered her hand with his own, moved his head, kissed her palm.
Leah laughed and held up her drink, offering him a sip, holding it to his lips. He took a sip, then settled back, her hand still in his. She was changing, the hurt and anger peeling off, a little at a time. Everything felt right in the back of that limo, like this was where he was supposed to be—here, with her.
The press was out in force in front of Mann’s Village Theatre, as was the crowd, held back by police barriers. There was a bit of a wait as they queued in line with other limos, but Leah spent the time straining to see who was there, calling out the names to Michael. There was enough star power—A-list actors, directors, and movie moguls were all over the red carpet, speaking to the fans lucky enough to have snagged a position right behind the barricades.
When Michael’s limo pulled up at the entrance, and the driver opened the door, he stepped out first, reached down, and caught Leah’s hand to help her out.
She paused in front of the open door to straighten her dress, but then gave him a huge smile, and together they walked down the red carpet, into the premiere, Michael whispering in her ear who several people were, Leah smiling and waving when any member of the press—fearful of missing anyone important—would call out to her to smile.
When they at last made their way into the theater, they settled down just behind Ewan McGregor, which made Leah giddy with excitement. The movie was an epic hero’s journey, complete with swords and horses and spectacular special effects. What Michael remembered was filming during an unusually cold fall in Poland, where the ground was always muddy and the stunts always impossible to perfect. But when the lights came up and the crowd applauded wildly—of course they did, they were all movie people— Michael felt a sense of accomplishment, like he always did when they finished a film. He supposed he had found his true calling.
They were leaving the theater for a studio reception at a nearby restaurant when Michael felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. “Damn,” he muttered.