We arrive at the premiere on time, only to have to sit and wait.
Damian and Peyton arrived earlier. Knox is in line right ahead of us. Tommy, Mom, and Matt will be the last to arrive.
When we’re finally waved ahead, I look at Aiden. “It’s our turn. You sure you're up for this craziness?”
“I promised to be your arm candy. I'm a man of my word.”
“Yeah, you are. So, you're going to get out first, the valet will get in to park the car, you'll come open my door—” He grabs my face and kisses me, effectively shutting me up.
“Kym has drilled exactly what I'm supposed to do into my head by repeating it about seven hundred times. Then your publicist told me the same thing a few thousand times more.”
“People think me and Knox are an item. It's a big deal that I’m showing up with you.”
“Is this what you want?” he asks.
“More than anything.”
As soon as I get out of the car, the cameras flash.
Almost blinding me.
It's my first public appearance since everything happened with Vincent. Mom wanted me to go to the Academy Awards with her and Tommy, but I only went to the after parties to help celebrate.
I didn't want the night she won her first Oscar to be about anything other than her.
And, thankfully, without me there, the press respected that.
I still haven't spoken publicly about what happened with Vincent.
The reporters from Winter Formal did that for me. They got their interviews and did the talk show circuit.
I gave them everything that happened up until the point that Vincent was shot and killed.
And, since B refused all interviews too, the public doesn’t know about him being kidnapped or about the bomb.
It’s just too personal.
Aiden holds out his elbow, and I can't help but smile widely.
And not because I'm posing for the cameras, but because I'm really, truly happy.
I stop in front of the bleachers full of fans and sign autographs with my purple glitter pen. Just like the one that Avery gave me when I went to Eastbrooke and just like the one I used to sign my very first autograph for Aiden.
Next, we work our way down the line of reporters assembled behind the barricades of the red carpet.
Their lights are bright.
Their flashes even brighter.
They’re all calling out my name, so I stop to answer their questions. Most of them are the same.
Are the rumors about you and Knox true?
Show us your shoes!
Who’s your date for tonight?
Why are you and Knox pretending not to be together?
Keatyn, can I get your autograph?
Aiden holds out his elbow, so I take ahold of it and he leads me up the stairs where all the big entertainment shows are set up. They get longer individual interviews as most are doing live streaming.
“I just wait for you at each one, right?” he asks. We’re waiting for Knox to finish his interview.
“I’d rather you were with me.”
“I don’t belong on TV. But you do. You’re like a shooting star. Hell, I should make a wish on you.”
“You’re silly. I’m so glad being apart last semester didn’t hurt our relationship.”
“I told you,” he says with an adorable grin. “Wherever you go, I go.”
“You did spend a lot of time at my loft. But it was still hard being apart during the week.”
“You mentioned another project earlier . . .”
“They’re ready for us, now,” I say, interrupting him. “And you’re sticking with me for these.”
Even though Knox was just interviewed a few seconds ago and I’m standing here on Aiden’s arm, the reporter delves right in.
“Knox just mentioned how close the two of you are.”
“We’ve been working together, so we’ve gotten to be good friends.”
“There are rumors that you’re dating. Photos of you clubbing in New York.”
“Do you ever go out with the people you work with?” I ask the reporter, who is married and stars in her own reality TV series.
“Well, of course,” she says.
“But, yet, you’re happily married?”
“Uh, well, yes.”
“Exactly my point.”
We move to the next network. This reporter’s name is Stacey and she’s known my mom forever. They waited tables together when they first started out.
“Keatyn,” she says, giving me a hug and air kisses, “you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman.”
“Thank you.”
“And your dress is gorgeous. Who designed it?”
I rattle off the name of the designer.
“How about your shoes?”
I show off my gorgeous shoes. “Tabitha Simmons.”
“There’s a big ring on your finger. Does it mean anything? There were rumors that you and Knox were recently engaged.”
“Really?” I laugh. “I’m only eighteen. I don’t plan on getting engaged for quite a while. But this gorgeousness,” I hold up my borrowed diamonds, “is on loan from Harry Winston.”