“Yes.” He smiled, his fingers tracing a line down her warm temple and cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch. “And I don’t give up easily, you should know that by now.”
“Luke . . .” Her words trailed off and Luke nuzzled into her neck, planting feathery kisses on her silky skin. He wanted to stay there forever. Just the two of them, away from the craziness of the theater, away from the rest of the world that seemed determined to break them apart.
“Someone will see us,” she murmured. He could feel her heart pounding underneath that sexy dress.
“Let them see. Let them splash it across the front page of the papers. I want nothing more than for the world to know I’m yours.”
Elle opened her mouth to speak, and Luke traced her red lips with his thumb. “I have to get back to Troy. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Fine.” Luke pushed away from the wall, placing his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo.
“I need to use the washroom. Go back now, so we don’t return at the same time.”
“Whatever you want. But this isn’t over.”
Elle swallowed hard, nodding. He smiled to himself as he watched her walk to the ladies’ room. His eyes followed the most beautiful woman in the world clicking her heels against the marble floor, and he had a thought. Saladino damn well better have his game face on.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Troy tapped his fingers on the white linen tablecloth as he stared at the door, waiting for Rigby to emerge. She and the actor had been gone for far too long and he was on the verge of straight-up exasperation. This entire environment made him ridiculously uncomfortable. The gowns, the tuxedos, the pretentious assholes seated at his table. One was drunk off her ass and staring at him with a sick grin on her face.
He attempted to ignore her, but she simply wasn’t having it. “Hey, handsome.” She waited for him to make eye contact. When he did, her next statement came out in a sing-songy tone, as if she was trying to make him feel even worse about his kinda-sorta girlfriend wandering off with her ex. “They’ve been gone an awfully long ti-ime . . .”
“Shut up, Gina,” Whitney snapped. Troy took a sip of his scotch, attempting (yet again) to ignore the intoxicated star of the show, knowing she was probably upset about losing in her category.
“I’m ignoring you, whore.” Gina’s eyes stayed on Troy as she snapped at Whitney.
“Whoa!” Nolan interrupted. “There’s no need for that language.”
“Shut up!” Both women yelled at the actor, who raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair with his hands up in the air, obviously retiring from the entire conversation.
Nolan nudged Troy in the arm. “I tried, man.”
“I wonder if they’re in the coat closet . . . or a bathroom stall,” Gina said. “Either way, someone’s getting nailed.”
Whitney stood and glared at Gina. “I swear to God, if you say one more thing about my friend I will rearrange your freaking face.”
“It’s all right, Whitney. She’s not bothering me.” Troy attempted to defuse the situation, taking another sip of his drink, trying to calm his nerves. He offered Whitney a polite smile with his lips pressed into a thin line. “No big deal.”
“Bitch,” Gina slurred before taking another sip of champagne. Whitney rolled her eyes and started typing on her cell phone. Troy wondered if she was trying to reach Rigby, to let her know her absence was noticed in a major way.
“Enough,” Rob the director said between clenched teeth. Troy could tell his patience was wearing thin with Gina’s antics. “Reporters and bloggers are all over this place.”
Gina perked up, a smug look on her inebriated face. “Hey, as long as we’re making headlines—”
“I mean it, Gina.” Rob bared his teeth at the actress. “The last thing we need is bad press at the Globes. Get yourself under control . . . right now.”
Kingston returned to the ballroom, and despite the fact his appearance was not disheveled in any way, Troy wasn’t convinced nothing had happened. Trusting Rigby was not his strong suit. He knew he was one to hold a grudge—and he held one against her for a decade. Weeks ago, he promised her he was done with that, promised the grudge would end to give them a real chance. But as he watched the actor casually return to the table, take a sip of his drink, and lean back in the chair to talk quietly with Whitney, Troy’s insecurities bubbled to the surface, and his old friend the grudge yelled at him. Loudly.
She’s not yours. Never has been. Even when she walked down that aisle.
Troy gritted his teeth, waiting for Rigby to return to the theater. A beautiful television star was holding an envelope and introducing nominees for Best Actor in a Drama Series.
“This is it,” Nolan said, nudging Troy.
“Good luck,” Troy said, noticing Rigby standing by the door, unable to return to her seat while an award was being announced. They locked eyes and she offered a smile. Skeptically, Troy returned it. He had no intention of ruining her big night, no matter how conflicted he felt inside. He watched as she pressed her interlaced fingers toward her chest. She wanted Nolan, and the show, to be rewarded for their hard work. He could tell she was holding her breath as her eyes remained glued to the stage. God, she was beautiful.
Nolan’s name was announced as the winner, and the standard music began to play. Nolan rose to his feet, shaking Troy’s and Rob’s hands before walking to the stage. Instead of watching the actor, though, Troy’s eyes darted back to Rigby, who was bouncing with excitement on her toes. Troy was so proud of her, of the world she created for these characters, of the recognition it had garnered her. She deserved every drop of success Hollywood had to offer her. As he watched her, he listened to Nolan’s speech.
“Wow. What an honor. First of all, thank you to the Hollywood foreign press for this incredible honor. Also, I need to thank the woman who created Desmond and Molly and everything that goes into this show. Even though this is my final season, I’ll always be grateful to Elle Riley for giving me this chance on one of the best television shows ever written. I want to thank my agent, my publicist, and our director, Rob. Gina, what can I say? It’s been one hell of a ride, sweetheart. And lastly, to Whitney Bartolina . . . thank you for inspiring me, baby. This one’s for you!”
Troy turned his attention to Whitney when he heard that final sentence and was baffled when Whitney didn’t seem pleased with the dedication. In fact, she seemed annoyed as she rolled her eyes and shook her head, diving back into her cocktail. Troy couldn’t figure these people out. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if Rigby thanked him in a speech heard by millions. But he liked to think he’d feel grateful rather than irritated.
“This blows, I need a smoke.” Gina stood, her legs wobbly as she passed Rigby on her way to the smoking terrace. Troy, although concerned the terribly inebriated actress might get herself into even more trouble, knew it was not his place to do anything about it, especially since Rigby was walking toward him with a satisfied grin on her face. Her expression was contagious and he found himself smiling right along with her.
“Oh my God, he won,” Rigby boomed when she returned to the table. “This is amazing!”
She and Whitney exchanged an awkward glance and Troy became curious. Then he noticed Whitney and Nolan weren’t even sitting together. That dedication was starting to seem odd. Troy resigned himself to the fact this group would continue to confuse him—he’d never quite understand their dynamic, nor did he care to. Rigby was his focus, not them.