I hear a couple of gasps from Nenita’s acolytes. But I don’t care. I’m on a roll.
“As for us being similar …” I hesitate. “You’re right. When I know what I want in life, I go after it.” I look around at the PR girls; the cameras; the rows of glossy Big Top goody bags with striped handles, waiting to be collected. I would have gone wild about those goody bags, once upon a time. But now it feels as though they’re somehow contaminated. “And the truth is—I don’t want this.”
“Becky!” says Aran, with a laugh.
“I don’t want it, Aran.” I look him square in the eye. “I don’t want the fame and I don’t want the heat.”
“Sweetheart, don’t overreact!” He puts a hand on my arm. “Nenita was joking about your dress.”
Is that all he thinks I care about? My dress?
But then … why wouldn’t he?
Suddenly I can see myself as everyone else has seen me over the last few weeks. And it’s not a great sight. I have a horrible thickness in my throat, and I can feel tears rising. But there’s no way I’m losing it in front of Nenita Dietz.
“It’s not just about my dress,” I say, as calmly as I can, and shake off his arm. “Bye, Aran.”
A bunch of black-suited girls are gossiping in a clutch by the doors, and as I approach, one springs to life.
“Did you leave the movie already? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.” I attempt a smile. “But I need to go. It’s an emergency. I’m going to call my driver.”
I fumble for my phone and text a message to Jeff:
Can we go now? Thx love Becky x
I stand awkwardly by the doors for a while, wondering where Jeff will pull up—and then I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ll go out and see if I can spot the car.
I push the doors open and head back out onto the red carpet. It’s empty now, littered with a couple of discarded programs and a Coke can and a cardigan that someone must have put down. I can see some white beads from Sage’s dress still glimmering on the red pile. I don’t know how I’m going to explain that to Danny. It was hand-sewn. It must have taken ages to make. All ruined in an instant.
And as I look at the beads, my spirits plunge further. I feel like everything has been ruined tonight. My stupid Hollywood dreams, my plan to be a celebrity, my friendship with Suze—I feel a fresh crush of pain and take a deep, shaky breath. I need to hold it together. I need to find Jeff. I need to …
Wait.
I gulp and stare, unable to move. I can’t believe it.
Coming up the red carpet—the empty red carpet—is Luke. He’s walking steadily but purposefully, and his eyes are fixed on mine. He’s wearing his dark Armani overcoat, and I can see that underneath he’s in black tie.
As he gets near, I start to tremble. His face is taut and stern, giving nothing away. There are tiny shadows under his eyes, and as he reaches me, he doesn’t smile. For one awful moment I think he’s come here to divorce me.
“I thought you went to New York,” I falter, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I did.” He nods gravely. “I did. And then I turned straight round and came back again. Becky, I behaved atrociously. I’m sorry. To you and to my mother. It was unforgivable behavior.”
“It wasn’t!” I say at once, flooded with relief.
“You have every right to be angry with me.”
“I’m not. Honestly, I’m not.” I gulp. “I’m just … I’m so pleased to see you.”
I reach for his hand and clasp it tight. I never expected to see Luke here. Not in a million years. His hand is warm and firm and feels like it’s anchoring me. I never want to let it go.
“Why aren’t you inside?” He jerks his head toward the auditorium. “Has the evening been a success?”
Part of me longs to say, Yes! It’s been brilliant! and regale him with my triumph. But there’s a bigger part of me that can’t lie. Not to Luke. Not when he’s standing here. Not when he flew back from New York. Not when he’s the only person at this premiere who actually cares about me.
“It’s not what I thought,” I say at last. “Nothing’s what I expected.”
“Mmm.” He nods, as though he can read my mind.
“Maybe …” I swallow. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I am a bit lost.”
For a moment Luke doesn’t say anything. Those intense dark eyes of his meet mine, and it’s as though we don’t have to talk. He can sense it all.
“I was brooding about that all the way to New York,” he says finally, his voice deep and gravelly. “And then it hit me. I’m your husband. If you’re lost, it’s up to me to come and find you.”
With no warning, tears start to my eyes. After everything I did to annoy and upset him. He came to find me.
“Well … here I am,” I manage, a lump suddenly in my throat, and Luke sweeps me into his arms.
“Come here,” he says against my wet cheek. “No one should have to go to a premiere on their own. I’m sorry, my darling girl.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble back, sniffling against his white collar. “I think I lost the plot a bit.”
Luke offers me his handkerchief, and I blow my nose and try to repair my eye makeup a little while he waits patiently.
“All the interviewers called me Betty,” I tell him. “Betty.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Betty? No, I can’t see it.” He glances at his watch. “Now, what shall we do? You want to go back inside?”