Page 2

By the time I find an empty dressing suite and shut the door behind me, my eyes are already burning. “Oh, come on.”

I drop my clutch onto the vanity and brace both hands against the counter.

My reflection stares back from the mirror.

The sight of myself almost makes me laugh. I’m wearing a designer gown that costs more than most people’s monthly rent. My hair is perfect. My makeup was applied by a professional whose waiting list is longer than some university courses. And here I am, on the verge of tears because my boyfriend can’t make it through a charity gala without forgetting I exist.

A strangled laugh escapes me. The first tear slips down my cheek before I’ve even finished laughing. “Seriously?”

I swipe at it and glare at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror looks exactly as unimpressed as I feel. “Get it together, Emma.”

She doesn’t seem particularly convinced by the suggestion.

I swipe at my cheeks, but fresh tears replace the ones I wipe away. At some stage, disappointment stops arriving as a surprise. It settles into your life, taking up space until one day you realize you’ve built entire routines around accommodating it.

I’ve spent months making the same promises to myself. Once filming wraps, things will settle down. Once the travel eases up, we’ll have time for each other again. Once awards season is over, life will finally feel normal.

Every deadline gives way to another one. Every promise arrives with a newer, shinier version attached to it.

My throat tightens.

Standing alone at events doesn’t bother me the way it used to. What unsettles me is how little I miss him when he’s gone.

A knock sounds at the door. I straighten so quickly I nearly knock over my clutch.

“Occupied,” I call, cringing at the roughness in my voice.

The handle turns anyway. The door opens.

Benny Wolf, or Bane as everyone calls him, steps inside and stops short when he sees me. Surprise crosses his face, followed quickly by concern.

“Sorry.” He takes a step back toward the hallway. “I thought the room was empty.” One hand settles on the door handle. “I can go.”

I should tell him to.

Instead, the word escapes before I can think better of it. “Wait.”

Bane pauses. The dressing suite suddenly feels a lot smaller.

He’s wearing the same uniform I’ve seen a hundred times over the months: black suit, earpiece, security credentials clipped neatly into place.

Most of my memories of him exist at the edges of other moments. Standing behind Spencer during interviews. Watching doorways at premieres.

Working as Spencer’s security keeps Bane on the edges of every room, his attention moving through the crowd as everyone else takes center stage.

Lately, that feels uncomfortably familiar.

His gaze settles on me, taking in the swollen eyes and the mascara I’m unsuccessfully trying to rescue.

Most people would pretend not to notice. They’d look anywhere else, give me an easy exit, save us both the embarrassment.

Bane studies me for half a second and gives up on that strategy entirely. A muscle shifts in his jaw. “Did something happen?”

The question catches me so off guard I almost laugh. I can’t remember the last time someone asked it because they genuinely wanted the answer.

I swipe at my cheeks with the heel of my hand. “Besides losing a fight with waterproof mascara?”