“Please take your seats.” I hear an usher politely herding people into the main room. “We’re about to begin.”
In our secluded side alcove, Sam and I ignore him.
“Todd knows I’m Gracie when I’m dressed like this, as Fangli.” I point to the tube top.
“Did you admit it?”
I think. “No.”
“Then forget Todd.” He puts his finger under my chin to lift my face. “You’re beautiful inside and out. Don’t let a person like him extinguish any of you. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you.” My reply is barely a whisper.
“Gracie.” He’s so close. The breeze from the lake licks my skin where he pushes my hair back behind my shoulder.
“Sam?” I don’t move for two reasons. The first is that my knees are so shaky that if I move, I might fall over. The second is that I want him to make the choice. I want Sam to close the distance between us.
He doesn’t make me wait long before he presses his lips to mine, butterfly soft and so fleeting I wonder if it happened. Then he pulls back, only a bit, as if to gauge my reaction. “Gracie?” he asks. “Is this…this is good?”
“God, yes.” I wrap one arm around his neck and grab his arm with the other as I rise up on my toes. I can feel the smile on his lips disappear as I lean into him for a proper kiss, the one I’ve been craving ever since I saw him on that stupid magazine cover. His mouth slots perfectly into mine and this time, it’s real. Sam is kissing me, Gracie. Not Fangli. His arms are wrapped around me, and he kisses me again. Hidden on a balcony overlooking a dark lake, he kisses me until all I can think of is Sam.
This is all real. I can feel it’s real. I know it’s real. It has to be.
Thirty-One
I’m not sure how I make it through the rest of the Chanel party. Angular women strut in front of me in thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and I react with smiles and appreciative nods for the cameras and eyes trained on my face. All this happens on the periphery of my mind because all I can think about is Sam’s leg brushing me when he moves and thanking every god in existence that the lipstick I wore tonight is layered with a varnish that would withstand a hurricane. Our balcony make-out session didn’t even smudge it, let alone leave the two of us with clown mouths. That’s a quality product worthy of a five-star Amazon review.
I can’t tell if the show ends too soon or too late, but at some point, we clap politely, stand, and go. Sam ushers me silently into our waiting car and sits beside me. Very close beside me.
He takes off the wig and brushes his hand over my short hair, which is sweaty and mussed from being under the equivalent of an insulated winter hat. “Gracie,” he says, his fingers tracing along my ear and pushing the wisps back.
I want this. How could I not? The man who’s burrowed himself in my mind is about to kiss me again. Luckily, there is no moment too romantic and no experience too wondrous that my brain cannot ruin.
“We need to talk about this,” I say, pushing him back.
The slashed brows almost meet in the middle. “About me kissing you?”
“More about why.”
He blinks. “Did you want the entire thought process or shall I summarize the highlights? I can probably manage a quick slide deck on my phone if you give me a few minutes. There’s a template I like.”
“There’s no need to be a jerk.”
He captures my hand in his and kisses my fingers, his lips warm on my skin. “I want to kiss you because I want to kiss you. I don’t know how to break it down. I can’t tell you that it’s twenty percent the way you smile at me when I help you out of the car, or sixteen percent the way you laugh at your own jokes.”
“Not that I look like Fangli?”
Sam grimaces. “I’ve had to kiss Fangli for weeks onstage and it’s like kissing my sister. You are not Fangli and I want you.”
His conviction is a bit ruinous to my self-restraint. “It’s that this is a very strange situation,” I explain.
“I like to think we’ve grown on each other.”
“Like a moss?”
“Or a mold.”
“You tell me you’re a good actor. I don’t know what to believe, if this is real or not.”
He thinks about this. “What would be the point of acting like I want you if I don’t? If I didn’t, there would be no need to fake that I did.”
This makes sense when he lays it out like that. “You could be pretending to like me because you want to get laid.”