Chapter 13

I kick my feet up on the bland hotel coffee table, trying to get comfortable without scuffing my shiny dress shoes, and idly flip through the pages of one of Sophie's magazines, though all the overdressed models in the advertisements just leave me wincing with sympathy.

"Should I pack a flask for the red carpet this time?" Sophie calls from the bathroom.

"Hells yes," I agree easily. "But I'm going to have to carry it for you and I'm not making any promises about saving you any."

I hear her coming down the hall and toss the magazine carelessly onto the table.

"Maybe we should go wild and bring two," I joke, and then stop as I catch sight of her. I give her a low whistle and shake my head. "How do you do that?"

We have to get dressed up pretty often for various events and even with as little love as I have for a tuxedo, it's all worth it, because evening gowns fit Sophie like they were invented just for her.

Sophie tugs self-consciously at her bodice. "Save the charm for the cameras, hot stuff."

I raise an eyebrow at her as I push to my feet. "And you say I can't take a compliment."

She bends down to dig through the carry-on bag she left next to the couch. "It's just the ballet training. Evening wear is all about posture."

"It's not the ballet. It's the you," I say firmly. "You should have saved that dress for your own premiere, though. This is supposed to be Julia's night."

Sophie's wearing a silver, corset-topped gown with a ribbon of gold snaking through the fabric in seemingly random loops that managed to accentuate every one of her lovely curves. With her wearing that thing, it'll be a miracle if anybody even notices there's supposed to be a movie playing as well.

Sophie grabs a small satin clutch and shoves a pile of toiletries back into her carry-on. "It won't hurt to look good in those ménage a trois pictures you know they're going to want of the three of us."

"Jealous?" I tease. "I happen to like pictures of me surrounded by beautiful women." I bat my eyelashes at her. "It sets off my eyes."

She starts transferring things into her evening purse without answering.

I frown. "Soph? You okay?"

She turns and smiles wanly at me, looking a little tired. "I'm fine. It just annoys me how the press has to look for drama in everything."

I take a step closer and slide my fingers up the silky skin of her neck. Her hair is pinned up into an artfully effortless cascade of curls the color of dark chocolate. I want to bury my fingers in her hair and mess it all up, then pull her astride my lap and make her forget all about premieres and photographers.

"My makeup," she protests but I kiss her anyway. She is stiff for a second, but then her lips soften under mine and her hand comes up to grip the back of my neck with surprising strength.

My tongue steals into her mouth and it isn't until my fingers catch on a hairpin that I realize I'm mussing her hair after all, and probably making us late.

I pull back reluctantly. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll fix it."

She smoothes her hands down my lapels, avoiding my eyes. "It doesn't matter."

I cup the exposed nape of her neck and knead the sleek muscles there, tipping her forehead against my chin because she can't lay her head on my shoulder without ruining my dark jacket with her makeup. I love the rare times when we're off for a few days or weeks between projects and neither of us has to think about costumes or makeup or how to stand so people can see all the parts of us in just the right light.

Right now, we're deep into shooting the new season of our show and while it is nice to have Sophie on set with me again, we're both exhausted from the schedule. I don't know how people never seem to appreciate how many more hours of filming is required for a television show vs. a feature film.

Movie actors work for six weeks to three months at a time on a movie and everybody but the top stars has time off in between. Television actors are on for months at a time and usually scrambling for film projects in their off time. But it is a steady paycheck and reliable exposure. Add hot girls, fight scenes and the fact that I never have to cook for myself anymore, and I am so in.

I do love my job, way more than anybody has a right to. I just wish it came with a full eight hours of sleep sometimes.

I sigh. "Thanks for flying out here with me. I know you'd rather have had a couple days of actual free time. There's no way I could miss this, though, even if we hadn't turned it into a fundraiser."

She makes a little moaning sound. "Hey, you're a very persuasive man. For a neck rub like this, I'd fly all the way to Egypt and pose for ménage a trois pictures with as many fake empresses as you want, no matter what they look like."

Despite her flippant tone, her muscles aren't relaxing under my fingers the way they usually do, and something about her joke bothers me. I abandon the massage and tip her chin up, searching her face.

"Soph."

She tries to pull away, her gaze dropping away from mine. "We're late, aren't we? Just give me a minute to redo my lipstick."

I catch her around the waist before she can escape. "Sophie Rybak, are you jealous? Is that what this is about?"

I know this is serious, but somehow, I still find myself fighting hard against a smile. "You? Jealous? Of me?" I ask incredulously, the corners of my lips twitching up despite my best efforts.

She meets my eyes for one second and flushes.

I start to laugh. She smacks me with her purse.

"I'm sorry!" I protest, though my shoulders are still shaking with amusement.

"You should be. You're a total jerk," she fumes, shoving at my chest. I squeeze her tighter, pressing a smiling kiss into her intricately coiled hair.

"No, no, this is really cute. Come on, tell me again what you're worried about? Those ménage a trois pictures?" I snicker, but then I let her go and take a quick step back, because the look on her face tells me I'm seconds from having that tiny little purse crammed down my throat.

"Do you not remember all those sexy promo pictures with you and me and Josh to advertise the love triangle?" I challenge incredulously.

"Yeah, but that was Josh," she scoffs.

"Have you totally forgotten Season One?" I ask rhetorically and she shoots me a narrow, sideways glance that tells me she wasn't thinking about it that way but doesn't want to admit it. It's pretty rare that either of us acknowledges the massive crush Josh had on her during filming for the first season of Queen of Hearts, back when she and I were still flirting like crazy in between takes but lying to the media and everyone else about being interested in each other.

She goes to run her fingers through her hair and stops herself, sighing.

"You know, it's really no big deal. I'm tired, and I'm being petty and you should really just ignore me. I would love it if the premiere were tomorrow morning at about 10 and I could go after a good night's sleep. That's all that is really bothering me."

I catch her bare shoulders and meet her troubled dark eyes for long enough to watch her try to smooth her expression for me. My amusement gone, I turn her until she's facing away from me and begin to gently detangle the hairpin that I knocked askew. "What's bothering me," I tell her quietly, "is that you're upset, even though you know perfectly well how crazy I am about you."

I smooth the loose curl and pin it back into place, then bend to smooth a kiss over the nape of her neck.

I think about the ring that I'm having designed for her. I had been planning on keeping it until I was sure that she was ready to take the next step with me, but I know if I had it right now I wouldn't be able to wait.

"There's not a woman or a movie or anything else on this earth that could change that," I tell her in a low voice. "The only life I'm interested in having is the one with you in it."

She turns to me with a little strangled scrap of a cry and presses her face hard into my neck, hanging onto me for all she's worth, and I hang on right back.

X X X

We are still mostly on time, even though Sophie had to redo most of her makeup and talk me out of taking her straight to bed instead of to the limo. I swear to God, if this wasn't an event for my charity, I'd ditch the whole premiere, even if I am the damn star.

I love my job, I love my life, and I love that it gives me the opportunity to do things for people around the world that I'd otherwise be powerless to help. And I know it's selfish and immature of me, but I really just want to stay home with my girlfriend tonight.

I want to see how many times I can get her to scream my name. I want to eat cookies in bed and scratch my balls without worrying that somebody will catch it on film. I should probably care more about saving at-risk kids. I do care about it, or I wouldn't be in a fucking limo with my pants still buttoned, but I don't much feel like I care at the moment.

I haven't let go of Sophie's hand since we got into the car, and she's sitting closer than she usually does, crushing the full skirt of her gown between us. The moment when we'll have to face the world again is approaching all too quickly for my taste.

"Why don't you stick with me tonight?" I propose, giving Sophie what I hope is an appealing smile. "We'll do the interviews together. You know all the magazines pay more for pictures with both of us in them anyway, so the photographers will be happy. Besides, we have a good interview routine worked out. Why mess with what works?"

Sophie shakes her head. "No way," she says firmly. "There's not going to be enough of you to go around as it is. Let me play reporter pacifier and the red carpet will be less of a shouting match."

Somewhere along the drive the steel went back into her spine. I'm glad, but I know it's at least partially an act and I hate the idea of her having to negotiate the press when she's feeling vulnerable. I bring our intertwined fingers to my lips, as if I could leave a kiss for her to hold on to tonight when I can't be there to do it myself.

"Mario Kart in my sweats when we get home," Sophie vows, watching me with fierce, beautiful eyes.

"You're on, but I swear to God, woman, if you don't let me win at least once, we're going back to playing HALO instead," I threaten.

That gets a smile out of her and when her nose wrinkles up with genuine pleasure, I feel about ten feet tall.

Too soon, the limo pulls up at the start of the red carpet. It's lit up like the Fourth of July out there, flashbulbs already popping even though we're not in view yet.

"Really ugly, old scrungy sweats," Sophie says, wincing as she catches sight of the reporter turnout.

"Not the ones with penguins on them?" I say, cringing.

"So many penguins."

"With the damn hats?" I gripe. "Animals shouldn't wear hats. It's unnatural."

Unfortunately, I have to open the door before she has a chance to respond. I step out with my classic smile in place, the one that matches my tuxedo. I turn with Christian's restrained grace and offer my hand to Sophie. It's not the easiest thing to get out of a low-slung car in heels and a big skirt, as she's reminded me more than once.

Before she's even out of the car, the moment has been recorded for posterity about two thousand times and I feel a flash of recklessness shoot through me. Once she gets both feet on the pavement, I tug her hand a little too hard.

It pulls her up to standing but unbalances her so that she falls against my chest. I'm ready, though, both arms going around her waist so I can catch her, lift her, and kiss her all in the same moment. It's a swing dancing move I learned from a movie I did when I was fifteen and it looks like magic on film.

Sophie stiffens with surprise, but when her feet come off the ground, her lips curve in a smile against mine and she wraps her arms around my neck, matching my kiss and raising the ante by about 20 degrees. The air fills with cheers and catcalls and the snap of camera shutters, but it's a dull roar in the back of my mind that can hardly compete with the heat of the woman against me.

When I finally set her back down, I pull back just a little and she smiles up at me and wipes the smudges of lipstick off my lower lip with her thumb.

"Somebody got over their phobia of public displays of affection," she murmurs.

"Baby, I've got moves you've never seen," I say, painting my face with an arrogant smirk, and she laughs.

We turn and face the cameras, hand in hand. Sophie's smile is real now, and she is absolutely radiant.

We pose together for pictures for several minutes, sacrificing our vision to the flashbulbs. Then some attendants usher us out of arrivals and into the media gauntlet section of the red carpet. Since it is the premiere of my movie, and a fundraiser that I organized, every single reporter here is fighting for their five minutes with me.

Fortunately, the season premiere of Queen of Hearts onlyaired last week, so Sophie is nearly as hot a commodity as I am. She's immediately swept into interviews, and somehow I doubt she'll have to stand around waiting for me to finish.

Moving down the line, I answer the same stock questions so many times that when somebody asks me something new, I blink and fumble for a second.

"The hardest part of filming 50 Shades of Grey?" I repeat, stalling. I check the female reporter's shoes surreptitiously. Round-toed, high heeled boots. I can work with that.

I look up and meet her eyes squarely and her lashes flare in response, drawing my attention to a tiny clump of mascara still clinging to the tips. "You know, I'm going to be honest with you," I tell her with a wry smile. "This role took a lot out of me and I don't think I would have done a particularly impressive job without Sophie."

The reporter raises perfectly waxed eyebrows, eagerness lurking behind her friendly façade. I very rarely discuss Sophie in interviews at all, and never in a very personal way. "Sophie Rybak was an early pick to play Ana, but she didn't end up taking any part in the production, did she?"

"Not officially, no. But this is a unique movie."

"It is," the reporter agrees, leaning forward slightly and now she looks like she's actually listening to me instead of planning her next question.

"I wasn't very acquainted with the BDSM subculture before taking on the part of Christian Grey. I thought it was just for people that liked it a little rough, you know?" I wink and give her a flirty smile and she laughs conspiratorially.

"But this experience taught me that the beauty of BDSM is the trust you have in another person to know you and push you in exactly the way you need to be pushed to break through your previous limits into something you had no idea you could be," I tell her, letting my voice drop into a more serious register. "That's what Sophie did for me."

"She busted out the whips and chains on you, did she?" the reporter asks with a wicked grin.

I laugh, right on cue. "Just verbally, fortunately for me. But she really helped me change my perspective about how Christian and Ana should be portrayed. The result is that Fifty Shades is something that I believe is absolutely transcendent of the romantic genre as we've always seen it in mainstream film. It's something completely new."

"That's a pretty big statement," the reporter says skeptically.

"I don't make it lightly," I confirm, holding her gaze. I've been in the entertainment industry a long time, probably longer than this girl, and I know how much recycling there is of material. This quote is going to get repeated a lot.

The reporter turns back to her cameraman. "Wow, so you have it from the horse's mouth. This movie is going to be huge. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me tonight, David. Do you have a message for your guardian angel of BDSM, Sophie Rybak?"

I chuckle. "She'll love that title. No, she knows exactly what she means to me." I turn to her cameraman's lens and smile mysteriously, thinking about emerald ring that will be back from the jewelers in less than a week. "Mostly."

"Whew!" the reporter exclaims. "Girls, I think we can all hope that Sophie was sitting down with a glass of ice water for that smile. What a tease! Thanks again, David."

I feel a hand on my arm and turn with a practiced smile to see Julia standing there, looking fragile and lovely in a classic mermaid-style gown the color of rich cream.

"Hey, the leading lady in the flesh." I smirk. "Though perhaps not so much flesh as usual."

She sticks out her tongue at me. "Figured I'd better go modest. This crowd is going to see plenty of me as it is."

That's all we have time to say before we're off to more interviews, this time together, but still with the same five questions.

When that's done, we pose for the photographers, my hand casually resting on her waistline. Her skin feels hot through the thin silk of her dress and I'm hyperaware of her all-too-familiar body so close to mine.

I deliberately relax my shoulders to hide my flash of irritation. The spark between us was useful for filming, but it would be nice if we could switch it off now that the scenes are in the can.

I'm thankful for the aides that come to retrieve us when we need to head inside, because there's no way to keep track of time in this throng of strangers with cameras and microphones. I'm looking around for Sophie when Julia grabs my hand.

"Hey, let's steal a minute before we head backstage. I want you to meet my date."

I follow willingly, curious. As far as I know, Julia's not dating anyone. She leads me out of the main crowd and at first I don't see anybody. Then my gaze drops and I see a middle-aged woman sitting in a wheelchair, smiling politely at me. The resemblance is unmistakable. She has Julia's dark hair and sea-green eyes, set in a face that is more plain and less refined than her daughter's.

I feel a pang of guilt. I've never thought to invite my own mom to a premiere. Never considered that she'd want to be a part of this circus. We just got the news last week that her lump was benign, and this would have been the perfect way to celebrate.

"David, meet my mum, Caroline," Julia says warmly.

"It's very nice to finally meet you, David. Julia's been singing your praises since you two started filming together."

Events like these are like sprinting through a social obstacle course: you only have an instant to see what the person expects you to be and figure out how to give it to them. Julia's mother's eyes hold a hint of challenge, and I swallow the pleasantries that were on the tip of my tongue.

"You flew all the way across the pond to be here? Must have been a pain in the ass to get through all the airport security with a wheelchair."

Caroline's polite face disappears as she bursts out laughing. I smile, glad that risk panned out.

"You're damned right it was," she says when she recovers her breath. She beams up at me. "But I couldn't wait another minute to see the final product of all Julia's hard work."

Belatedly, it hits me that this is Julia's mom and my impeccable visual memory starts playing a high-speed reel of all the debauched things she is about to see me doing to her daughter.

Now it is Julia's turn to laugh. "Oh my God, David, your face! Mum, I forgot to tell you, David here is a fantastic actor, but he's a bit of a prude. I'm sure he thinks that I told you this movie was produced by Disney."

I finally spot Sophie through the crowd, but pull my eyes away from her to give Julia a dirty look. "You're a bad person. You know that, don't you?"

Caroline laughs and I give her my most charming smile. "So nice to meet you, ma'am. Your daughter is an incredibly talented woman. Her manners aside, you should be very proud."

I excuse myself and snake my way through the crowd until I can slip an arm around the familiar curve of Sophie's waist. She's hugging her arms tightly across her chest in a way that tells me she's sorry she chose the strapless dress for a premiere in late fall.

"Are you freezing yet?" I whisper in her ear. She tosses me a rueful smile before she graciously extracts herself from her conversation and leads me away.

"I shouldn't be. This room is crammed with people."

I undo the button of my tuxedo jacket. "That sounds like a yes."

She stops me with a hand on my arm. "No, David, you're about to give your speech. You need to be wearing your jacket for that."

"It's a fundraiser speech. Nobody will care what I wear or say," I protest. "They'll clap politely, I'll make the requisite two lame jokes and we'll call it a night and watch some whips and chains."

An aide approaches. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but you're needed backstage."

"Yup, no problem," I tell him. I glance back at Sophie and she squeezes my hand. "Go ahead. I'll see you in a few minutes."

I pause, taking a moment to really look at her. She's absolutely stunning in her formal wear, and her delicate shoulders look stronger, her espresso-colored eyes steady in a way that they weren't before we left for the party.

She tosses me an impish smile and a hint of a tolerant eye roll in response to my careful scrutiny. "Go on now, let's get the speeches over with. I heard a rumor there's some pretty spectacular nude scenes in this movie."

"Pervert," I accuse, bending close to press a teasing kiss firmly into her cheek.

"I'll show you a pervert," she murmurs so only I can hear.

I growl softly into her ear. "You know what those crazy hat-wearing penguins do to me, woman. Play fair."

She tsks and gives me a playful shove toward the backstage area. "Who ever said I play fair?"

I flare my eyes lazily in response, because nothing I want to say to that can be said in public, and then reluctantly turn to go. The aide leads me to a small room backstage where Julia's already waiting.

"Can I ask you to do me a favor?" I ask him.

"Of course, Mr. Tate. What can I do for you?"

I shrug out of my jacket and hand it to him. "Would you mind bringing this to my girlfriend? She's the one in the silver dress."

He looks amused. "I know who she is, sir."

"Oh, right. Thank you."

He nods and exits with my jacket.

Julia smiles a quick greeting to me and does something on her phone.

I feel a little involuntary tingle of excitement at her presence, and make myself glance away. We wait quietly, just the two of us for once. No light crew or camera lenses or Lucy's nagging, just an easy silence between two people who have shared plenty of words before.

But even now, the air is never quite still between us, the charge that never quite dissipates leaving me wishing, stupidly, that she'd look up from her phone. I take a seat on one of the smooth black leather couches and lean my forearms against my knees, clasping my hands. The room is far enough from the crowd that I can hear nothing but our breathing and the tap of Julia's fingers on the screen of her phone, and in that lack of sound, I let myself think, just for a second, if Sophie was right to worry tonight.

There were moments, when Julia would make me laugh between takes or when it seemed like her arousal was just a little too real during a scene, that I'd wonder if we could have had something together, if we'd met somewhere else, or at a different time. I had fantasized a few times about asking her. Not asking her out, but just…if the scenes were so real for another reason, maybe.

I tip my chin up and consider her, the luminous sweep of her creamy gown a perfect feminine silhouette against the modern black of the sofa on which she's perched. Her hair is down but it layers prettily into a very trendy and flippant style that somehow still looks very touchable. It's hard not to remember that I know exactly what her hair feels like curled around my fingers.

She's abandoned her phone and is digging through her purse for something, but frankly, her purse isn't big enough that the contents could have occupied her for this long. She doesn't look up, though she must feel my eyes on her.

I thought we'd gotten to know each other pretty well during filming, but I had no idea her mother was in a wheelchair. In the end, what do I really know about Julia, other than that she is funny and easy on the eyes? I don't know her heart, not the way I know Sophie's. The way Sophie knows mine.

I watch Julia, delicately lovely in every one of her movements, no matter what she's doing. And I decide that I don't need to ask her anything.

"I wanted to thank you," I tell her. "I was going to quit the movie. I couldn't have faked my way through that without you."

Her head jerks up in surprise and she really looks at me for the first time since I entered the room, but this time, her expressive eyes are more brick wall than encyclopedia.

Her smile is gentle, though, when she says, "It wasn't fake. We may have been telling a story, but it was real. It was a real experience that we shared."

She pauses as if she might go on, but then presses her lips together and looks back down at her purse.

The aide pokes his head back inside. "You guys are on. Are you ready?"

I nod, and steal one last glance at Julia before I leave the room.

We walk on stage together and we smile and wave until the applause dies down. Julia steps up and adjusts the microphone so that it is low enough to catch her voice. She dips her head and murmurs casually into it.

"I know you lot are just here for the free champagne." There is general laughter and she smiles knowingly. "But we have to do our bit for humanity first, right?"

She points out at the crowd with a tilt of her hip that is menacing and cute all at once. "So you all give your money to whoever David wants you to and then we can all sit back and enjoy the show and the drinks, hmm?"

The laughter is louder and less polite this time. "Without further ado," she says, raising her arms and dropping the teasing tone, "my incredibly talented and philanthropically minded co-star, David Tate!"

I step up and smile until the applause slows, and then adopt Julia's informal tone. "I apologize for that. She's still recovering from playing my submissive, and I'm afraid it's made her a touch bossy."

That gets the crowd all but roaring and I smirk and wait for them to settle before I continue.

"The studio has graciously allowed all the proceeds from tonight to go to a fund that will help rescue, house and provide vocational training for former child prostitutes in Southeast Asia, as well as collecting donations from whomever would like to contribute. So, I'll just leave the lights on until I hear the scratching of pens on checkbooks," I deadpan. "I have a number in mind," I tease over the sound of laughter. "And nobody's getting any whips and chains until we get there."

I pause. "No. Seriously, though. We're all here to watch a movie about a man who has suffered terrible abuse and who finds a woman whose trust and love heals him." I scan the audience, not that I can see a thing past the lights at the foot of the stage. Still, I focus my eyes so they'll think I am looking at them.

This project is probably the most important thing I've ever put my influence behind and suddenly I'm inexplicably nervous about the speech ahead, even though I'm far from a stranger to public speaking. But I don't get another take on this one, and unlike when I act, there's far more than entertainment on the line.

"Most of you won't ever meet the people we help tonight, but please know that you've made a huge difference nonetheless. I've been over there, touring the shelters and schools that we're donating to. I've met the people you're helping and I was overwhelmed by their suffering and by my inability to provide the love and acceptance they needed to right the wrongs done to them."

My throat tightens against the memory of their faces. When I went through the shelter, the kids shied away from me. Some of the girls flirted with me, or tried to touch me. Girls too young to walk to the mall alone in this country.

I don't try to hide the tears that sting my eyes at the thought.

I grew up hunting and fishing in the swamps of the deep south and part of me still cringes at the idea that anyone would see me weak, see me cry or hear my voice break. But the actor in me knows that this is the way to squeeze every last penny out of the many rich donors listening to this speech.

And God knows the kids I'm trying to help have done worse things for money. So I don't hide what I feel from the audience, but I try to temper the guilt trip with a little reality.

"We can't do that from here. We can't love them, or care for them, or teach them the job skills they desperately need. What we can do is give them money and security and a chance at another life."

My voice comes out rougher than I intended it to and my usually rock solid rote memorization abruptly fails me. I can't remember how I'd planned to manipulate them. The lights are angled wrong and I can't see anyone in the crowd to judge their reaction, to see if I need to lighten or darken my speech for the best impact. I'm just winging it.

"A lot of the people here tonight make movies for a living, like I do. We take a piece of life and make it sharper, more vivid. Make it truer than true even though it isn't real."

I swallow. "That fiction is not nothing. It brings people joy and pain, discomfort and peace. It creates opportunity. It becomes its own kind of reality."

I pause. I still can't remember my damn speech, and my throat is clamping down.

I want like hell to say the right thing so I can put a roof over the head of those kids who couldn't even look me in the eye after what they'd had to do to feed themselves but my ability to bullshit has deserted me at the worst possible time.

I look for a familiar pair of melted chocolate eyes, but up on the stage, I'm blinded and strangely alone under the scrutiny of the crowd.

I know Julia's behind me, but this is my show and I can hardly fall back on her when I know she doesn't have a speech prepared either.

My voice drops, but the microphone pushes it out into the ears of every person in this giant room nonetheless.

"But for all of us who make fiction for a living, I want to remind you of something very important. That no matter how many fans you have, no matter how many people you impress or the compromises you've made to achieve success, there will come a moment..." I pause.

This is probably not the right thing to say. It is true for me, but it may not be the kind of true that is going to write checks. I say it anyway.

"There will come a moment when you are all alone and all the other realities have fallen away. What is left in that moment is you."

I pause and look out. I can't see anyone, but it doesn't matter. They can see themselves.

"The question is, what do you want that to be?"

Applause explodes through the audience, and I hope to hell it's bleeding heart, check-writing applause and not public-guilt-trip only applause, because I just ripped myself open for them and it better have fucking worked.

I step back from the podium and smile. Not for the camera this time. Just for me.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of you who have supported this story, and let me take it to all the dark and confusing places that I did, and appreciated what I was trying to say. I can't tell you how much all of your support has meant to me.

If you'd like more of my writing, check out my new book or my other fanfiction at my website: michellehazenbooks dot com

If you watch the Vampire Diaries show, I have lots of fanfiction in that fandom, and a current story going that is a crazy mix of action, romance, smut and friendship so check my page for that!