J

"Wow," Lisa breathed out, setting her dark gray suit coat down over the chair when I came out of the bedroom.

"What?" I asked reflexively. I wasn't sure if she liked what she saw or not, considering I had just spent the last two hours being painted, brushed, curled, and sprayed. I felt like an overdone walking makeup ad.

I smoothed my hands across the bodice of my strapless gown to assure that everything was in place.

The wardrobe stylist had selected a black satin and chiffon sheath, overlaid with fine silver lace by Versace. It had a high slit to show a little thigh and flowed like water over my curves. A teardrop diamond pendant and matching earrings finished off the look.

"You are absolutely stunning," she continued breathlessly, pacing each word as if to give it proper emphasis. Her swagger and smoldering eyes told me that I wasn't the only one having naughty thoughts about stripping each other bare. She was absolutely beautiful dressed up. My desire to rend the shirt right off her back and roll my tongue around on her muscular chest had me hungry and blushing.

"What do you think?" she seemed unsure of her attire, tugging at her vest to straighten it. "Does this look okay?"

It wasn't the first time I had seen her in a suit, but tonight in a three-piece, custom-tailored, charcoal-gray Armani she looked devastatingly beautiful. I nodded emphatically, distracted by thoughts of her wearing nothing but that white dress shirt at some point in the very near future. Opened instead of buttoned to display every hard line of her chest and abs. I straightened the knot of her black-patterned necktie and smiled. "I think you look like a gorgeous movie star."

Lisa cradled my face in her hands and smiled gently, kissing me softly as she always does. Her brown eyes, framed by those gorgeous long lashes, locked on to mine. "I love you," she whispered.

I kissed her and returned her sentiment, but deep inside I privately ached. All day I had tried to get over my sullen mood, and even though I loved her with every fiber of my soul, I couldn't help but feel disappointed by her. Okay—honestly, I was feeling very disappointed by her.

"Hey." She gently grasped my arm when I turned to walk away. "What's wrong?"

I didn't want to get into a discussion about my dejected feelings before her premiere. She didn't need to deal with that right now. Mom always used to say to "sleep on things for a night" before acting rash.

Maybe with time I'd see things in a different light. I had spent most of last night praying for an epiphany.

"Nothing is wrong." I tried to dismiss her keen observation by putting on a forced grin to shake off her speculation.

"Bullshit," she returned with a sharp laugh as she followed me into the bathroom. "You don't think I can tell when you're upset, Jen? Give me some credit."

Lisa trapped me at the bathroom sink; her chest pressed into my back. I could feel the warmth of her breath heating my ear. "I know you better than you think I do."

I swallowed hard, loving that she cared to know my feelings but hesitant to share them before I had sorted those feelings out.

"You've been this way since dinner last night, and every time I've asked, you've avoided telling me. So please don't tell me you're fine anymore. What's going on?"

She kissed my bare shoulder tenderly.

I opted for saving her from my bruised emotions. "It's not important. We can talk later. You have enough to deal with right now."

Her arms crossed over my abdomen, pulling me closer. "No. I'm not waiting that long. We made a promise to each other, remember? More open and honest? I want to know what's bothering you, and I want to know what it is right now."

I looked at her through our reflection in the large mirror, stalling.

"Right now," she ordered, her voice taking on a new, direct tone.

My will cracked. "I thought you were going to say something on the show last night, that's all." I casually added a shrug, trying to lessen the impact.

"About what?"

My apprehension to go down this road made me fidget. "About being engaged. I just thought . . . since you didn't say anything on Jimmy Collins that you might say something on Night Life, but you didn't. I'm trying not to be one of those needy girls, Lisa, but I just don't understand why you've avoided confirming it when they asked."

I hoped her reasons weren't any of the ones on my speculated list.

It took all of ten seconds for her to break eye contact and make a few of her standard throaty noises before her hands freed me. Next came her "stare at the floor and rub the forehead" maneuver.

I turned my eyes back to the sink counter. This repeat pattern of having to walk on damn eggshells around them was getting so freaking old. "See, this is why I didn't want to say anything. I know you have your reasons, Lisa. It's just . . . I thought I was your fiancée, but I can't help but feel as though I'm some dirty little secret."

Lisa closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. "You're not a dirty secret, Jennie. Nor have you ever been."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

She paled as if I'd just smacked her. "Of course not! Why would you even say that?"

"You denied being engaged to me on television and during every interview. I don't understand why, beyond Marla telling you not to, so what else am I to think? I'm sorry, but I can't help feeling the way I do."

"What the hell do you want me to do?" she grumbled, letting her hands slap down on her thighs.

I held her gaze, worried that she might think I was even remotely interested in having this turn into an argument. "I love you—with all of my heart. I want to be your wife, your partner. I want to be by your side through all of your adventures. But I don't know what I'm supposed to do or what role I'm supposed to play. Help me to understand, Lisa. Help me to be a part of all of this."

Lisa exhaled with new frustration. "Jen, you see how things are—the paparazzi, the fucking tabloids. They take everything from me. Everything I hold sacred. Why can't our private life stay private, you know? If I give them that, then what do I have left? Nothing."

Massive confusion tore through my mind, followed closely by my anger. "Maybe I should just stay here then. That way I can stay a private matter," I muttered to the tiled floor.

"No. Fuck that."

I studied the design in the lace of my dress for a moment before begging her eyes for some clarity.

"Just answer one question. Why did you do it? If you don't want to acknowledge that we're engaged, if it's supposed to be some well-guarded secret, why did you make your proposal public?"

"You don't understand." With a short huff, Lisa stood and stepped around me to head toward the door.

Wonderful. Just like every other guy I've ever been with. Bail when the topic gets a little uncomfortable. That's it. Walk away. "You're right. I don't."

Lisa stopped on the threshold and gripped the door frame with both hands, completely surprising me.

Her head hung low for a moment. "I didn't say anything on Jimmy Collins because all that asshole wanted was a confession to up his ratings."

He turned around and then paced the length of the bath, from the cavernous sandstone-tiled shower to the doorway and back again. "The intimate details of our personal life are not for public discussion, Jen. Nor am I going to allow it to be used to make other people rich. That's our life—our business."

I drew in a quick breath when she moved to stand directly in front of me.

"I make movies. That's what I do for a living. If I go on a talk show, it's to talk about my job, drum up more hype for the movie. Not to spill secrets about our personal life."

"But there's so much of your life that's public. I always thought it was happy news when people got engaged."

Her hard glare softened as she took my left hand in her. "It is happy news. You're my everything, Jennie, not my secret." Lisa's right hand drifted down my cheek, touching much more than just skin. "I just don't want to share what is most sacred to me with the entire world on a talk show. You're my world, babe. Mine. Not theirs. They can have me, but they can't have you, too."

Her brow creased, frowning as though she was torn. "I was going to sing a different song to you when I proposed. I had it all planned. Everything was supposed to be private. But then everything got so screwed up and I ran out of time." She rubbed her hand over her head. "Hell, everyone thought I'd been unfaithful to you, Jennie. Even you. At that time, considering . . . well, I felt a grand gesture was necessary."

I took a deep breath, strewn with personal regret, knowing I was one of those who doubted.

Lisa dipped her head to recapture my eyes. "I was mad and hurt and then I thought . . ." Her hand cradled my cheek. "God, I was so scared of losing you."

Repentant tears pooled in my eyes as memories of that planted love letter and disastrous trip to Florida flooded back into my thoughts. "I thought I had lost you."

Her head swayed, forming a silent no.

I wiped the moisture from under my eye. "That song, the one you sang to me, I loved it. It was beautiful. Perfect. I'd really love to hear it again sometime."

She smiled. "I wrote that song on the airplane. I wanted you to know how serious I am about us. How much I want you in my life, Jennie. I meant it when I said forever. That's why. You are it for me. But the me that knelt in front of you that night and the me that is standing in front of you right now is not the same me that's out there in the spotlight." she thumped her hand over her heart. "They only get the outside, not the inside. That's for you."

God, the way she looked directly into my soul, I knew she was sincere. I rested my hand on her heart.

"You know I love you, Lisa. All sides of you. Sometimes I—"

"Sweetheart, we've been through so much together." Her voice cracked. Her thumb brushed over my lower abdomen. "There are things that I just don't want to openly talk about, especially on national television. You bring me peace. That's mine to cherish, not theirs."

"And I hope you know that I'm trying to understand how all this works. That's why I didn't even want to start this conversation. I was trying to sort it out on my own. I guess I just don't understand Marla's reasoning sometimes."

"I don't understand sometimes, either, but I'm trying to trust what she says I should do. She has her reasons for protecting me—I mean us. She didn't want me to sensationalize it on national television, although the story is out there already." She shrugged.

Lisa tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Besides, in less than an hour, millions will know. As much as I want to protect you from the total craziness that is my life, I know I can't do that forever. So everything changes tonight, but it changes on my terms." She gently smiled at me, rubbing her thumb over my lips.

I breathed a sigh of relief but it didn't seem to last long. Twenty minutes later I watched as she roamed around our bedroom, obviously on a frantic hunt.

"You put your watch in the bag inside your suitcase." I pointed, knowing what she was looking for.

"How did you . . . ? Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you," she mumbled.

I thought about saying something witty back to her but I refrained. She had been in her own private foul mood ever since lunch, when Marla called her attention to all the slams that she received from the press this morning. Lisa emphatically stated that she didn't care about the negative comments, but it was obvious that she did.

Instead of sitting and relaxing, Lisa paced. The more she paced and the closer it came time for us to leave, the more agitated she seemed to become. She picked her suit jacket up and then immediately set it back down, only to pick it right back up again. Then she patted her pockets, checking that she had her cell phone for the umpteenth time.

I was putting my lipstick in my small evening bag when Lisa breathed out forcefully.

"Is it hot in here?" she started pulling the collar of her shirt away from her neck and I noticed she looked a little pale.

I shook my head. I actually thought the room was cold.

She wiped some moisture from her brow. "I'm freaking sweating."

I was started to think that it was more than the temperature that was making her sweat. "Are you feeling sick?"

"A little. I sort of feel lightheaded, actually. Man it's hot in here." Her breathing became labored and she was turning white.

Oh, no. Not now.

I did the first thing I could think of—I got her air.

Lisa was leaning on the wall absorbing the full blast of the air-conditioning vent when our family and friends convened in our suite.

Ellen peeked around one of our bedroom's double doors. "What's wrong with Lisa?"

I tried to prevent her from hovering by blocking her entry. "She's feeling a little queasy," I lied. "She'll be all right. She just needs a minute."

I had seen Lisa like this before and I knew exactly what was happening. Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she was quietly freaking out. I was also wise enough to know what it was that brought it on.

"She'll be down when she's ready," I said to David when he poked his nose around the door. I didn't mean to get snippy with him, but Lisa didn't need anyone snapping their fingers at her right now. It's not like anxiety attacks have an exact timetable. I was glad when Mike took over and cleared everyone out of our suite.

I rubbed Lisa's back and shoulders. The first time I'd seen her like this was when the street and sidewalks outside my pub were crowded with fans.

"You okay?"

Lisa's head dipped, slowly swaying her assent; she was breathing heavily.

My heart ached for her, knowing her private suffering. "Mike will be by your side the entire time. You know he won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," she whispered, trying to measure her breathing. "But things are different now."

"You've done this countless times before. You're going to be just fine. Your fans adore you."

"It's not me that I'm worried about." She shook out her hands. "You have no idea. No idea. You don't know how easy it is for someone in the crowd to just stick out a knife or a needle or a . . . or a gun . . . God, if something ever happened to you—"

I knew she was deep in the panic stage now. "Hey, come on. Just breathe with me." I wrapped my arms around her waist and paced each breath—slowly in, slowly out—hoping that this would calm her like it did the last time. "No one is going to hurt us."

She cinched her hands around my arms, almost too hard, and glared down at me. "We share the world with lunatics, Jennie. You've seen how far some of my fans are willing to go, so don't tell me there is no threat! Angelica was just one of hundreds." I gasped a little. I think she realized how hard she was gripping me. Her hands eased slightly. "I want you to stick tight to the event security tonight. If they tell you to move or go you listen, okay? No questions. You follow their orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I'm not kidding, Jen. You've never experienced this. It's going to be a shock. You've never seen crowds like this. If shit goes down, security is going to block me from getting to you." Something new, something frighteningly alarming, coated her expression. This was beyond panic. Her possessive grasp tightened again. "They will be in my way and I won't be able to protect you myself and Mike will be—"

I pressed into her tighter as my own body trembled. "Lisa, please. You're sort of scaring me. I get it."

She sighed heavily into my hair. "I'm going to demand extra security from now on. Make sure you're well protected."

"Honey, you need to calm down. You're shaking. Didn't you take your medicine today?"

She sat down in one of the chairs. "No. Can you get me one? Hopefully that will . . . will do the trick."

I dug through her bag for her anxiety medicine. No one knew that the famous Lisa Manoban suffered from agoraphobia. Large crowds totally freaked her out. "You know you have to take these every day. You're not supposed to skip."

She finished the glass of water while I hoped we had enough time to let the medicine kick in. Usually, she was good within a half hour. A gentle knock on our door startled us both.

Mike was waiting. He had changed out of his casual attire from this morning and was looking downright sexy dressed up in a black suit, white shirt, and sharp cobalt-blue tie. I had appreciated his good looks before, but dressed to the nines, he was freaking gorgeous.

He looked at Lisa with brotherly reverence and understanding, truly concerned and full of caring. "Are you okay, man? Your team is pushing to leave but just tell me if you need more time. I'll call downstairs and tell them to wait."

Lisa was mostly pulled together but still agitated. Her masked anxiety lay just below the surface, ready to flare at a moment's notice. "I'm ready. Let's do this." She glared at Mike. "I want extra security on Jennie tonight. No less than two near her anytime she's not with me. No slipups. You got me?"

Mike nodded and said, "It's already done, Lis. We have four on standby at the venue for your family."

The moment we stepped off the elevators, David swooped in on us. "Lisa, I need to talk to you a sec," he said with urgency, abruptly leading Lisa away by the shoulder. I held on to her as long as I could until our fingers unwillingly unlaced. He didn't even bother to ask Lisa how she was doing.

Several black sedans were lined up to take us to the Reparation premiere. Marla hurried to speak to one of the drivers—a heavyset man with a beard. David's hand was on Lisa's back, guiding her into the first sedan in line. David glanced once in my direction, then gave what appeared to be a stealthy nod to Marla.

I presumed Lisa would come back to collect me once her side meeting with David was over. The burly driver blocked me as I tried to see what was taking so long.

"Excuse me. I'm supposed to be with—" I pointed in Lisa's direction.

"Ma'am, you are in this car," the driver informed.

"But I'm her—"

"This way, please." He ushered me to the open car door.

Ellen appeared just as confused as I was. "Jennie, aren't you supposed to be with Lisa?"

Janelle moved her feet to make room for me.

I didn't know if I wanted to argue or yell for Lisa; instead I took the instruction at face value, collected my dress, and slid next to Ellen on the car seat. It also appeared that I had no choice in the matter; not only was I physically blocked from getting to her, but Lisa's car was already rolling away from the curb without me.

This was not what I had expected, to be arriving at my fiancé's premiere in a different car, especially since she had just had a panic attack. I stared out the window, secretly hoping that Lisa was bothered by this arrangement, praying that she was at least thinking about it. But what if she wasn't? I had just assumed that I would ride in the same car. I racked my brain trying to remember if we talked about the arrangements or not, feeling like I should know these things.

Maybe she's required to be by herself when we arrive? After all, she is the celebrity, not me. But her mom said . . .

I thought about calling her but I figured I would be with her if I was supposed to be with her. Lisa would have seen to it.

But . . . she didn't.

I felt myself morphing from perplexed to upset, rapidly.

Is this a glimpse at our future? At my future? Keep the bartender wife life separate from the glamorous movie star life? That thought brought out my anger again. Jennie, the dirty little secret.

I started to hear Marla's voice in my head, advising Lisa that maybe it would be better if Jennie stayed home from now on. Her slimy forked tongue whispering into Lisa's ear that I'd probably be bored or she wouldn't have time to tend to her duties and to me at the same time. Would Lisa agree with her?

I huffed to myself, disgusted now that a team of stylists was hired to primp me like some poseur wannabe. I wondered how long I would be deemed bad for her public image.

I wished the driver had placed me in the other car with Hyunji and Tammy. Hyunji would have surely, in no uncertain terms, explained to me her interpretation of how things work in Hollywood while Fred would undoubtedly try to convince me that Lisa didn't mean to hurt my feelings.

Regardless, this scenario might be excusable once but this shit was so not happening a second time.

Not now while I have this enormous diamond ring on my hand. I don't care what my future wife does for a living. The wife I intend to be would be by her side, not tucked away like an afterthought. I started to rehearse my "why I'm so pissed off" speech in my head when my cell phone rang.

"Jen, why are you with my parents?"

I swallowed my anger and sighed. "Because I was told to get in this car, Lisa. I just assumed you didn't want me with you."

Lisa cursed and told me to hang tight, whatever that meant.

I could see the packed crowd lined up behind metal barricades as our car started to slow, but instead of stopping at the theater our car kept driving down Hollywood Boulevard. We continued on for several blocks, eventually turning onto a narrow road between two buildings.

Bill and Ellen nervously looked out all of the windows when our car came to a stop. Our driver got out and quickly hustled to open my door.

I watched David climb out of Lisa's car, pausing to adjust his wristwatch. Lisa didn't wait for Mike to get her door. She hurried over to me.

"Jen, I'm sorry. Come with me, baby." Lisa led me by the hand.

Marla scurried in her designer heels from her car. "Would someone please tell me what we are doing here?" she asked frantically. "We have a tight time schedule. You have to be on the carpet in five minutes. We don't have time for deviations."

Lisa stepped in front of me and turned on her. "If you—ever—pull a stunt like this on me again . . . ," she growled loudly.

Marla, of course, played up her confusion, pressing her hand to her chest. "What do you mean 'stunt'? What are you talking about, Lisa? No, No! I need everyone to get back in their cars—right now!" she ordered, clapping her hands several times to get their attention. Fred narrowed his eyes on me, wondering like the rest of them what was going on.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Lisa accused.

"No, I'm afraid that I don't."

"Don't give me that shit!" she yelled. "You and David . . . I'll fucking cut you both loose if you ever do something like this again."

"Hey, wait," David quickly interjected. "I told you I didn't have anything to do with car arrangements."

Lisa glared at him.

I scoffed internally at David's comment. He was such a lying scumbag.

"Lisa, please. I don't understand," Marla interrupted. "Why you are so upset?"

Between the eyelash fluttering and her fake surprised tone, it was obvious that she was attempting to cover up her lies, too.

Lisa locked her teeth. She was seething. "I told you I was only going to wait until premiere night, but that was it. We discussed this today, Marla! So, explain to me why the fuck my fiancée was placed in a different car."

Marla's eyes shot over to me. I, too, was waiting for her explanation, relieved by the fact that Lisa wasn't just mad about it—she was furious.

"Is this why you are so angry? How ridiculous," she muttered. "Lisa, this isn't your first premiere. You know what's involved when we arrive. Come on now. Let's all get back into our cars. You don't want to be late." She attempted to reach for Lisa's arm but Lisa jerked it away.

"I'm not going anywhere until I get an answer," Lisa said defiantly.

Marla sighed, apparently bothered by Lisa's insolence. "I don't know what kind of answer you are looking for. This is about promoting your public persona and your film, not about parading your personal life. You know the chaos that ensues from your arrival. You simply cannot attend to her and your fans at the same time," she continued. "It's impossible."

"Oh, so now I have no say in the matter? Is that how this works now?"

"Well, what you want and what's best for your career can be two different things, Lisa. That's why you have us. To guide you."

I felt Lisa's hand squeeze mine tighter as she glared at her. "I know what you're trying to do and I'm telling you this shit stops now."

"Lisa, you're overreacting," Marla chided.

Lisa glared at her. "Overreacting?"

"Daughter, what's going on?" Bill asked, stepping into the middle of it.

"Nothing, Dad. Don't worry about it," Lisa said curtly, waving her father off.

"Yes. Overreacting. You have a duty to the studio and the producers and dragging her down the carpet is not the best time for a debut. The press will want to interview her, Lisa. And what is she going to say?"

God, this woman really irked me. "I think I can handle myself."

Marla blinked at my momentary interruption and then proceeded to ramble again. "She hasn't been through any media training. She won't know how to respond to questions properly. We can't risk making mistakes now. You do your interviews and then appropriate arrangements for photo opportunities will be m—"

"No!" Lisa said with utter finality. "I am not hiding this anymore. She arrives with me—tonight. End of discussion."

I felt like the child that should have stayed home with the babysitter.

Marla huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "If you would just listen to me for one minute. This is her first premiere. Let her get the feel for it and then maybe next time . . ."

I had just about all I could take seeing Lisa under such stress. I had to shove my own wants and needs to the side. "Lisa, it's all right. I'll ride with your parents and I'll stay out of the way and I won't speak to anyone. No photographs, no interviews, nothing. I promise. Just . . . let's go. You won't be late because of me."

"No!" Lisa growled again. She didn't budge when I tugged her hand. "Hang on, honey. This is bullshit.

"Jaehyun and Wendy arrived together when we did the L.A. Seaside premiere, and here I am in a goddamned alleyway having an argument about wanting to arrive at my premiere with my fiancée."

"Lisa, calm down, buddy." David tried to smooth it over. "If you want her in the car—"

"Your public image is my responsibility, Lisa. Mine!" Marla said. "You've barely dated this girl, foolishly got her pregnant once already, and now you're engaged? Do you have any idea what kind of reckless image that sends? And how long do you suppose this one will last until it winds up being a court battle? One misstep, one misquote—that's all it takes to ruin things for you. We've had countless discussions about dating, asset protection protocol, and keeping your private life low-key and off the press's radar so the focus stays on your new career, but that doesn't seem to register with you. I've been trying to protect your professional image." Marla huffed. "If you, for once, would just do what you're told to do instead of running off like a lovesick teenager, life would be so much easier."

My stomach twisted and roiled and I wanted to throw up. The impulse to sprint down the alley and head for the airport came on right after that. My worst fears of being deemed bad for her were just confirmed. I felt like I was shattering inside. How can our love for each other possibly survive through all these constant bombardments, accusations, and heartaches?

Lisa eyed her with contempt. "What? Is that what you think of me? Oh ho," she grumbled. "We are so done."

"Calm down, Lisa," David said again, patting her on the shoulder to coax her away.

Lisa rolled her shoulder away with force. I could see the rage coat her face, pulling her lips, her nose, into a snarl. For a moment I worried that she was going to take a swing at David.

"No! Fuck that. I've had enough!" she shouted. "I'm done listening to you, Marla. Jennie is upset. I'm stressed-out. The press is making me out to be an asshole for not saying anything about the engagement —all because I've been listening to you and your bullshit. From now on, we do this my way. And I'm only dealing with Trish. At least I know she cares about what I want. I should have listened to her advice instead of following yours."

Shit. I couldn't help but squeeze my eyes from Lisa's gaffe.

Marla couldn't hide her surprise, masking it quickly when she became fixated on her own manicure.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

Lisa rubbed her forehead before turning back to address her. "Okay, then I'll tell you what . . . let me make life easier for you, Marla. I'll get another publicist. It's as simple as that."

"Don't threaten, Lisa. It's so unbecoming. You are losing focus on what your job is."

Lisa scoffed. "That's it. We're done." She started to walk away, towing me by the hand, but then stopped abruptly and turned one last time, squaring her shoulders. "Marla . . . you're fired."

I gasped from the surprise. So did Marla.

"Lisa, don't be like this," she continued, trotting behind us as Lisa picked up our pace. "David?" Marla called out, looking for help.

"Lisa, you don't want to do that. Not in the middle of a press tour," David rebuked. "Come on, pal. You need to relax. Come with me. Let's take a walk and cool down. Nobody's getting fired."

Lisa pushed David's hand away. Mike immediately stepped in, making a hole between Lisa and her manager.

"I don't believe this! Who calls the shots around here—me or you? Or am I just your pawn? I meant what I said. She's fired. And you . . ." Lisa pointed at David's face. "Shit changes—now—or you're next. You're on my payroll, remember? You work for me. Don't you ever forget that."

David was treading lightly. "You're under contract with her firm, Lisa."

"Then do your goddamned job and get me out of it."

A few cars came screeching to a halt at the end of the road. Paparazzi sprinted from their open doors.

Lisa cursed under her breath. "Jennie, let's go. Dad, take Mom back to the car—now," she barked. I rushed toward the open car door with Lisa's hand on the small of my back.

"Lisa," Marla breathed out condescendingly.

"Go home, Marla," she instructed as she held my door. "You don't work for me anymore."

Paparazzi swarmed our car on both sides, taking picture after picture. We both shielded our faces, blocking their intruding flashes as best as we could.

"Let's go! Drive!" Lisa ordered. Paparazzi continued to run alongside our car as we slowly rolled away; they shouted out our names, hoping we'd actually look at them. My heart was racing frantically.

This was like a scene right out of a bad thriller movie with zombies and high-speed car chases. It was a relief when we were back out on the street.

With traffic, it took almost twenty minutes to drive back to Grauman's Chinese Theatre. Lisa squeezed and kissed my hand as I tried to get her to calm down and focus, thanking her for loving me and apologizing in between. My poor love was spun up and in worse shape than I was and it was time for her to put her game face on. Our car was pulling up to the curb.

This is it. Go time. I have never been this nervous in all my life.

Lisa left out a long, laborious breath, locking her eyes on mine. "Remember what I said. Eyes and ears open. Ready?"

As soon as Lisa's foot hit the sidewalk, fans started screaming. I froze from the shock of hearing the deafening volume coming from the crowd. Lisa waved quickly, fastened the button on her jacket, and then turned back to my open door to give me her hand.

Holy shit.

There are no words, no preparations that could ever be instructed, for what I was experiencing at that very moment.

Thousands of people, like a thrashing sea of undulating bodies, were screaming, packed in tightly behind the barricades that barely held them back. Many of them were waving posters, books, and pictures for Lisa to sign, shrieking at the top of their lungs to get her attention.

The words "frantic mob" and "oh my God, I'm going to die" quickly came to mind.

No wonder Lisa panicked earlier. Having so many people in such close proximity, shrieking for your attention, was ten steps beyond terrifying. I feared that at any moment the dam could give way, allowing the horde to breach our small plot of land and stampede us to death. I started to shake. My first survival instinct clicked in and I found myself desperately searching the rolling red carpet for all possible exits.

There were so many others inside the confines of the barriers, wandering, looking, it was confusing and overwhelming. Huge movie posters for Reparation were standing like statues, towering overhead.

A few people were speaking into Lisa's ear already, instructing her where to go and leading her forward. Hand in hand, we took our first steps, forever protected by our faithful bodyguard, Mike Murphy.

Photographers lined the other barriers, pushing, flashing, and yelling for us. Not only did they have expensive cameras, but I noticed there were quite a few with laptops as well, beaming the first pictures of us instantly to their tabloid and press feeds.

Trish hurried to Lisa's side. "I just received a call from Marla . . . she said I'm supposed to leave? I . . . I don't understand." Her eyes toggled back and forth between Lisa's face and questioning the cell she held in her hand.

"Marla and I are done," Lisa informed her quickly.

"What? Um . . . I . . . ," she stammered.

Lisa signed a few more autographs in between smiling, posing, and greeting her fans.

"You want a job?" she asked her privately, seizing my hand in her.

"Ms. Manoban, this way please," some man in a suit instructed, ushering us to follow him.

"Trish, I need a publicist—now," Lisa said, maintaining her focus amid all the chaos that surrounded us.

Trish's mouth opened but no words followed. Much to my relief, it only took her several seconds to finally nod and switch to full-on business mode, handling Lisa's appearance skillfully.

Lisa held me at her side, always within inches of her, even when she stopped to greet more adoring fans.

"Lisa, we have Access Hollywood and the ReelzChannel up first," Trish informed. "Jennie, you stay back here. Focus on Lisa as she speaks because you will be on camera. I need extra security right here."

She pulled Lisa along by the elbow to keep her moving.

I stood off to the side, proudly beaming at my fiancé as she gave brief interviews. Her smile, charm, and humbled enthusiasm never faltered even when Trish guided her from microphone to microphone.

Time and time again each reporter asked when we were getting married, to which she happily and repeatedly replied, "I don't know. We just got engaged. We haven't discussed it yet."

Just like that, with three simple sentences, our engagement became officially confirmed news.

After congratulating us on our pending nuptials, the Entertainment Tonight interviewer asked for my thoughts about the film. The intimidating microphone tilted in my direction and somehow my mouth turned into the Sahara and all of the saliva inconveniently disappeared from my mouth. I felt Lisa reassuringly squeeze my hand.

"I haven't had an opportunity to see it yet. Tonight will be my first screening," I answered with a smile, relieved that I didn't sound like an idiot.

"And I'm just looking forward to seeing her reaction." Lisa beamed proudly at me.

Fortunately that was the only question she asked before we had to move on to the next microphone.

As we walked the gauntlet of reporters, it became blatantly obvious why Lisa had freaked out earlier.

Stand, pose, smile, turn, look, interview, sign this—all accompanied by excited screams and shrieks from thousands of enamored fans.

Seeing Lisa interact with her fans was both fascinating and scary. I feared for her safety as one after another reached for her. A moment of reprieve couldn't have come sooner. I was escorted by two hulking bodyguards over to Lisa's family, where I waited while she conducted more interviews and posed for photographers. The VIP area, where I tried to look like I belonged while a few very well-known celebrities passed through, seemed to be a safe place. It was also the place where I was able to catch up with some other familiar faces, namely Jaehyun Yuno and his wife, Wendy Shon. I was so happy to see that they came out to support Lisa's premiere.

While we were talking, a well-dressed woman with stick-straight, shoulder-length brown hair approached me. She looked to be in her forties, very fit, but true age was deceiving in L.A. As I took in the sight of her, I noticed that she had the most fetching smile and the rosiest cheeks I had ever seen.

"Excuse me. Hi! You must be Jennie?" she asked.

"Yes! Hello!" I returned her cheery greeting.

She held out her hand. "I'm Anna—Anna Garrett. I'm one of the film's executive producers. A bit overwhelming, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes it is!" I said, glancing around. "And spectacular and amazing as well."

"I've heard so much about you; it's nice to finally meet you. Oh, I believe you've already met my husband?" she said in a very distinct British accent. One tiny tinge of panic crept up my throat as I hoped not to get falsely accused of anything. She tugged on a man's suit coat and the moment he turned around I immediately recognized him. He was the only film director I knew personally.

"Oh, yes! Yes of course. Mr. Follweiler. It's so nice to see you again!"

"Jennie my dear!" Jonathan Follweiler smiled, hugging me awkwardly. His rough gray beard pricked my cheek. "Oh, it's good to see you, too! How have you been? Well, I hope?"

I nodded quickly.

"You look absolutely radiant," he complimented, admiring me sincerely.

"You look quite dashing yourself, sir," I replied. His sapphire hankie and necktie suited him well.

"'Sir'? No, no, Jennie, please call me Jonathan. So how's our girl doing these days?" he asked, craning his neck in Lisa's direction.

"She's great." It was the most benign answer I could give, considering the earlier circumstances. "And she's anxious to get back to work." And away from this insanity.

"Good! So am I," he admitted on the sly. "Are you coming to Vancouver with Lisa?"

"Yes. As soon as we come back from the European press junket," I said.

Jonathan smiled warmly. "That's wonderful news. Then you and Anna can keep each other company."

I felt a hand touch my shoulder. It was Trish. "Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Jennie, we're ready for your photo op with Lisa," she said.

"Right. No worries," Anna said with a wink. "We can catch up later."

"I look forward to seeing you at the after-party," I said, reaching to give them both a hug goodbye. It was almost pure elation to finally feel accepted by some of the influential people in my new life—in our new life.

Lisa smiled and seemed relieved to see me again, but as soon as I was next to her, her brow furrowed and she appeared wary. "You ready for this?"

I gave her a reassuring smile and a quick nod. "I'm ready."

Lisa led me by the hand to stand in front of a huge wall emblazoned with the Reparation movie logo.

She quickly stepped behind me, standing on my right side instead of my left.

"Okay," I giggled nervously, confused as to why she repositioned herself.

Lisa placed her lips right next to my ear. "Put your hand on my chest." She laughed lightly to make it look like we were sharing a private joke. "I want everyone to see your ring," she said emphatically, gazing into my eyes with a certain tenderness that was mesmerizing. "It's time to go big or go home. I want everyone to know you're mine, Jennie."

We smiled and posed while the press took our picture a million times. The photographers were yelling our names so often that I didn't know which camera I was supposed to look at.

Lisa's grin was infectious. "Did I tell you how exceptionally beautiful you look tonight?"

As I gazed up into her eyes, personal vanity was low on my emotion chart. Instead, I said what I truly felt. "I am so proud of you."

My smile broadened as she rested her forehead on mine.

"I love you," she whispered, her fingertips gently holding my raised chin. "Never doubt that." And then, in front of hundreds of cameras—softly, adoringly—she kissed me.