Breathe Again (16 page)

“So, today’s the day,” Darcy said as
she pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, just to torture me, I
was guessing. I was too busy beating the dough for my cookies to death to give
her any verbal response, so I kind of grunted in her direction. I had exactly
forty-three minutes before I needed to be at Jackson’s apartment, to get ready
before the premiere, but I was trying desperately not to think about it. The
cookies were just a distraction, of course; they’d never bake correctly after
the way I’d been pounding the dough for the past fifteen minutes.

“Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” It was like she hadn’t
even noticed that I didn’t answer her the last twenty times she asked me the
question.

I put down the bowl I was holding and turned in her
direction. “No, not yet Darcy,” I said, running a flour covered hand through my
hair. “It’s still between the same two dresses.”

Darcy thought for a second, and grabbed a spoon from the bowl
I’d put on the counter, so she could lick the batter. “Well, I still think you
should go with the red one. It brings out your eyes, and definitely gives all
those other Hollywood bitches a run for their money.”

I scowled. “And that’s exactly why I’m leaning toward the
black one. It’s understated, subtle. Nobody would notice me that way.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes at me. “Mellie, this is your chance
to prove to everyone that you’re good enough for Jackson. Not that I would ever
doubt you, of course, but you need to show everyone that you have some balls,
that you aren’t going to let them walk all over you. And believe me, they’re
going to try to walk all over you from the moment you set foot on that red
carpet.”

I sighed. “I know, but what if I’m not ready? I mean, maybe I
should just stay home tonight, let Jackson go it alone. I’m not made for this
life, Darcy, and I don’t know if I have what it takes to hear everything
they’re going to say about me in the morning.”

Darcy made a face and stuck the spoon right back in the
batter. It’s a good thing I wasn’t going to be making the cookies anyway, since
she’d just ruined them by contamination. “You listen to me, Melanie Rose
Devlin,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders and looking me straight in
the eye. “You love Jackson, and he loves you. Wait, scratch that. He adores
you, worships the freaking ground that you walk on. I know, more than I’ve ever
known anything in my life, that he wouldn’t let them hurt you. You’re his, and
he has some serious man-protectiveness inside of him. Just watch. When he
throws himself in front of a bus for you—hopefully not really a bus, but you
get the picture—it’s going to be the hottest moment of your life. I would give
my right boob to have someone love me the way that Jackson loves you.”

She was right, but I was stubborn. I opened my mouth to
respond, but she slapped her hand over my mouth. “No. No more talking, Mellie.
You get your ass to Jackson’s and get ready. And wear the damn red dress.”

I huffed and turned around to go up the stairs to my
apartment. If she was going to kick me out of my own kitchen, she could clean
up after me. The thought made me smile, but I was still nervous as hell about
how it was all going to go down later.

I changed quickly into something more comfortable and grabbed
my overnight bag before heading back down the stairs. I was driving Jackson’s
BMW again, which made my life a thousand times easier. He was out doing a radio
interview at one of the stations downtown, publicity for the movie that was
premiering that night, so he wouldn’t have had a chance to pick me up anyway. I
honestly didn’t realize how inaccessible Los Angeles was without a car until I
had one at my disposal. Thank God my boyfriend was a talented, rich actor who
didn’t mind lending his poor girlfriend a car. The car cost more than I’d make
in five years at the café, but who was paying attention, really? Well, they would
be after tonight.

It was the middle of the day, so the drive to Jackson’s
apartment only took about fifteen minutes, and he still wasn’t home when I got
there. I let myself in and took a shower before my hair and makeup stylists
arrived. I had told Jackson it wasn’t necessary, that I could do my own hair
and makeup, but eventually I gave in. Lucy had convinced us that I needed to
hire her image consultant, something I didn’t even know existed until Lucy
mentioned it. She cost a lot more than I would have liked, but Anita wouldn’t
let me take no for an answer once she met me. I wasn’t sure why, but apparently
she and Jackson had come to some sort of an arrangement, which I was left out
of almost completely. Thankfully, she agreed to my conditions: that my makeup
stay minimal and my clothing be at least somewhat modest.

“So, have you decided which dress you’re going with?”
she asked me as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom. I jumped in surprise,
since she hadn’t been there when I’d gone into the bathroom. I shouldn’t have
been surprised, though; Anita was one tough, talented, and dedicated stylist.
She was always the first to arrive at our meetings, and went above and beyond
what I ever expected from her. I didn’t know why she did it, honestly. I wasn’t
the famous one, and Jackson already had his own stylist.

“Um,” I said, clutching my towel to my chest. I hadn’t even
had a chance to put something on yet. “I was thinking the black one?”

Anita glanced over at me from where she stood in the door to
the bedroom and smirked. She was a beautiful woman, in a nontraditional way.
Even if she didn’t have the face to be on screen, she definitely had both the
body and the style for it. She was edgy and modern, and always impeccably
dressed. It was actually really intimidating.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” she said, a sly smile coming
across her face. “Are you sure that’s the one you want?” Ten seconds before,
I’d been sure, but the look on her face was making me second-guess myself.
There weren’t many people that could do that once I made my mind up, but Anita
was apparently one of them. She wasn’t mean about it; more like she wanted to
challenge me to be more . . . me.

I looked at her nervously. “Yes?”

“Judging by the way you said that as a question, I’m going to
assume that you aren’t sure.” She disappeared into the closet and came back out
with the same two garment bags that had been hanging there for the past week. I
hadn’t taken them out since she brought them over the week earlier, even though
I was supposed to be making a decision.

She set both on the bed, then took each dress out. The first
was the black dress; the one I had originally thought I wanted to wear. The
dress itself was a simple pencil silhouette and strapless, though it had a
black lace overlay with elbow-length sleeves. It really was understated and
beautiful. I had fallen in love with it when she first showed it to me, but
something did seem off. I wasn’t quite sure what.

The second dress she pulled out was the red one that Darcy
wanted me to wear. This one was long and fitted, with a high neckline and low
back. It was sexy without being too explicit, though the sheer paneling across
the midriff and up the leg made me nervous.

“Now, if you really want to wear the black one, I won’t stop
you. But I do have one more option that I brought with me today. It was rushed
over to me from Reem Acra earlier this afternoon, and I think it might be
exactly what you’re looking for.” With that, she disappeared out of the bedroom
and came back with another garment bag. I watched curiously as she brought the
bag over to where I stood and unzipped it.

The dress she pulled out of that bag was my dress. It was
absolutely perfect in every way.

Multiple layers of white silk chiffon made up the skirt,
which flowed all the way to the floor. The bodice had metallic beading over a
champagne, almost nude, lining. It was cut into a subtle V-neck, with
off-the-shoulder straps.

I felt myself nodding slowly, though I wasn’t doing it
consciously. It was better than anything I’d ever imagined; I’d never seen a
dress like it. Anita smiled as if she’d planned the whole thing all along.

“Our goal, Miss Mellie, has always been for you to make a
statement tonight. And this is exactly how we’re going to do that.”

It took Anita’s five-person team four hours to get me ready
for the premiere. My nails were buffed and filed and painted a shimmery blush
pink. They exfoliated and moisturized my skin and stayed true to my minimal
makeup requirement, though Anita did insist on adding a bit of shimmer to my
eyes. My hair took almost two of those hours; it was dried and curled, then
pulled off of my face into a smooth, retro wave, held back by a simple pearl
barrette.

Finally, after what felt like far too long to spend on
primping a noncelebrity, I was apparently ready to put my new dress on. Jackson
had come home sometime during that marathon session, but Anita had denied him
access to the bedroom and bathroom. She’d forced him to get ready in the guest
bathroom, which I’m sure he wasn’t happy about. To be fair, it probably only
took him about fifteen minutes to get ready.

Anita had hung the Reem Acra dress on the door to the spare
closet, and I spent a few seconds admiring it before putting it on. I really
hoped I could do it justice. Anita had also chosen a pair of champagne Jimmy
Choo sandals, with a heel that I considered a bit too high, and a beautiful
pearled clutch.

It took Anita and three of her assistants to get me into the
dress, and I noticed my hands were shaking slightly when I strapped the sandals
to my feet. I stood and turned slowly in the direction of the mirror.

The woman that I saw in front of me couldn’t possibly have
been me. My makeup was the same style, but it was flawless. My standard red
lip, plumped with gloss, my eyelashes a million miles long. The dress fit me
like a glove, and even the heels were perfect; I didn’t feel too short anymore.
Instead, I felt glamorous, and definitely beautiful. Almost like I would
actually fit in on that red carpet.

I was too busy studying the stunning job Anita did with my
hair to notice Jackson come up behind me.

“I have no words,” he said quietly, looking over my shoulder
at my reflection in the mirror. He was as handsome as ever, of course, and I
found my gaze drawn to the man standing behind me. “I still can’t believe
you’re mine,” Jackson said.

“And I can’t believe you’re mine,” I said, turning to him. I
wanted to wrap my arms around him, but I was scared that I would mess up
Anita’s creation. He didn’t seem to mind, however, and pulled me into his
embrace. I had to fight the urge to put my cheek against his chest. We were
closer in height now, because of my heels, but I still had to tilt my head up
to look into his eyes.

“Maybe that means we’re perfect for each other,” Jackson
said, smiling down at me. I felt myself flush with happiness. Could life be any
better? “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

And then, just like that, I realized that it could. Yes, life
really could be better.

I felt my heart stutter in my chest, just as it had for the
past three days every time I thought of what I was about to do. And every time
I did, I found myself counting the reasons why I should change my mind.

If a relationship could be measured by the ability to read
your partner, Jackson and I really were perfect for each other, because he
always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

“Don’t answer that,” he said as soon as he noticed my smile
falter. I couldn’t hide anything from him.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Is it time to go?” I
knew my voice was small, but at least I was asking.

Jackson nodded. “Let’s do this, Mellie Rose.”

I nodded once, then went to grab my bag from Anita. Her smile
stretched all the way across her face, something I knew wasn’t usual for her.

She pulled me into a hug. “You’re going to be absolutely
wonderful, Mellie. Just remember to keep close to Jackson, and stand up
straight. Your lipstick is in your bag, so make sure you check it every once in
a while.” She started going over a few other things that we’d been talking
about for the week prior: where to look; how to keep my hands while we were
being interviewed; how to stand in my heels.

Anita was still talking when Jackson tugged on my hand,
pulling me away from her and out the bedroom door. I had to pause and take a
breath right before we stepped out the front door, but we were in the elevator
and whisked down to the waiting limo in no time at all.

The drive from Jackson’s building to
Grauman’s Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard felt like it took about thirty
seconds, when in reality traffic slowed us down and we were running late. I
didn’t have nearly enough time to compose myself, and I was dangerously close
to hyperventilating when we turned onto Highland Avenue. Jackson had his hand
in mine the entire time, stroking my fingers with his and whispering words meant
to comfort me in my ear. I barely heard any of it, too aware of the fans lining
the streets, trying to get a glimpse of my ridiculously famous boyfriend.

What was I thinking?

The limo pulled to a stop in front of the theater. I clutched
Jackson's hand as we waited for someone to come open our door, and closed my
eyes, trying to slow my heart rate. I also didn’t want to look outside until
the last possible moment.

“Okay, baby, let’s do this.” I vaguely heard Jackson’s voice;
it sounded so far away. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and then the door
opened.

I felt Jackson shift on the seat next to me, and then he was
gone. The noise outside the car was deafening, and I resisted the urge to cover
my ears. It was go time. I knew that he was waiting for me outside the limo,
but I couldn’t move. I was stuck to my seat, my legs frozen as I listened to
the screams of hundreds of girls yelling Jackson’s name. Nobody knew I was
going to be there; I could have easily just stayed inside, let Jackson go and
do his thing by himself like he always did. They didn’t have to know he had a
girlfriend sitting inside the limo, on the edge of a panic attack.

He was still there, waiting for me. If anyone could actually
get me to move, it was Jackson. I risked opening my eyes, just a millimeter.
The flashbulbs immediately blinded me, going off a thousand times per second,
but nobody had seen me yet. Nobody knew I was still in here; nobody knew there
was anybody in here.

But Jackson did. I remembered seeing photos of him on the red
carpet, at award shows and parties and premieres. He was the epitome of “cool
and collected,” as if being the center of attention was the most natural thing
in the world. I, on the other hand, spent my days in an isolated kitchen
surrounded by flour and sugar and butter. There were days where I saw nobody at
all, just my reflection in the mirror.

I tried to remember the words Jackson whispered into my ear
while riding to the theater, but they were drowned out by the shrieks of every
other person in the world. I couldn’t do this.

They still couldn’t see me. The door to the limo was open,
but Jackson was blocking the view inside with his body. I couldn’t see much
beyond him, just the crowds through the tinted windows. But he was still there.
He hadn’t grown tired of my panic or uncertainty yet. I’d told him countless
times during the past several days that I couldn’t do it, that I wasn’t the
right person for this life, that I wasn’t the right person for him, but he said
the same thing every single time.

“You are my everything, Mellie Rose. I would give you the
world, if I could.”

I closed my eyes once again, and blocked out the noise from
beyond the confines of the limousine. All I could hear was Jackson’s voice,
telling me that I was his everything. That he would give me the world, that he
would protect me until the end of time.

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was him. To everyone outside
of this car, he was perfect. He was Jackson Traver, the sexiest man alive, and
the embodiment of everything they could ever want in the world.

To me, Jackson was still perfect. He really was the sexiest
man alive, and the embodiment of everything I could ever want in the world, but
he was so much more to me than that.

He was my hero, my protector, and my partner. He didn’t just
fulfill some ideal fantasy that I fell asleep to at night. He wasn’t just
another celebrity that could come and go in my dreams. He played the prince in
my daydreams not because I saw him on the big screen, but because of the way he
loved me in real life.

And he was there, with his hand held out to me. There was no
annoyance on his face because of my indecision at that moment, just
encouragement.

As soon as I placed my hand in his, the noise vanished, as if
just touching him protected me from everything on the outside. He tugged on my
hand gently, and I found myself floating across the seat. Dozens of fears about
this night had played through my head over the past few days, including the
very real possibility that I would tumble out of the limo, thus rendering my
entrance into this world as ungraceful and awkward as I felt.

It didn’t happen. I set one foot out of the limo, and then
the other. I didn’t have to worry about keeping myself upright after that;
Jackson was there to make sure I did. He held on to me, as if he needed to feel
me there next to him just as much as I needed him there next to me.

We stepped onto that red carpet, and I knew everyone was
staring at us. I felt my breathing hitch, but then Jackson slipped his arm
around my waist and I was okay. He leaned down and whispered into my ear.

“I love you.”

I wasn’t completely oblivious to our surroundings. There were
hundreds, if not thousands of fans lining the rails beyond the red carpet,
yelling Jackson’s name and telling him that they loved him. But he was there,
telling me that he loved me.

Anita had told me to smile; we’d even practiced the type of
smile I would wear while on the red carpet, but I didn’t need to concentrate on
it. I felt like I was on cloud nine, not because I was dating the world’s most
exciting and alluring actor, but because my perfect person had chosen me as
well. This just happened to be his life, and now it was my life too.

Jackson had four interviews arranged for his trip down the
red carpet, and none of the interviewers knew that he would be bringing someone
along. We did that on purpose, knowing it would catch them off guard. I wanted
to be an authentic version of myself and I couldn’t do that if everything was
scripted.

The first interviewer didn’t even acknowledge me. To be fair,
I didn’t recognize him either, and he was so nervous when speaking with Jackson
that I had to assume he was probably new at this. He asked Jackson all of the
standard questions about the movie, and almost none about his personal life. I
knew that wasn’t normal; I’d watched enough entertainment television to know
that the media almost didn’t care about someone’s work when there was a bigger
story involved.

Not even two minutes after the interview had begun, Jackson’s
publicist, Sharon MacDonald, moved us along. We paused every few steps so that
Jackson could wave at the crowd, but he didn’t move from my side to sign
autographs or take photos with anyone. He’d promised me that he wouldn’t, that
he would be touching me all night long. Part of me felt bad that his fans had
come all this way and wouldn’t be meeting him personally tonight, but I didn’t
dwell on it for long. I knew that even though I felt all right at the moment,
my composure could easily crumble with no more than a light breeze.

When we stopped for a second interview, I immediately
recognized the correspondent. Genevieve Derichs was well-known personality
herself, both inside and outside the industry. She’d even had her own show on
the Entertainment Channel, which chronicled her infertility and her journey to
adopt. She was a big deal, and judging by the look on her face when Jackson and
I approached her, she knew what a big deal we were too.

“Well, if it isn’t the star of the night. And how are you
doing, Jackson Traver?” she said, her eyes sparkling. She really was gorgeous,
and if I hadn’t known that she was happily married, with an infant daughter
they’d recently adopted from the Philippines, I would have felt a little
jealous, seeing the way she was eyeing Jackson right then.

“I’m great,” Jackson said, flashing the camera his
multimillion-dollar smile. I just stood there, watching them both as she asked
the standard questions about the movie. And then, as if I had suddenly appeared
out of nowhere, she noticed me.

“You, my dear,” she said, turning her body slightly so that
she was facing me directly, “look absolutely stunning. Jackson, where have you
been hiding this gorgeous woman? We all know you aren’t the type to bring just
anyone with you to these things, so I have a feeling you’re keeping a secret
from all of us.” She looked at him knowingly, but he wasn’t watching her or the
camera anymore. I turned to look up at him, wondering if I was supposed to say
something, or if he wasn’t paying attention, but he was staring down at me.

“This,” he said, his voice so soft that I wasn’t sure the
microphone would catch it, “is my Mellie Rose. You’re right, I have been
keeping a secret from all of you.”

And there it was. I knew Genevieve heard it by the way she
sighed after he said my name, which meant that the microphone caught it too.
The world knew my name.

“Mellie Rose,” she said, eyeing me with what I could only
assume was a morbid curiosity. “What a pretty name. Like I said before, you
look just beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice small.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “And you, Jackson, look as
handsome as ever. Mellie Rose is a lucky lady.”

I could feel myself flush under the hot lights, though I
hoped nobody would notice.

“No,” he said, his eyes still on me. “I’m the lucky one.”

After a few more questions, Sharon interrupted us so we could
stay on schedule. We said our good-byes and Genevieve even gave me a hug before
we moved on. The other two interviews were similar to Genevieve’s, but I was
glad she was the first. She didn’t make me feel like I was just on display for
the world to see; she actually cared enough to ask me how I was doing. There
was no menace in her voice, just a benign interest, as if she knew exactly what
it meant that Jackson brought me with him.

I was kind of exhausted when we finally got to the end of the
red carpet. We’d only been standing for about a half an hour, but there had
been a lot of posing and smiling and waving to fans. I didn’t do the waving, of
course, but it still wore me down.

“You did it,” Jackson whispered to me after we walked through
the doors to the theater. I could still hear the yells of the fans outside as
another star arrived, but I felt my guard go down when I realized they couldn’t
see us anymore.

“I did,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure I knew it just
yet. Jackson stopped and pulled me close to him.

“I’m proud of you, Mellie. I knew you had it in you.”

I smiled shyly. I had been so nervous for the past week, but
it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d anticipated. Sure, it was nerve-racking, but I
survived without falling or otherwise making an idiot of myself.

Suddenly, I felt giddy. I had done it, and the world knew who
I was. It was a humbling thought, and it made me incredibly grateful for the
man standing in front of me. Before I knew what I was doing, I had my arms
around his neck and my lips on his.

Jackson chuckled softly under his breath, but indulged me in
my kiss. It was as if the adrenaline had now started pumping through my veins,
a delayed response to the excitement of a few moments before.

I was vaguely aware of the few people wandering around us,
but none of them seemed to notice. We were tucked back in a quiet corner, so I
let myself assault his mouth for a few more seconds, until Lucy’s voice rang
out.

“Seriously, guys?” she said, though her voice was nothing but
sweet and excited. We were still wrapped up in each other, but she ran up to us
and wiggled her way between Jackson and me, suddenly making us a Lucy sandwich.

“It’s nice to see you too, Lucy,” I said, laughing. She was
twenty-one years old, but it really felt like she was five sometimes.

“I missed you after you left on Saturday. I’m sorry I fell
asleep on you, after I vented to you for who knows how long. You’re too sweet,
Miss Mellie. I know why Jackson looooooves you.” She pulled away from the both
of us so she could give Jackson googly eyes while she said it. “Oh! And I have
someone I want you to meet.”

She wiggled back out from between us and pulled over someone
I hadn’t noticed standing nearby. I immediately recognized him as Jude Cross,
Lucy’s apparent love interest (despite our warnings against it).

“Jackson and Mellie, this is Jude. Jude, these are my
besties, Jackson and Mellie.” She motioned to us quickly, but we were left to
finish making our introductions when Lucy went off to chase one of the servers
carrying a tray of champagne. I almost wanted to run after her, but I knew it
would be rude.

“Hi, Jude, it’s lovely to meet you,” I said, turning my
attention to the rock star now standing in front of us.

“You too,” he said, his crooked smile admittedly charming.
“Lucy’s told me quite a bit about you two.”

“Did she now?” I asked. I wasn’t quite sure what I was
supposed to say to that; dinner with Jackson and the cast had only been a few
days prior, which meant they’d spent quite a bit of time together since.

I risked a glance up at Jackson, who was apparently not
pleased with Lucy’s choice of date. He stared at Jude with hard eyes, his lips
in a thin line.

“Yeah, she says you two are like family to her. I think it’s
sweet and all, since, you know, she doesn’t really have anyone out here.” I
thought about it for a moment; I knew that Jackson had talked to Lucy about me
before Saturday, but we’d still only met once. I’d obviously made an impression
on her, though I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it just yet. I had a
feeling Lucy needed a little bit more than what I could offer her.

I nodded and turned to Jackson. “We should probably find our
seats, don’t you think?” I asked him, and reached up so that I could wipe a smudge
of red lipstick from his lips. I saw Jude smirk from the corner of my eye, and
Jackson’s scowl got bigger. It made me laugh. “Actually, on second thought,
should we find the bar first?”