The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(78)

The presenter flames red but quickly gathers herself, and I applaud Josh for his clever diversion from her probing. I can only imagine the amount of media training he has had to deal with inappropriate questions. “Come on,” she coos. “Don’t play games with me. I heard her talk. It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

“Didn’t your mom teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

“Yes, but then I became a journalist.” She shrugs, unashamed. “Are you dating, Josh?”

Josh’s publicist steps forward, ready to intervene, but Josh stops her. “It’s early days.”

My heart virtually stops in my chest. The excitement from the presenter is electric, virtually reaching me through the television. I can’t blame her. She just got herself an unexpected exclusive. I’m stunned, part ecstatic, part panicked. He’s told the world he’s dating someone, and now the world will be desperate to know who. It’s hard to be mad with him when I’m feeling so utterly chuffed.

“Too early to bring her along to the premiere of your new film?” the presenter pushes.

He chuckles, glancing away. “This is all a bit below her, to be honest.”

I gape at the screen, just as Josh flicks his eyes to the camera that is panning in on him. The rascal. Below me? It is not below me. I grab my phone and text him exactly that, clicking send.

“Below her?” she coughs. “Red carpets, world premieres, and you on her arm is below her?”

Josh grins as he glances down, and I figure very quickly that he’s just caught sight of my text. “Are we going to discuss the film?” he asks. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” His publicist steps in and ushers him away toward the next waiting mic before the presenter can get on to why they’re really there, but she doesn’t care. She unexpectedly scooped the story of the night. Maybe even the year. I know in my heart of hearts that Josh just made a very silly move, tossing the media morsels of information on a relationship and woman in his life, aware that they will want the whole three-course meal. But I cannot stop the deep thrill and insane contentment of knowing that that woman is me. I don’t pay much attention to the part of my brain that wants me to focus on his stupidity. I’m more inclined to side with the part that’s wondering if he’s making a point. Being brave. Setting the standard. Maybe I should be brave, too. It’s easy to think it. Not so easy to do. My stomach revolts against the wine I’ve poured into it, at the thought of what Josh could endure should he end up at the mercy of my father and his aides. Gerry Rush and his hookup with a hooker is a prime example. Yet if Josh has no skeletons in his closet, what could they possibly do? I laugh to myself. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Josh is Hollywood. He will definitely have skeletons in his closet, and if he doesn’t, I know someone will put them there.

I turn the television off and make my way to my suite, mulling over the notion of being brave. Of standing up to the people who keep me caged. I wash, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed.

My thought process has me tossing and turning for a few hours, sleep evading me. Nothing has ever consumed my mind so much, and the lack of an answer for my problem is positively maddening.

I’m about to give up on sleep and find something to read when the darkness of my suite is suddenly illuminated by the glow of my phone. I roll over to take it from the nightstand.

Awake?

Every thought polluting my head is forgotten in an instant as I stare at his simple question. I tap out a quick yes and then wait for a response, tummy whirling, face splitting. I don’t get a message in return; I get a call. “Hello?” The sound of music in the background is deafening, as well as the cheers and shouting. I’m forced to pull my phone away from my ear.

“Hello?” Josh shouts. “Adeline? Hello?”

“I’m here. I can barely hear you.”

“Hold up. I’m looking for somewhere quiet.” The music continues to pump as I wait patiently for Josh to find somewhere quiet. “Still there?” he shouts.

“Still here.” I laugh.

“Fuck, this place is like a fuckin’ maze.”

“Where are you?”

“After-party. Wait, I think I’ve found somewhere.” The ear-splitting sound suddenly dulls to a muffled fuzz. “That’s better. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” His voice sounds more gravelly than usual, no doubt from shouting to be heard. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Then turn on the light,” I chuckle, imagining him feeling around in the darkness for a switch.

“I’m good. I can hear your voice. It’s the only light I need.”

I melt. Positively melt into a girlie puddle on my pillow. “Have you had a nice evening?”

“Great. You?”

“Oh, you know. Rocking and rolling in my suite all alone,” I joke, now happy I struggled to find sleep, else I could have missed his call.

“Come see me.”

I laugh at his ridiculous demand. “And how would you propose that happen?”

“Fuck.” His curse is sharp and full of frustration. “I can’t stand this.”

My contentment waivers for a moment. “That was a rather silly thing you said to the presenter earlier.”