was the longest relationship she’d ever had and they’d only met a few months ago.
But neither could she reject Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor, the man most women in this town – in this country – would kill to be with. Not here. Not now.
If she turned him down in front of everyone she’d be branded a heartless bitch. And that wasn’t going to help her win the ultimate in peer awards any time soon.
The silence stretched, the audience growing restless, starting to murmur.
She could say yes and accept another wave of fake congratulations and then tomorrow she could call it off…
Tension etched lines around Paul’s pin-up blue eyes. “You really know how to make a man beg,” he joked.
The crowd tittered, but there was tension in that sound, too.
Paul could take her career places she hadn’t even begun to imagine. They could be Hollywood’s new power couple, the new Brangelina.
On the other hand, she might spend the best years of her life as Mrs. de Angelo, always in the shadow of her more-famous husband – and then find herself out on her ass, replaced by a younger model as soon as her prime was over.
A prime spent with a man whose idea of fun in the bedroom amounted to keeping the light on.
She had to make up her mind.
Saying “yes” now didn’t have to mean forever. Perhaps just until she got the “part of all parts.” Who could it hurt?
She opened her mouth to speak and heard Gran’s voice in her head. Whatever you do in that place, girl, you just remember where you came from. You work hard, you hold your head high, and you don’t ever compromise who you are.
She shook her head.
“What?” Paul obviously hadn’t intended the word to be magnified around the room. It bounced off the walls as people began to cough and snigger.
But their embarrassment had nothing on Nina’s. This was it. This was the end of everything. Turns out she wasn’t prepared to do ‘absolutely anything’ after all.
Marriage for the sake of her career was one of them. Even a fake engagement. It was up there with sleeping her way into a job. Gran would tan her hide if she said yes.
“No.”
This time Paul did speak for the microphone. “You’re such a joker.”
“I don’t want to marry you, Paul. I don’t want to marry anyone.”
He stared at her.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s not you, it’s me. I just don’t think I’m the marrying kind.”
She didn’t need a microphone for her words to carry. They seemed to take on a life of their own, echoing around the vast room.
The moment hung, suspended in time, as she looked into Paul’s eyes and he looked into hers. Then his eyes narrowed, wiping away the disbelief, and the tsunami crashed in upon them.
“Do you know who I am?” he demanded. Then he rose, snapping the black box shut and jamming it into the pocket of his tux. He thrust the microphone back at the band’s lead singer and jumped down from the stage. Fury radiated off him and the whispering crowd parted before him, people stepping back into one another in their haste to give him space.
“You said she’d say yes,” Paul flung at Chrissie as he strode past.
The words sliced through Nina. This was the story Chrissie had promised the sub-editor? Who was she working for anyway?
The music began again, normal conversation resumed, but still Nina stood frozen on the stage. She knew what every one of them would be talking about. Who.
This wasn’t good.
She couldn’t breathe.
She had to get out of here.
She jumped off the stage, no one to help her down now, and the hem of her couture ball gown snagged on the edge of the stage. The fabric ripped, a long, drawn-out sound, but she didn’t care.
“What the hell did you just do?” It was Chrissie, face pale beneath her flawless Californian tan.
“You knew he was going to propose in front of everyone?” Nina took refuge in anger.
“Of course. We had it all planned out. This was supposed to be your big moment. And you just throw it away? How could you be so stupid?”
“You should have warned me!” Because then Nina would never have left the Governors’ Ball for this after-party. She’d still be back at the Dolby Theatre and her career and her reputation would still be intact. She would never have had to make such a terrifying decision in front of everyone.
Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away. Crying now would only make it worse. What if her make-up ran? But she was tired and over-wrought from what had already been a very long evening, and it took huge effort.
She had to get out of here.
The only exit she knew was the same one she’d entered through, the entrance onto Sunset Boulevard where she’d have to run the gauntlet of half the world’s media.
Yet more cameras.
She couldn’t trust herself to hold it together for the length of that walk. She couldn’t trust herself to hold it together long enough to make it across the room.
“We have to get her out of here.”
Thank heavens. A voice of reason. Relief swamped her as she faced her agent.
It was short-lived.
“Hold up your dress. You’re baring your butt to the world.” Dane grimaced as he gathered up a handful of ripped silk and thrust it at her. “Couldn’t you have worn a sexy thong at least?”
The unshed tears burned all the way to her throat. How long had her supportive granny pants been on display to the entire room? And was Martin Scorsese looking straight at her?
“Would it have killed you to say yes?” Dane continued through gritted teeth. He didn’t even look at her. His gaze scoured the room, searching for a way out, just as she had done. “We’ll say you’re not well. You haven’t been well all week. You didn’t know what you were saying.” He turned to face her at last, giving up hope of a quiet exit. “I’m very disappointed in you. What were you thinking? Paul’s a powerful man in this business. He has a lot of influence, and you humiliated him in public. You can kiss Sonia goodbye now.”
A scalding tear slipped over her fake lashes and down her cheek. These were her friends, her support group. How could they turn on her like this?
“Maybe the press outside won’t have got wind of this yet?” Dane said hopefully.
The look Chrissie sent him answered
