I pressed into him tighter as my own body trembled. “Ryan, please. You’re sort of scaring me. I get it.”
He 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?”
He sat down in one of the chairs. “No. Can you get me one? Hopefully that willl. . . will do the trick.”
I dug through his bag for his anxiety medicine. No one knew that the famous Ry-an Christensen suffered from agoraphobia.
Large crowds totally freaked him out. “You know you have to take these every day.
You’re not supposed to skip.” He finished the glass of water while I hoped we had enough time to let the medicine kick in. Usually, he 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 Ryan with brotherly rever-ence 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.”
Ryan was mostly pulled together but still agitated. His masked anxiety lay just below the surface, ready to flare at a moment’s notice. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.” He glared at Mike. “I want extra security on Taryn 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, Ry. We have four on standby at the venue for your family.”
The moment we stepped off the elevators, David swooped in on us. “Ryan, I need to talk to you a sec,” he said with urgency, abruptly leading Ryan away by the shoulder. I held on to him as long as I could until our fingers unwillingly unlaced. He didn’t even bother to ask Ryan how he 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 Ryan’s back, guiding him 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 Ryan would come back to collect me once his 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 Ryan’s direction.
“Ma’am, you are in this car,” the driver informed.“But I’m his—”
“This way, please.” He ushered me to the open car door.
Ellen appeared just as confused as I was.
“Taryn, aren’t you supposed to be with Ryan?”
Janelle moved her feet to make room for me.
I didn’t know if I wanted to argue or yell for Ryan; instead I took the instruction at face value, collected my dress, and slid next to her on the car seat. It also appeared that I had no choice in the matter; not only was I physically blocked from getting to him, but Ryan’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 he had just had a panic attack. I stared out the window, secretly hoping that Ryan was bothered by this arrangement, praying that he was at least thinking about it. But what if he 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 he’s required to be by himself when we arrive? After all, he is the celebrity, not me. But his mom said . . .
I thought about calling him but I figured I would be with him if I was supposed to be with him. Ryan would have seen to it.
But . . . he 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.
Taryn, the dirty little secret.
I started to hear Marla’s voice in my head, advising Ryan that maybe it would be better if Taryn stayed home from now on. Her slimy forked tongue whispering into his ear that I’d probably be bored or he wouldn’t have time to tend to his duties and to me at the same time. Would Ryan agree with her?