Recklessly Bound

Chapter Thirteen

I spend the afternoon, getting ready for our second premiere, like a queen. It's funny how I refer to this event as "ours," as if suddenly, Ethan has accepted me in his life with open arms and now everything that we do is a shared experience, in which are thrilled to be with together.

Sitting behind my dresser, still in the white towel, I apply nail polish and lie down on the bed with a mask on. I feel beautiful and relaxed, not having to worry when would my next project begin or if I would ever get another. Our engagement party is a day away, which leaves our wedding, barely a week away.

When I walk into the walk-in closet, a bit bigger than the one in my old apartment, the sight of the eye-catching gown, hanging in the far corner of the closet makes me smile. Sure, it is an extravagant gown, but that is not quite why I smile. It's the memory of how Ethan looked at me, and at the dressed and complimented, how beautiful I would look in it. I stop my train of thought right there.

I have promised not to feel and not to fall. And yet I find myself doing it.

I keep looking forward to his every glance and every saying and hang on those that matter to me as if we are actually in a relationship.

I viciously grab an already worn on the red-carpet dress and walk out of the walk-in closet. This might not be the first time I am breaking the no dress worn twice law before the cameras. I figured if I didn't have to buy a dress for every single time I have an interview or an event, I might be able to save it and use it for my resources, such as buying my way into multiple events in order to be introduced to the directors and such.

Just before the clock would hit six, I march downstairs, but find there empty. Ethan should be about if he wants to get there before seven. Good thing for him is that his house is located pretty close to the main Hollywood holdings and yet far away from the Hollywood dramas and other celebrities.

When I walk toward the fridge to pour myself a chilled flute of champagne, I see Ethan standing on the patio, talking on his phone. Drinking my sweet taste champagne, I decide not to bother him, and yet I can't help myself glancing about, sneaking looks to see what he's doing.

Finally, he makes an entrance.

"Hey, I was going to get you," he says, putting his phone in his pocket.

"We should go," I simply say, before putting my clutch under my arm and walking toward the door,

The ride to the theater where the second premiere is held is short but painfully silent. The driver drops us off at the red carpet, and like before, we parade before the crowd and the reporters.

On the way back home, I can't feel my feet, to be honest, it seems the high heels are pushing their way into my soul. The moment the driver opens the door and I let myself in, I am more than ready to pass out. So that's what I do.

"Have a good night, sir,"

I feel a warmth against my cheek and a smell of freshly washed clothes with a strong fragrance—something muscular and strong, yet soothing. I clutch to the cloth more, inhaling.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I hear a voice, very much close to me.

A door opens and clicks closed and locked before the subtle movement continues as if I'm lulled back to sleep. That is when a hard cushion replaces the strong hold.

Opening my eyes slowly, I yawn, looking around me.

"You're awake?" I turn toward the voice abruptly, finding Ethan standing with a warm smile on his lips with his hand in his pockets. "You fell asleep in the car. The driver was eyeing me when I wanted to wake you up. So, I carried you,"