He holds my hand.
I’m not starstruck by Canon anymore. That’s not where this surreal feeling comes from. You don’t really know a person when you’re starstruck. You’re awed by the idea of them and your idea of them is filtered through a public lens. What has me tripping is that Canon is so much more, so much better in private, when we’re alone. And he’s so guarded that most of the people at this table are still a little in awe of his talent and his reputation. Starstruck.
Me? I’ve kissed the star. I’ve felt its burn and held it close.
And when Canon squeezes my hand under the table, stealing a look that is private even at a dinner for a hundred people, I feel like, as improbable as it seems, this star belongs to me.
When they light the bonfire, everyone gathers around, singing songs and getting a little drunk.
“You wanna go for a walk?” Canon asks.
I nod, gripping his hand as he leads us away from the large circle of people rimming the fire.
“This brings back memories,” Canon says, taking off his shoes and holding them in the hand not holding mine.
I slip off my shoes and do the same. “You mean of New Year’s?”
“Yeah. That was such a great time.” He slides me a hot, teasing glance. “Though we barely left the house. We only walked on the beach once.”
“And got caught! Canon, is that you?” I imitate Sylvia Miller’s fake surprised tone.
“We can laugh about it now, but that shit pisses me off.” The smile fades from his face, and in the moonlight, his expression hardens. “Camille didn’t just come after me. She wanted to sabotage you. Not cool.”
I step closer and he slips an arm around my waist. For minutes, neither of us speak. I don’t know if Canon is lost in the myriad things he must have to do before we start shooting tomorrow, but I’m not. My mind is clear of everything but him and this moment with the stars as our chaperones. When he finally speaks, his words surprise me.
“Mama loved photographing at night, too.” He stares up at the sky. “She thought the darkness, the stars, were almost as beautiful as the sunset. You know what an aspect ratio is, I assume. The ratio of an image’s width to its height. Well, she used to look up at the sky and say aspect ratio infinity: immeasurable.”
“I wish I could have met her,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
“She would have loved you.”
And all of a sudden the question, the one I’ve promised myself I will not ask, enters my head even though I’ve banned it from my thoughts.
And could you love me?
It’s still so early, too early for me to put much stock in whatever he would say.
But if I’m honest with myself about what I feel for him . . . I can’t be. Not yet. My feelings are like a priceless carpet, unrolled little by little until it fills the room. And we are really just getting started.
I thought our walk was as aimless as our conversation, which meandered from our childhoods, to our heroes, to the scenes we’ll shoot tomorrow, but there was some direction. He was guiding and I didn’t even notice until we arrive at my cottage door.
He looks down at me under the light of the small porch.
“Come inside,” I whisper, glancing around, searching for prying eyes.
“I will, but only to kiss you because these folks don’t get that for free.”
We laugh and I fumble to get the door open. As soon as we’re inside, I’m in his arms. Our mouths fuse with immediate passion, lust that has lain low and waited to strike. Walking me back the few steps to my bedroom, he doesn’t bother turning on the light, and gives me a gentle push to the bed. He feathers kisses over my cheeks, down my neck, lingering at my breasts to pull my dress away so he can suck hard, worshiping each nipple with lips and teeth for long moments. My legs spread beneath him, and I grind up against the steel of his cock. His fingers find me, stroking along the seam of my pussy, filling the aching, empty, waiting void with three fingers and then four and it’s still not as much as he would be. I cannot get his belt off, his jeans undone fast enough.
“Neev,” he whispers into my neck. “Damn, I missed you.”
It’s only been three days. Three days multiplied by interminable.
“Fuck me, Canon,” I beg, sliding my own panties down my legs as far as I can get them, down to my knees.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I took my insurance physical for the movie.” I blink up at him, panting and starved. “I’m clean and on the pill. I haven’t been with anyone but you since then.”