KIERAN BLACKWOOD
The cameras flash incessantly, and the lights are practically blinding as we step out of the car.
I squeeze Scarlett’s hand, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin against mine.
I know these pictures will be in the magazines tomorrow.
The headlines will ask who the woman by my side is. They’ll speculate and whisper, and curiosity will spread like wildfire.
But right now, none of that matters to me.
I look at Scarlett, and she’s observing everything around her with an almost childlike curiosity, her eyes shining with the magnitude of the night.
I feel my heart tighten in my chest, seeing how beautiful she looks. The red and black dress fits her curves perfectly, the fabric sliding over her body with an elegance that borders on surreal.
And everyone, absolutely
