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?

I huffed to myself, disgusted now that a team of stylists was hired to primp me like some poseur wannabe. I wondered how long I would be deemed bad for his public image.

I wished the driver had placed me in the other car with Marie and Tammy. Marie would have surely, in no uncertain terms, explained to me her interpretation of how things work in Hollywood while Pete would undoubtedly try to convince me that Ryan didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.

Regardless, this scenario might be excusable once but this shit was so not happening a second time.

Not now while I have this enormous diamond ring on my hand. I don’t care what my future husband does for a living. The wife I intend to be would be by his side, not tucked away like an afterthought. I started to rehearse my “why I’m so pissed off” speech in my head when my cell phone rang.

“Tar, why are you with my parents?”

I swallowed my anger and sighed. “Because I was told to get in this car, Ryan. I just assumed you didn’t want me with you.”

Ryan cursed and told me to hang tight, whatever that meant.

I could see the packed crowd lined up behind metal barricades as our car started to slow, but instead of stopping at the theater our car kept driving down Hollywood Boulevard. We continued on for several blocks, eventually turning onto a narrow road between two buildings.

Bill and Ellen nervously looked out all of the windows when our car came to a stop. Our driver got out and quickly hustled to open my door.

I watched David climb out of Ryan’s car, pausing to adjust his wristwatch. Ryan didn’t wait for Mike to get his door. He hurried over to me.

“Tar, I’m sorry. Come with me, baby.” Ryan led me by the hand.

Marla scurried in her designer heels from her car. “Would someone please tell me what we are doing here?” she asked frantically. “We have a tight time schedule. You have to be on the carpet in five minutes. We don’t have time for deviations.”

Ryan stepped in front of me and turned on her. “If you—ever—pull a stunt like this on me again . . . ,”

he growled loudly.

Marla, of course, played up her confusion, pressing her hand to her chest. “What do you mean ‘stunt’?

What are you talking about, Ryan? No, No! I need everyone to get back in their cars—right now!” she ordered, clapping her hands several times to get their attention. Pete narrowed his eyes on me, wondering like the rest of them what was going on.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Ryan accused.

“No, I’m afraid that I don’t.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” he yelled. “You and David . . . I’ll fucking cut you both loose if you ever do something like this again.”

“Hey, wait,” David quickly interjected. “I told you I didn’t have anything to do with car arrangements.”

Ryan glared at him.

I scoffed internally at David’s comment. He was such a lying scumbag.

“Ryan, please. I don’t understand,” Marla interrupted. “Why you are so upset?”

Between the eyelash fluttering and her fake surprised tone, it was obvious that she was attempting to cover up her lies, too.

Ryan locked his teeth. He was seething. “I told you I was only going to wait until premiere night, but that was it. We discussed this today, Marla! So, explain to me why the fuck my fiancée was placed in a different car.”

Marla’s eyes shot over to me. I, too, was waiting for her explanation, relieved by the fact that he wasn’t just mad about it—he was furious.

“Is this why you are so angry? How ridiculous,” she muttered. “Ryan, this isn’t your first premiere. You know what’s involved when we arrive. Come on now. Let’s all get back into our cars. You don’t want to be late.” She attempted to reach for Ryan’s arm but he jerked it away.

“I’m not going anywhere until I get an answer,” Ryan said defiantly.

She sighed, apparently bothered by his insolence. “I don’t know what kind of answer you are looking for. This is about promoting your public persona and your film, not about parading your personal life. You know the chaos that ensues from your arrival. You simply cannot attend to her and your fans at the same time,” she continued. “It’s impossible.”

“Oh, so now I have no say in the matter? Is that how this works now?”

“Well, what you want and what’s best for your career can be two different things, Ryan. That’s why you have us. To guide you.”

I felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine tighter as he glared at her. “I know what you’re trying to do and I’m telling you this shit stops now.”

“Ryan, you’re overreacting,” Marla chided.

Ryan glared at her. “Overreacting?”

“Son, what’s going on?” Bill asked, stepping into the middle of it.

“Nothing, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Ryan said curtly, waving his father off.

“Yes. Overreacting. You have a duty to the studio and the producers and dragging her down the carpet is not the best time for a debut. The press will want to interview her, Ryan. And what is she going to say?”

God, this woman really irked me. “I think I can handle myself.”

Marla blinked at my momentary interruption and then proceeded to ramble again. “She hasn’t been through any media training. She won’t know how to respond to questions properly. We can’t risk making mistakes now. You do your interviews and then appropriate arrangements for photo opportunities will be m—”

“No!” Ryan said with utter finality. “I am not hiding this anymore. She arrives with me—tonight. End of discussion.”