Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
A chorus of sympathetic coos drifts out from the audience.
“But Fizzy was right,” he says, holding up his hands as if defending me. “It worked. It was fun, wasn’t it?” He turns to look at me, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “Everyone knows it. Fizzy is smart, and funny, and makes everyone feel good.” He exhales slowly. “She is the best mood.”
The crowd absolutely loses its shit over this, and I gaze at him like No, seriously, what are you doing?
“I barely go on social media,” he says to me as if we’re the only people in the room. “But even I started to realize that people liked our dynamic.” He smiles. “I like it, too.”
Fuck, my heart.
“And from the sound of it,” Lanelle says, “there are quite a bunch of Cizzy shippers in this theater!”
“Cizzy?” I mouth to Connor, who shrugs sweetly. Into the mic, I say, “I had no idea we had a shipper name, Lanelle.”
“Can we turn the houselights up a bit?” Lanelle asks, and the audience becomes softly illuminated. “Raise your hand out there if you’re a Cizzy stan,” she calls out.
I blink in amazement at all of the hands that shoot up, and then turn when there’s movement beside me. Tex, Colby, and Dax are all holding up their hands, too.
Lanelle turns to them, laughing. “You three?”
Dax nods with a giant grin on his face. “It was easy to lose when I knew I didn’t have a shot to begin with.”
“I voted for them,” Tex admits.
“Me, too,” says Colby.
“We don’t even know the results yet!” I cry, struggling to maintain a grasp on what’s happening. “What is going on here?”
I look over at Connor, who reaches for my hand and folds it between his. A hush falls over the vast theater. “What’s going on is that I’m throwing my hat in the ring.”
Pandemonium rises, all around us. Most people in the front few rows are even on their feet.
Backstage he said, The hard part is coming, and I know now that he meant this: putting himself in the spotlight for me, inserting himself not only as a hero but The Hero, risking everything for us. Devotion squeezes my heart in a tight fist.
“Is this going to be okay?” I ask him quietly. His job, his life here, everything.
He leans forward, whispering in my ear, “I told you back there that you were right.” He’s read my mind. Connor pulls back just enough to smile at me. “Thank you for reminding me: Everything is going to be amazing.”
It hits me like a physical shove: He trusts me as much as I trust him. He came to me in the wings for the same reassurance I’ve always sought out in him. Somehow, even in front of millions, we have found a safe space in each other.
I can’t handle this, can’t handle what this is doing to my heart. If this is a grand gesture, I could never have written it, never have imagined the feeling that would swell inside me until I feel like I can’t speak, can’t even think.
Connor squeezes my hand, saying to the audience, “We figured I should get equal screen time, but of course that isn’t possible. So, I made you something myself.” Lifting his chin, he gestures to the screen again, and the houselights dim back down. The opening notes of my favorite Wonderland song, “Joyful,” begin, and I feel a swell of emotion I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold back.
There are video clips of the two of us joking on set, me throwing a wadded-up napkin at him. Footage of us eating lunch together, always separated by a few feet from the rest of the group; in another clip we’re sitting at a table alone, noodling on our phones but silently together. There’s footage of us trying to learn a TikTok dance together and cracking up, and then a quick-cut compilation of footage of me poking him in the ribs every time I walk past that has the audience in hysterics.
The next few clips show Connor patiently giving us feedback on set while I watch him with trusting, wide eyes, nodding. My love is as subtle as a brick to the face, and I’d be embarrassed by the way I’m obviously infatuated with him if it weren’t so obviously reciprocated. Whoever captured the footage of him watching me cook in the industrial kitchen and plant trees with Jude is a genius; Connor looks like he’s watching his favorite show.
The song ends, the screen turns black, and I think that’s the end of it until the starkly clear sound of my own voice surprises me, backed by quiet music: “Should we talk about last night?”
The audience laughs at the implication, and oh God. I know what this is. The very first day of shooting, when my mic was live. Mortification washes icy cold through me. I slap a hand to my forehead and the audience vibrates with excitement over the salacious things to come.