The flashbulbs popped like fireworks as the two of you stepped onto the red carpet, your hand delicately placed in the crook of his arm. He looked like every tabloid’s dream—effortlessly charming, slick in his designer tux, smile as lethal as ever.

And yet, the grip he had on your hand was tight. Nervous. Almost like he was clinging to you.

“Smile,” you murmured through your teeth.

“I am,” he muttered back, voice tight. “But I feel like I’m going to pass out.”