“That was brilliant,” Tom praises her when she’s finished. “I think you possibly just got some of the best shots of these guys that have ever been taken. And that last shot of you and Jett together – babe, that’s the winner of the day.”

I’m hesitant to let them use that shot but she doesn’t seem to mind. The interviewer picked up on our relationship and focused on that a little during the interview. I was a little cagey but when it was suggested a photo of the two of us would be good, Presley ran with it and took one. I turn to her now and ask, “Are you sure you want them to use that shot?”

“If you’re okay with them knowing about us, I’m okay with it.” She comes over to me and says softly, “Besides, I think it’d be good to give your fans something else to think about besides everything else they’ve been focusing on. Don’t you?”

Tom slaps me on the back. “She’s right, Jett, this could really help take the heat off the band. I vote you run with it.”

“Well, if you’re okay with it, I want to shout it from the fucking rooftops that you’re mine, so let’s do this,” I say to Presley, and fucking love the way she looks at me when I say it.

“Speaking of shouting it from the rooftops, how do you two feel about attending the music awards together tonight?” Tom asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes. The band is performing at the awards tonight and I can see Tom calculating the possible positive effect having Presley there might have.

My main goal here is to make sure Presley is happy with whatever we decide so I say to her, “It’s up to you, sweetheart. If you’re not comfortable coming, then I’ll go on my own.”

Tom pushes the point. “This could be really good for the band. I think everyone is going to love Presley and you together.”

I groan because I hate it when Tom gets pushy like this, but Presley places her hand on my arm and nods her head. “I agree with Tom, it’ll be good for the band. I’m in.”

“Fuck yeah!” West shouts, obviously ecstatic with this news.

I look at Presley. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

She’s saying yes, but I’m not sure she has any idea what this is going to mean.

I just hope to God this doesn’t backfire and take our relationship a step backwards.

“This red dress was made for your curves,” Jett says as his gaze skims my body before coming back to my face. “And I want your hair up like this more often, so I can have access to your neck,” he adds as he presses kisses along my collarbone and then up my neck.

I picked the dress up this afternoon and he’s right; it hugs my curves in all the right places. He was also ecstatic when he realised I’d chosen a floor length dress, and muttered something about keeping my legs hidden from assholes who can’t keep their eyes to themselves. The only part of the dress he wasn’t sold on was the plunging neckline but I told him to suck it up.

Eyeing his jeans, black t-shirt and black leather jacket, I say, “You scrub up pretty good yourself, baby, even if you didn’t wear the suit I picked out for you.”

He grins. “I promise I’ll wear it to the next event we attend together.”

I return his grin. “You’re on, Mr. Rockstar. I’m holding you to that promise.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asks as the limo pulls up at the red carpet. He’s holding my hand and his grip is so strong my hand is going numb.

Shaking free of his hold, I say quite firmly, “Yes, I’m sure about this.”

He blows out a breath and moves to get out of the limo. I know he has misgivings about this but I don’t. Once he’s out, he turns and offers me his hand and helps me out. I can hear the noise of the crowd and it’s a little overwhelming but I push on. I’m doing this for Jett; I’d do anything to help him and the band.

He pulls me into his arms once I’m out of the limo, and says, “Okay, hold on and don’t let go of me, yeah?”

I nod and he leads us toward the carpet where his fans are going wild, and the photographers are snapping away. Flashes of light almost blind me and I nearly stumble. Good God, the noise is like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

“Is the rest of the band coming?”

“Over here! I need a photo of this gorgeous lady you’re with.”

The photographers keep yelling out to Jett and I’m blown away by the ease with which he handles them. He leads me down the carpet, stopping for each reporter who wants a chat, and posing for as many photos as he can, all the while keeping hold of me and whispering funny things in my ear every now and then that keep me calm. I would never be able to handle something like this and I have a newfound respect for celebrities who do this and make it look so easy.

Tom and I were right; bringing me tonight has ensured most of the reporters only ask about us. A handful briefly try to bring up everything else that’s going on with the band, but Jett manages to steer them off that topic fairly quickly.

The final reporter gets the best scoop of the night. She shoves her microphone in his face and says, “I’ve never known you to date; is this a real relationship or one staged to take the spotlight off your antics over the past couple of days?”

I want to tell her off, but Jett flashes her one of his grins that’s bound to charm and pulls out his phone. He opens up his photo album and placing it in front of the reporter, he begins scrolling through the hundreds of photos he’s taken of us. While he’s scrolling, he says, “Does Presley look like the kind of woman any man would not want to date? I was the lucky fucker who ran into her at a bar when she’d had a shitty day and just needed someone to take her mind off it. And then I was the lucky fucker who convinced her to give me a shot.” He turns to look at me for a moment, his expression full of hope. “And I pray to God I’ll be the lucky fucker who can convince her to spend the rest of her life with me.”