Roman's words are like a knife right in my gut. But before I can respond, there's a commotion at the far end of the red carpet and all of the reporters around us start pressing forward. The first limo has arrived.
There's no time to have this conversation right now. Members of the press start shouting for attention, calling to the couple that has just stepped out of the car. Camera bulbs flash. People jostle me from all angles, trying to get closer to the barricade. I know I need to fight too if I want any chance of speaking to one of the Fontaines.
Roman is right behind me. He's closer than he was a moment ago, pushed against me by the crowd, and the familiar heat of him against my back makes my knees feel weak. His hands fall to my waist, holding me steady, and I realize he's protecting me from the press of reporters, shielding me from the worst of the rush. Suddenly, I feel the heat of his breath against my temple.