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Recently, she had been thinking about expanding to international films. She could go back to Hong Kong. Or maybe she could go to Europe. That’s what Anna May Wong had done, gone international when roles had gone stale in the U.S. The only question was what to do with her daughters. California had been a good home for her family, but her daughters would be grown and out of the house soon. This was a chance to seek out and talk to some directors.

Richard was trying to get his newest movie funded, a spy thriller, under the umbrella of his new production company. Vivian took asmall sip of the champagne. She and Richard approached the table of a French film director. They talked while Vivian stood there awkwardly. The bubbles stuck in her throat. She laughed when the others laughed and drank more champagne to calm herself down.

And then Vivian and Richard were alone again, until Richard broke free, saying he’d spotted a friend of his. Vivian was left in the middle of the room, conspicuous and relieved all at once. She took another sip.

“Vivian, what a vision.”

She turned to see Eugene Lyman, his tall, imposing figure in a clean-cut gray suit. He looked tired. His beard was furrowed with gray. Vivian had seen him just weeks before, when they were meeting for his sci-fi drama that Vivian had auditioned for. He’d passed on her and it hurt.

“Eugene.” She swallowed her bitterness. “It’s lovely to run into you.”

“Gene, please. And likewise.” His voice dropped. “How are you feeling?”

Vivian paused. He was looking at her intently, cautiously. What did he mean? She was in Cannes. It was the weekend of celebrations. “I’m doing well.” She looked around. “Where’s Jeanette?”

“She’s home,” Eugene said. “Went up to see her mother in Seattle. Where’s Richie?”

“Oh, over there,” Vivian said lightly. “Talking to studio leads, I think.”

“Shaking them clean?” Eugene laughed. “I’m sure he’s charming them all.”

Vivian found herself smiling. “I suppose he does often do that.”

“Always has. Runs around showing off all his ideas like a little kid.”

“Young at heart,” Vivian mused carefully. She wondered if she should’ve changed the inflection of her voice to show that she adored her husband. She wondered if Eugene could tell.

“Listen. I wanted to apologize forDawn Light,” Eugene said. “I really did want you.”

“It’s all right,” Vivian said cordially. “Thank you for considering me.”

“Maybe next time,” Eugene said. “When you’re…”

“When I’m what?”

His eyes narrowed. “Never mind.”

They sipped on their champagne. Everything was starting to soften a bit around the edges. The pressure in her chest eased. Eugene Lyman drained his glass. “Speaking of young at heart,” Eugene said, and his gaze settled on her neckline. His fingers brushed Vivian’s bare arm. “You haven’t aged a day since I’ve met you.”

Vivian suddenly felt very exposed. Her eyes met with Eugene’s. He had always had warm eyes, but now his expression sharpened into something akin to hunger. Vivian let his hand rest on her wrist for a moment longer before withdrawing her arm to reach for her champagne glass. She tried to sound polite. “Thank you, Gene. I’m going to get myself another.”

She walked away, feeling his gaze on her. Heat swept the base of her neck, and she couldn’t tell if it was tension or disgust or fear. She crossed the room and accepted another champagne flute and looked instinctively to her husband to see if he was watching her, but he was deep in the middle of conversation. She eased out a breath and walked over to him, where he offered a small smile and slipped his hand around hers. He didn’t see, she thought.??. Thank the heavens.

“My greater half,” her husband said as he introduced her to the director. “Have you met my lovely wife, Vivian?”

After the festival awards had been announced and Vivian clapped politely for them, after the night settled and the stars had come out over the French Riviera, Vivian found herself a bit cold. Her husband gave his jacket to her and she took it gratefully.

She would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t been jealous when others had won awards. She’d once auditioned with one actress who was always a wreck with remembering her lines, but now she was on the stage. Polished. It was her time, Vivian tried telling herself. Everyone had a golden era, if they were lucky. Maybe Vivian’s started and ended withFortune’s Eye.

Was she terrible for wanting more? After the Oscar she thought she would get big drama and monologues, but it was like she was back to the beginning. They still weren’t writing roles for Chinese women. Not to mention her anxieties about her fading youth. What roles she could audition for could be closed to her now. After the awards she went outto dinner with a few of Richard’s friends. She knew them, too, through movies she’d heard of, awards show appearances and industry parties. She let the conversation float over her and drank the wine that her husband poured for her, and by the time their taxi pulled up to their hotel, Vivian was relaxed and warm and tired.

She unlocked the door to their hotel room and threw Richard’s jacket over a chair. “I think I’m going to draw a bath.”

She’d hardly finished her sentence when the door slammed behind them. She jumped.

Her husband said, “You have one chance to explain yourself tonight.”

Vivian put her palms on the dresser behind her, steadying herself. “What part would you like me to explain, Richard? The part where I was at your side all night, like an obedient dog?”