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The truth was, however, it reallydidn’tmatter. Because I didn’t care about the awards. I only cared that the person I loved was going to be by my side—that we’d managed to navigate a path allowing us to share our lives together. And that she loved me enough to sit beside me, even when I knew the glam and glitz of Tinseltown really wasn’t her thing.

As I stood in my ensuite, having forgone the Hollywood norm of a fashion crew, and opted instead to dress myself, Dillon sat on the edge of our infinity tub overlooking PCH. She watched me apply my makeup in the vanity mirror, far calmer than I was.

“Nervous?” she asked, languidly rising to her feet.

I found her eyes in the mirror, deja vu of another time and place.

“Have you seen the woman I’m arriving with?” I fed back the words she’d once handed me, smiling as she reached to straighten the lovespoon pendant hanging at the hollow of my throat. “I have nothing to be nervous over—I’ve already won.”

She bent to kiss my shoulder. “You’re daft, Kam-Kameryn.”

And that’s how our scene should have been written.