Epilogue
“ZACHARY RYAN BUTLER,” my brother says, his face filling the screen on my phone. “You called. FaceTime, even. I think I’m going to cry.”
Jeremy pretends to wipe a tear, the jackass.
“Mom and Dad, say hi to your youngest.” Jeremy flips the phone so I can see our parents sitting on the couch, watching the Oscars pre-show. They both wave.
“Good luck, honey!”
“Proud of you, son.”
Jeremy turns the phone back on himself. “We’re all pulling for you over here, bro.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“Are you nervous? Best Actor.” He whistles low between his teeth. “You’re kind of a big deal.”
“I’m not nervous about winning or losing, I’m nervous that I have to present.”
“Oh, that’s right. Last year’s Best Supporting Actor passing the torch?”
“I’ve been having nightmares about not getting the envelope open.”
“Nah, you got this.” Jeremy narrows his eyes. “Where are you? This doesn’t look like your house.”
After Rowan and I finished decorating and furnishing our house, we had the family over. It’s such a far cry from the cold glass box I used to live in; I could tell by the looks on everyone’s faces that they considered it an improvement too. The house and the woman in it. They tried to love Eva, but she made it so hard. Loving Rowan is the easiest thing in the world.
For the millionth time, my hand goes to the jacket pocket of my tux. The small velvet box is sitting right over my heart. I don’t have a plan in my head, but I can’t seem to stop carrying it around with me, either.
“We’re at the Roosevelt Hotel getting ready,” I tell Jeremy.
“Getting ready? We’re watching the preshow right now!”
“I know, but they have us arriving at the last minute. Don’t know why.”
“Could it be because you’re one of the biggest stars on the planet? Just throwing that out there.”
“Cut it out.” I check the time. “Shit, I actually have to get going. I love you, Jer.”
“We love you, bro. We’ll be rooting for you. And give our love to Rowan.”
“I will.”
I hang up just as the bathroom door opens and Rowan steps out. It’s a good thing the floor is carpeted, because I drop my phone at the sight of her, and my jaw drops with it.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
“Wow, thank you,” Rowan says, radiant and smiling. She lifts the train of her dress. “What do you think?”
“Are you kidding me? You made that?”
Rowan is wearing a fuchsia pink dress that is cinched at the waist and flows to the ground. The top only covers one shoulder—toga-style—leaving the other bare. The whole dress is made with something Rowan called loose ruching that gives it texture. Her hair is up, and her only ornament is a diamond-encrusted hair pin in the shape of a lily, on loan from Harry Winston. They wanted to drape her in diamonds, but she refused, saying it was too much and too nerve-wracking.
She needs at least one more diamond…
Once again, my hand itches to go to the breast pocket of my jacket, but then she’s approaching, smoothing the lapels of my tuxedo, so close to the box, I wonder if she’ll find it first.
“If putting clothes on you should be illegal, you in a tuxedo is downright cruel.”
She leans in to kiss me when a knock comes at the door.
“Mr. Butler? Ms. Walsh? They’re ready.”
Rowan slips her hand into mine. “How about it? Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Let’s do this.”
We head down to the lobby of the Roosevelt, where Ezra escorts us to the waiting limo. The driver opens the door, and we climb inside to find the interior filled with bouquets of flowers in champagne buckets (and one bucket with actual ice and champagne).
“Did you do this?” Rowan asks.
“I wish I could take credit.” I nod at the card. “They’re from my team. Syd, Chase, Courtney, and Andrew.”
“How sweet,” Rowan says. “It’s so lovely in here now.”
“It is,” I say.
It’s kind of perfect. No more excuses.
The limo gets going and we sit in traffic along Hollywood Boulevard, one in a cavalcade of limos as we wait for our turn to walk the red carpet. I should wait, but why? I love her too much to wait one more second.
“Rowan.” I get down on one knee on the floor of the limo.
She stares. “What are you doing?”
“Something I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Because I’ve wanted this with you for so long. This life, that you’ve made better in every way.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the box. She makes a little gasp, and her hands fly to her mouth.
“I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. You have my heart and always will. It would make me the happiest man alive if you would be my wife.”
I open the box to show her the antique ring with its clusters of round diamonds surrounding the center.
“Will you marry me?”
Rowan stares at the ring, then she’s down on her knees on the floor, wrapping her arms around my neck and holding on tight.
“Is that a yes?”
She pulls back and her eyes are shining with tears. “That’s a yes. I will absolutely marry you.”
I take the ring out of the box and slide it over her left ring finger, then look at her uncertainly. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” she breathes, holding up her hand. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s old.”
“It’s perfect.”
My heart swells with love for this woman. We climb back into our seats, and I pop the champagne.
“I’m a mess,” Rowan says, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “I can’t believe you just asked me to marry you in a limo on the way to the Oscars. What is this life?”
“It’s surreal,” I agree. “This happiness.”
Finally, the limo pulls up to the Dolby Theater and we step out. The paparazzi shout at us as flashbulbs go off, a hundred per second. A crowd of spectators in bleachers set up near the entrance are waving and cheering.
I smile and wave back, overwhelmed with gratitude.
“Zach! Zach! Just you.”
Rowan shoots me a smile and steps aside so they can take pictures. She looks so proud, it damn near makes me tear up. I join her again for more photos, and then it’s time for interviews with a dozen different outlets.
Ryan Seacrest asks me about my thoughts on possibly winning Best Actor for Midnight skies.
I give Rowan’s hand in mine a squeeze. “I think that would be icing on a pretty big cake.”
Other outlets ask me about the grueling process of filming No Man’s Land that wrapped two weeks ago and tell me the early buzz is huge. When we’re finally free of the interviews, we head in. I see Rob Melvin, the creator of Godsent and now Hellbent . We lock eyes. He gives me a nod and a small, apologetic smile. I nod back.
Eva plead no contest to aggravated assault and battery. She was given three years’ probation, community service, and mandatory counseling. Rob either didn’t care about the tabloid frenzy, or he was too deep in Hellbent to scrap it or replace her. Last I heard, they were about to wrap filming on season one. I’m glad. Eva’s getting help and doing her own thing, and I’m free to never have to think about her again. She’s in the past. The future is holding my hand and wearing my ring.
Inside the Dolby Theater, we mingle with other actors, producers, and Rowan finds Vivienne Kyle, her new partner in crime. Since Avignon finished, the two have been inseparable, an instant friendship having sprung up between Rowan and the fashion designer. Vivienne has twenty years in the business and has taken Rowan under her wing, but they also genuinely like each other. I watch them hug and talk, already making plans for their next joint project—a fantasy book adaptation with Greta Gerwig.
Best Supporting Actor is one of the first awards, so I give Rowan—my fiancée—a quick kiss before I’m ushered backstage. I make it through the presentation—giving the award to Evan Peters for Lost on You— without making a fool of myself.
After, I get back to my seat next to Rowan, and the costume design awards are given. When we go to commercial, I lean into her. “That’s going to be you up there, someday.”
She pretends like she didn’t hear me. “Sorry, what? I’m too busy staring at this ring you put on my finger.” She gazes up at me with those light blue eyes surrounded by darker blue. “I’m so happy, I could explode. And I want to be somewhere alone with you in the worst way.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I didn’t really think this through.”
She laughs and then the lights come down.
Finally, last year’s Best Actor winner, Jeremy Strong, steps on the stage and introduces the nominees. Once again, a camera man kneels in the aisle beside my seat. Rowan’s hand tightens in mine, but no matter what happens, I’ve already won.
She leans in as Jeremy opens the envelope. “You should’ve written a speech.”
“Nah…”
“And the winner is…Zachary Butler for Midnight Skies .”
But even Rowan is shocked and gives a squeal of joy. I’m still for a second until she gives me a kiss and pushes me up out of my seat.
The whole damn place gives me a standing ovation. I climb the few steps and shake Jeremy’s hand. He congratulates me, hands me the Oscar, and now I have to talk.
“This is too much. Wow. I’m so honored.”
I thank the crew, the cast, my family, and then I find Rowan in the front row, her hands pressed to her mouth with my family’s ring glittering on her finger.
“And lastly, I’d like to thank the Academy. It’s a tremendous honor and also the second-best thing that’s happened to me tonight, because on the drive over here, I asked Rowan Walsh to marry me, and she said yes.”
The crowd goes crazy, and Rowan stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Thank you, Ro, for loving me as I am. You’re the love of my life.” The camera flashes at me to wrap it up. I heft the Oscar. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
The audience can barely contain themselves and erupt in thunderous applause the second I’m done speaking. I’m supposed to go off stage and do all the post-win things, but I take the stairs down to Rowan instead. I bend to kiss her, and under the noise of the crowd, I tell her I love her.
Because I do, with all that I am. My wayward heart has come home at last.
The End