Epilogue
Julia had never been to an awards ceremony before, and she was fairly certain she was doing it wrong.
For one thing, she kept wanting to touch things.
The crystal glasses, the embossed menus, the heavy silverware.
But she was afraid of getting fingerprints on everything.
For another, she couldn't stop grinning like an idiot every time she looked at Elliott, who was sitting across from her in a tailored navy suit and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"Stop fidgeting," Shay said, elbowing Elliott. "You're making me nervous."
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You've straightened your napkin four times."
"It was crooked."
"It's a napkin, not the Mona Lisa, I don’t think anyone cares that it’s crooked.."
Julia bit back a laugh as Milly, seated on Elliott’s other side, patted Elliott's hand. "You're going to win, dear. I can feel it in my bones."
"Your bones predicted rain last Tuesday," Elliott said. "It was twenty-three degrees and sunny."
"My bones were confused by the new shower that was fitted in my room," Millie said primly.
The table was a mismatched collection of everyone Julia had come to love over the past two years.
Milly, resplendent in purple and already on her second glass of champagne.
Shay, who kept checking her phone and smiling at whatever Jo and Sam were texting her.
Jamie, looking uncomfortable in a tie but gamely making conversation with Tom, who was practically vibrating with excitement about starting pastry school next month.
And Elliott. Nominated for Best Cookbook. Sitting in a room full of publishing luminaries like she belonged there.
Because she did. After all, her first book had won the debut award last year, so there were high hopes for her second.
"Did you hear about Candice?" Tom asked, reaching for a bread roll. "Her bakery's officially closed. Saw the 'for let' sign go up last week."
Julia exchanged a glance with Elliott. They'd never told anyone about the frozen goods.
Hadn't needed to, in the end. Candice simply couldn't compete with Elliott's creations, and one by one, her customers had migrated across the street. And Julia was glad of it. She didn’t have it in her to deliberately hurt someone else, even if Candice was a… she didn’t want to think the word.
"Shame," Elliott said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
"You're a terrible person," Julia told her.
"I'm an honest person. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
Elliott's mouth twitched. "Marginally."
Shay's phone buzzed again, and she laughed at whatever she'd received. "Jo says to tell you that if you don't win, they're staging a protest outside the venue. Sam's already making signs."
"Please tell your partners that vandalism is not an appropriate response to literary disappointment," Elliott said.
"We don’t like the label ‘partners.’ We're just... very happily entangled." Shay grinned. "All three of us."
Julia smiled and let her gaze drift across the room.
The venue really was stunning, all chandeliers and white tablecloths and the kind of hushed elegance that made her want to whisper.
Tables filled with authors and publishers and assistants, all mingling and networking and then there was someone else. Obviously.
Her mother.
Gabby was holding court at a table near the front, surrounded by her usual entourage.
There was a new face among them: a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a cologne advertisement, all cheekbones and brooding intensity. Raul was her mother’s new beau, and, Julia had to admit, he was very handsome.
He was also, unpredictably, very funny and the few times she’d met him, she’d found that she enjoyed his company. So that was a thing.
Gabby, of course, was staring directly at Julia with an expression that could curdle cream.
Julia sighed. She’d known her mother would be here, after all, Gabby was nominated for the same award that Elliott was. Her mother had asked her to sit at the table at the front, and been offended when Julia had said no. But what Julia hadn't expected was how little it bothered her.
A year or two ago, she would have felt guilty. Would have wondered if she should go over, smooth things over, apologize for the slight. Now she just felt… tired of it. And a little sad that her mother couldn’t appreciate that Julia had to be by Elliott’s side.
Jamie stood up. "Getting a drink. Anyone want anything?"
A chorus of requests followed him to the bar. Julia watched him go, then watched with interest as Gabby intercepted him halfway there.
The conversation was brief. Gabby gestured toward Raul. Jamie's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. He nodded, patted Gabby's arm, and escaped to the bar.
When he returned, he was shaking his head.
"What was that about?" Shay asked.
"Apparently I shouldn't be jealous of Raul." Jamie set down the drinks. "She hopes there are no hard feelings about how things ended between us."
"How things ended?" Elliott repeated flatly. "You mean when you dumped her."
"In Gabby's version, I believe she let me down gently." Jamie shrugged. "I decided not to argue. Life's too short."
Julia snorted. Across the room, she caught her mother's glare again.
Old Julia would have looked away.
New Julia raised her glass.
Not just because she wanted to make a point. She hoped that her mum and Raul would last. For once, Gabby seemed to have found someone who courted just as much attention as she did, someone who stood up to her. An equal, perhaps.
The lights flickered once, twice. A hush fell over the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice announced, "please take your seats. The ceremony is about to begin."
Elliott's hand found Julia's under the table and squeezed.
Here we go, Julia thought.
THE CEREMONY WAS, Julia had to admit, slightly boring.
Not that she'd ever say so out loud. Elliott was nominated. Elliott's book was up for Best Cookbook of the Year. Julia would sit through a million hours of publishing industry speeches if that's what it took.
But there were a lot of speeches.
She was halfway through mentally reorganizing her revision schedule for her nursing finals when she heard it. A sharp intake of breath. A chair scraping back. The particular quality of silence that meant something had gone wrong.
Julia's head snapped toward the sound.
At Gabby's table, a young woman, early twenties, dark hair, the slightly hunted look of someone who worked for a demanding boss, had gone pale. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Panic attack. Classic presentation.
Gabby was already on her feet, fluttering around the girl like a distressed butterfly. "Bridget, darling, just breathe. You need to breathe. Why aren't you breathing? Someone get her some water. Bridget, look at me, you're making a scene…"
Julia was moving before she'd consciously decided to.
She crossed the room in seconds, weaving between tables, ignoring the curious glances. Bridget, her mother’s new PA, apparently, was hyperventilating now, tears streaming down her face, and Gabby's hovering was making everything worse.
"Bridget." Julia kept her voice low and calm as she crouched beside the girl's chair. "My name's Julia. I'm a nursing student. Can you hear me?"
Bridget managed a jerky nod.
"Good. You're having a panic attack. It feels terrible, but it's not dangerous. You're safe. I'm going to help you, okay?"
Another nod.
"Darling, I've got this—" Gabby reached for Bridget′s shoulder.
"Mum." Julia didn't raise her voice. Didn't need to. "Step back."
Gabby blinked. "I'm just trying to—"
"You're crowding her." Julia stood, positioning herself between her mother and Bridget. She met Gabby's eyes directly. "Step. Back."
For a moment, nobody moved.
Julia's heart was hammering. Every instinct she'd spent twenty-five years developing was screaming at her to apologize, to soften, to make this easier for her mother. But Bridget was struggling to breathe, and Julia knew what she was doing.
"Please," she added. Not because she was backing down. Because she could be firm and still be kind.
Gabby's mouth opened. Closed. And then, miraculously, she took a step backward.
Julia turned back to Bridget. "Okay. We're going to do something called grounding. Can you name five things you can see?"
"I… the tablecloth. The… the flowers. Your earrings…"
"Good. Keep going."
"The chandelier. The… the menu card."
"Perfect. Four things you can touch."
Slowly, methodically, Julia walked her through the exercise. Her breathing steadied. The color returned to her cheeks. By the time they reached one thing she could taste, Bridget was no longer crying.
"Better?" Julia asked.
"Yeah." Bridget′s voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what…"
"Don't apologize. It happens." Julia caught the eye of a woman at Gabby's table who looked vaguely competent. "Can you take Bridget somewhere quiet for a few minutes? Just until she feels ready to come back."
The woman nodded and helped Bridget to her feet. As they moved toward the exit, Bridget glanced back and mouthed thank you.
Julia exhaled.
She didn't look at her mother. Didn't acknowledge the stares from nearby tables. Just walked back to her seat, slid into her chair, and reached for her water glass.
Her hands were shaking.
Elliott's hand covered hers under the table. When Julia finally looked up, Elliott was watching her with an expression that made Julia's chest ache.
Pride. Pure, undisguised pride.
"Show-off," Elliott murmured.
"Shut up."
"You were incredible."
"I told you to shut up."
But Julia was smiling, and Elliott was smiling, and for a moment, the rest of the room didn't exist.
Then the announcer's voice cut through the murmur of conversation.
"And now, the award for Best Cookbook of the Year…"
???
Elliott's name echoed through the venue, and for a moment, she was absolutely certain she'd misheard.
Then Shay screamed directly into her ear, and she knew it was real.