17. Selene
— ? —
Selene
The dressing room is a welcome sanctuary after the chaos of the ceremony.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, letting the relative quiet wash over me.
My award sits on the vanity table, gleaming under the soft lights, still seeming slightly unreal.
I keep expecting someone to burst in and tell me there’s been a mistake, that I need to give it back.
But no one does.
Because it’s mine. I earned it. I made something beautiful, and the world recognized it.
A knock sounds at the door, and I straighten up, smoothing my dress. Probably Maya, coming to brief me on the after-party schedule.
I open the door and find Dylan standing there, looking ridiculously handsome in his tuxedo, holding a bouquet of white peonies so large it nearly obscures his face.
“For the woman of the hour.” He peers around the flowers with a grin. “I would have gotten something bigger, but the florist said this was already bordering on ‘absurd.’”
“It’s definitely bordering on something.” I step back to let him in, trying to suppress the smile threatening to take over my face. “You do realize I already have approximately seventeen bouquets from various well-wishers?”
“Yes, but none of those are from your adoring husband who sat in the audience and cried during your acceptance speech.”
I whip around to stare at him. “You did not.”
“Okay, I didn’t cry.” He sets the flowers on the vanity, next to my award. “But I definitely got misty. There was a suspicious amount of blinking happening. My eyes were very moist.”
“Dylan Riego, admitting to public displays of emotion? Alert the press.”
“The press is busy writing articles about my confrontation with Claudette.” He turns to face me, and his expression softens into something tender. “Besides, watching my wife succeed isn’t a public display. It’s a private miracle I happened to witness in a room full of people.”
The sincerity in his voice untangles a knot in my chest. The careful control I’ve been maintaining all night starts to crumble, all the emotions I’ve been holding at bay rushing forward at once.
Without thinking, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around him.
Dylan makes a soft sound of surprise before his arms come up to encircle me, pulling me tight against his chest. He’s solid. Warm. And for a moment I just let myself be held, my face pressed into the lapel of his jacket.
“Hey.” His voice is gentle, concerned. “You okay?”
“I’m great.” The words come out muffled against his chest. “I’m amazing. I just won an award for a film I made and everyone loved it and you were there and you didn’t leave and I just-”
I break off, unable to articulate the tangle of feelings lodged in my throat.
Dylan warmly chuckles, and pulls me even closer. “No words can describe how proud I am of you, wife.”
The endearment doesn’t grate the way it used to. It just feels right.
A kiss lands on the side of my head, his lips lingering against my hair, and I let myself melt into the embrace for a few more seconds before pulling back.
Or trying to pull back.
Dylan’s arms tighten around my waist, preventing my retreat, and he tugs me closer until we’re chest to chest with barely any air between us.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was going to fix my makeup before the after-party.” I gesture vaguely toward the vanity. “I’m pretty sure I have mascara tracks on my face from earlier.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I look like a raccoon.”
“A beautiful raccoon.” He grins at my exasperated expression. “The most stunning trash panda to ever grace a film festival.”
“I cannot believe you just called me a trash panda immediately after I won an award.”
“I contain multitudes.” His grin fades, turning serious, and his hand comes up to rest on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over my collarbone. “May I take you to dinner tomorrow?”
The question catches me off guard. “Dinner?”
“A proper dinner. Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet where we can actually talk without being interrupted by journalists or industry professionals or my own colossal stupidity.”
“Your stupidity has been notably absent lately.”
“I’ve been working on that.” His thumb continues its hypnotic movement along my collarbone. “I want to do this right, Selene. I want to court you properly. Wine you and dine you and show you that I’ve changed.”
“You’ve been showing me that for weeks.”
“Not enough.” His voice drops lower. “I want to apologize properly. For everything. Not just with words, but with… I don’t know, grand romantic gestures? Candlelit dinners? Whatever it takes to make you believe that I’m never going to be that man again.”
I study his face, searching for any sign of the old Dylan. The one who made promises he never kept, who put his career above everything else, who looked past me, at nothing. But all I see is the man who’s shown up every day for weeks, quiet and patient, refusing to give up on me.
“You sure you’re not gonna stand me up?”
The question is meant to be teasing, but it comes out more vulnerable than I intended. I watch the flash of regret that crosses his features, the way his jaw tightens with remembered shame.
“No.” He cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Never again, baby. I swear on my life.”
“That’s a big swear.”
“It’s a big promise.” His thumbs stroke my cheekbones.
“I spent a year learning what it feels like to lose you. I’m not going to risk that ever again.
You could tell me there’s an emergency on set that will cost me my entire career, and I would still be at that restaurant waiting for you with roses and a dopey expression. ”
A playful smile tugs at my lips despite my best efforts to maintain composure. “Roses are a bit cliché.”
“Fine. Peonies and a dopey expression.”
“Better.” I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock. I’ll be at your door with bells on.” He pauses. “Not literal bells. That would be weird. But metaphorical bells. Very enthusiastic metaphorical bells.”
I laugh, opening my eyes to find him grinning at me with such unbridled affection that my chest aches.
“You’re such a dork.”
“Your dork, if you’ll have me.”
I brush my nose against his, feeling giddy and lighter than I have in years. “I suppose I could be convinced.”
***
Dylan
She’s going to kill me.
Not literally, hopefully, but the way she’s looking at me right now. It’s soft. Teasing and so goddamn beautiful it hurts. It’s definitely causing some kind of cardiac event.
Her nose brushes against mine, and my entire body goes taut with the effort of not kissing her. I want to. God, I want to. But this feels like a moment that deserves more than a desperate grab in a dressing room.
Still, when she says she could be convinced. My restraint snaps.
My hand tightens on her hip, and I pull her flush against me until there’s not a breath of space left between our bodies. Her eyes widen slightly at the sudden movement, her lips parting in surprise.
“Good.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “You better make sure of that.”
“Make sure of what?”
“That you’re convinced.” I lower my head, letting my lips hover just above hers. “Because I plan to spend the rest of my life convincing you.”
Her breath catches, her pulse races where my hand is pressed against her neck. The want is rolling off both of us in waves, thick in the small space of the dressing room.
But I don’t kiss her mouth.
Instead, I drag my lips down, past her jaw, along the elegant column of her throat, until I reach the exposed line of her collarbones. I press a possessive kiss there, letting my teeth graze the delicate skin just hard enough to make her gasp.
“Dylan-”
“Tomorrow.” I murmur the word against her skin, my hands sliding down to rest on her hips.
“Tomorrow, we’ll have dinner, and I’ll tell you everything I should have said years ago.
I’ll apologize for every anniversary I forgot.
Every dinner I missed. Every time I made you feel like you were less important than my work. ”
I press another kiss to her collarbone, then another, working my way across to her shoulder.
“And then, if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day after that proving I’ve learned my lesson.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “I’ll be the husband you deserved from the start. The partner you needed. The man you fell in love with before I let my own ego get in the way.”
Selene’s eyes are shimmering, and her throat works as she swallows hard.
“You’re really going all out with the romantic speeches tonight.”
“I have a lot of lost time to make up for.” I trace my finger along her jaw. “I spent a year without you, Selene. A year of waking up alone in that empty house, wondering where you were, whether you were safe, whether you’d ever give me another chance.”
My finger finds the bare space where her wedding ring used to sit, and my heart clenches.
She’s not wearing it. Of course she’s not. I still have it, kept safe on a chain around my neck, waiting for the moment when I can offer it back to her properly.
“I’m not going to waste another second,” I continue, rubbing my thumb over her empty ring finger. “Every moment I have with you is precious. And I’m going to treat it that way.”
“Dylan.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “If you don’t stop saying things like that, I’m going to start crying again, and my makeup really won’t survive it.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I have an after-party to attend. I can’t show up looking like I’ve been sobbing in a dressing room.”
“You could skip the after-party.” I pull her closer, nuzzling my nose against her temple. “We could go somewhere quiet. Just the two of us.”
“Dylan Riego, suggesting I skip an industry networking event?” She pulls back with exaggerated shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my workaholic husband?”
“I’ve realized there are more important things than networking.” I grin at her expression. “I know, I know. Personal growth. Very suspicious. But I promise it’s really me.”
She laughs, and the sound wraps around my heart, warming me from the inside.
“I have to go to the after-party. There are distribution deals that need finalizing.”
“Then I’ll come with you.” I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “I’ll stand in the corner and look supportive while you conquer the industry.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “I want to be wherever you are. That’s the whole point, Selene. You’re my priority now. You should have always been my priority.”
She stares at me for a long moment, as emotions play across her face. Surprise turning to disbelief, and finally, an emotion that looks almost like trust.
“Okay.” She nods slowly. “But you have to promise not to threaten anyone else tonight. The Claudette confrontation is already going to generate enough headlines.”
“I make no promises regarding anyone who disrespects you.”
“Dylan.”
“Fine.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I promise to be on my best behavior. I will smile and nod and resist the urge to defend your honor with aggressive declarations.”
“Thank you.”
“Unless someone really deserves it.”
“Dylan.”
“Okay, okay.” I laugh and pull her back into my arms for one last hug. “I’ll behave. For you.”
She relaxes against me, and I take a moment to just hold her, to breathe in the jasmine and amber of her perfume, to feel the warmth of her body against mine.
Tomorrow, I’ll take her to dinner. Say all the things I’ve been holding in my heart for a year. Tomorrow, I’ll ask her if she’s ready to try again, not just coexist, but rebuild what we had into something stronger.
And maybe, I’ll finally give her back the rings I’ve been wearing against my chest.
But for now, this is enough.
“I’ll be at your door by seven, wife.” I rasp the words against her skin, pressing one final kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She pulls back with a smile that makes my chest ache. “Now let me fix my makeup before Maya has a breakdown about timing.”
I reluctantly release her, stepping back to give her access to the vanity. She sits down and begins the process of touching up her face, and I watch her in the mirror, cataloging every detail.
The way her hands move with practiced efficiency.
The way she tilts her head to check her angles.
The way she catches me watching and rolls her eyes, but doesn’t tell me to stop.
My hand drifts unconsciously to my chest, where the chain holding her rings rests beneath my shirt. The metal is warm from my body heat, and I can feel the small weight of them against my sternum.
Soon, I tell myself. Soon I’ll ask if she’s ready. Soon I’ll kneel in front of her and offer them back, not as a demand or an expectation, but as a question.
Will you let me try again? Please let me love you properly this time?
Will you be my wife… not just on paper, but in every way that matters?
Tomorrow. I’ll ask her tomorrow.
And whatever her answer is, I’ll accept it.
Because she’s already given me more than I deserve just by being here, by letting me close, by considering the possibility that we might have a future after all.
The rest is up to her.
“You’re watching me again.” Selene’s voice cuts through my thoughts, teasing. “It’s a little much.”
“I’m admiring you. There’s a difference.”
“The difference is semantics.”
“The difference is love.” I grin at her expression in the mirror. “Get used to it, wife. I plan to admire you for the rest of my life.”
She tries to look annoyed, but the smile she’s fighting tugs at her lips.
“You’re impossible.”
“Just really devoted.”
“Impossibly cheesy.”
“Impossibly yours.” I blow her a kiss in the mirror. “If you’ll have me.”
She catches my eye in the reflection, and understanding passes between us. Or acceptance, or the beginning of something new growing from the ashes of what we destroyed.
“We’ll see.” But she’s smiling as she says it. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
“I will.” I watch her finish her makeup, my heart full to bursting. “I’ll ask you every day until you believe me.”
“That might take a while.”
“I’ve got time.” I shrug. “The rest of my life, specifically. And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”
She doesn’t respond, but the flush on her cheeks tells me everything I need to know.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.