35. Madness #3
No matter how much Kylie prepped me. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle yet another interview where Alex is the topic of conversation. Thinking about Alex is one thing. It’s my dirty, private obsession.
But talking about him—saying his name out loud, letting it linger between me and a stranger with a microphone—I don’t know if I can survive reliving it. Because thinking about Alex leaving me only reminds me of the way Broderick asked for space.
Kylie hesitates, then follows, and I can feel her wanting to push—wanting to remind me how many outlets are still waiting, how much visibility this moment has. How important it is to do my job.
But she says nothing. A silent understanding passing between us, and I’m grateful she respects my limits.
It’s a relief to be out of the line of fire. Inside, the air is cooler—laced with expensive cologne and nervous energy. I head straight to the bar, order a glass of champagne, and toss it back before an usher guides me to my seat.
The show is…actually fun.
I clap. I laugh. I even gasp at one surprise win.
The room hums with that strange electric calm—famous people pretending not to be overwhelmed while cameras catch every blink.
For a while, I let myself sink into it. Watching the culmination of years of work unfold in real time—dreams realized, others quietly unraveling beneath polite applause—the drama, the theatrics, the illusion of it all.
The glitz and glamour feels almost cliché.
And yet, somehow, I’m part of it even if I’m not quite sure that I belong.
It feels like we’re all islands in the same vast sea—close enough to be seen, never close enough to truly touch—tethered only by something invisible.
Fame.
Somewhere between Best Animated Feature and Original Score, I feel a nudge at my elbow.
Julian Vale slips into the empty seat beside me, all bravado in a perfectly tailored tux. He gives me a lazy smile, green eyes flicking over my gown.
“I told you I’d see you again,” he says, his voice low—pitched just for me.
“Are you stalking me now?”
“Only professionally.” He grins—a smile that could melt anyone. “But if I were, I’d say this is a pretty solid payoff.”
I laugh, letting myself lean just slightly in his direction. It feels easy. Natural. Or maybe I need a distraction.
And Julian Vale—smelling like amber and oud—is a very good one.
He oozes charm and confidence.
That’s how I got into this mess in the first place—distractions.
I hesitate, but then his fingers brush mine where they rest on my lap. Just once. Barely there.
My breath catches. His light touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm.
“Can I offer you some refreshments?” he asks, producing a flask from the inside of his jacket.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper.
“Go on,” he teases. “Live a little.”
I sigh, “All right.”
He shields me with his jacket as I fumble with the flask. I twist the top and take a swig, the burn of pure liquor slicing down my throat.
I cough. “What was that—kerosene?”
He chuckles. “Cognac.”
I lean back in my seat, dabbing at the corners of my mouth. I glance around—everyone is absorbed in their own conversations, oblivious to what just happened.
“Still in town after tonight?” he asks, taking a quick sip of his own. There’s something about him that feels, familiar, like we’ve known each other longer than ten minutes.
“I fly out tomorrow afternoon.”
He makes a soft sound—half sigh, half disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was going to suggest drinks. Or dessert. Or both.”
“You’re assuming I’d say yes.”
He leans in, his mouth close to my ear, breath warm. “I’m not the type to assume, but I do like my odds.”
My lips curve before I can stop them. “Are you always this cocky?”
“Only when I know I’m right.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again. “So—red wine, or an espresso martini?”
“Depends, am I wearing heels, or am I planning to take them off?”
A feral grin spreads across his face. “Definitely heels.”
I laugh again—genuine. The tension between us has found a rhythm now, a quiet pull like a tide I could lean into or let pass.
And then something shifts in the air.
Subtle, but enough to pull my attention upward.
Front row. Three seats down. Elbows braced on his knees, head tipped just slightly, that steely gaze fixed on me like he’s been watching for a while.
Alex.
Heat climbs my neck, slow and unwelcome, and I can’t tell how long he’s been sitting there—how long he’s been looking at me like that. It was inevitable I’d run into him. I am in his court, after all. But I’m not as ready for it as I thought.
I straighten without thinking.
Julian follows my line of sight and lets out a quiet scoff. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “It’s nothing.”
He studies me for a second, then leans back, easy and unbothered, draping an arm along the back of my seat.
Alex doesn’t look away.
Julian leans in again, closer this time, his lips brushing just behind my ear. “You let me know if it ever becomes something,” he murmurs. “I’m very good at undoing bad decisions.”
My breath catches, my heart knocking hard against my ribs.
He pulls away and stands up, sauntering back to his seat just as the house lights dim and the next presenter takes the stage.
But my pulse doesn’t settle.
I can still feel the ghost of Alex’s eyes on me, burning into the side of my face.
Before I can steady myself, a hand taps my shoulder.
A production assistant wearing a headset leans in. “You’re on in twenty minutes. We’ll take you backstage now.”
I stand, smoothing the skirt of my dress, nerves buzzing under my skin. The gray tulle rustles like wind with every step.
Backstage is darker. Applause reverberating from the other side of the curtain.
Mike Schneider—comedian and my presenting partner—is already there, drink in hand.
“Miss Montgomery,” he says, passing me a glass of champagne from the nearby table.
“Thanks.”
He wanders off to talk to a stagehand—leaving me alone with nothing but my messed-up thoughts.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, fingers brushing the chain at my neck.
This is Alex’s category. If he wins—be polite. Smile. Breathe.
I pace once, then again, heels quiet against the floor, smoothing my hands over my dress for what has to be the hundredth time.
He looked furious seeing me with Julian. It drags me right back to New Year’s Eve.