Epilogue
One year later
Jenna
“You look incredible,” Cole whispers in my ear, while cameras flash all around us. Photographers are shouting from every direction to look their way, but my eyes can’t seem to peel away from the man on my arm.
He looks delectable.
His custom fitted, all-black tuxedo is hugging his body in all the right places. His dark hair is cut perfectly—if I say so myself—and suits him so well.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tell him with a kiss on the side of his mouth, not at all caring who sees us. The placement of his hand on my lower back sends a shiver down my spine when he dips it ever so slightly.
Once filming ended and he moved into my building, we’ve spent every single waking moment together, other than when we’re working.
He’s just started filming the most anticipated spy movie the world has seen in decades, and thanks to the magic Tate pulled, they’re shooting all over the city.
I haven’t moved into his apartment, but I may as well have with the way my stuff already takes up a giant portion of space.
It’s like my mind see’s an empty room, and I just have to fill it with things.
Not kids, though.
At least not yet, anyway.
We’ve spoken about it in passing, and came to terms with the fact that we’d both be happy either way.
He takes my hand in his, kissing the back of it as we walk side by side through the crowd of important people toward our table. Our group of guests are already seated, eagerly waiting for the show to start.
“I can’t believe I know two people who’re nominated for an award tonight,” Lizzie says with a whispered squeal, adjusting the way her boobs sit in her sage dress. “Do I look OK?” She turns to Cassandra, who fixes a stray hair on her sister’s eyebrow.
“You look perfect.” She smiles before snuggling closer to her husband, who looks uncomfortable surrounded by so many people who know his name.
He’s been on his phone the whole night, no doubt making sure Mr. and Mrs. Herring are looking after Willow, their baby girl, and that she’s doing okay without her mom and dad.
“She’s okay, baby. We’re leaving soon. Besides, they’re just up stairs. If you want to leave early to relieve my parents, you can.” Cassandra smiles, placing her hand on his lap, and I watch as his shoulders soften at his wife’s words.
“You’re right.” He sighs, locking his phone, placing it face up on the table, making sure the ringer is on loud.
Cole and I take our assigned seats. A deep voice booms over the speakers, and the chatter quietens to hear what it has to say. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please return to your tables to prepare for your host this evening, Elias River. This is a televised event. All phones must remain off for the remainder of the evening.” Harley’s body stiffens, and he turns his phone face down.
Once the announcer has completed his little spiel, the crowd resumes its chatter until the main lights dim, and the stage brightens up.
The last time Cole and I were in this very room, at the same award show, I was seated in the very back corner next to a lady named Dorothy who sang Cole’s praises.
Little did I know that he’d already made an everlasting impression on me.
One that I still talk about every time someone asks how the two of us met.
He’s proud of it, too, but he is confident that if he didn’t come to my rescue, he and I still would’ve ended up where we are now.
Fake dating or not.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the forty-fifth annual Film and Television awards.” Elias pauses for the crowd to cheer, waiting patiently for the sound to soften.
While he tells jokes, Lizzie stares at him wide-eyed, Cassandra and Harley whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears, while Cole repeatedly kisses me in any place he can manage.
My jaw.
My shoulder.
My bicep, down my forearm.
Ever since his grand declaration of love on the last week of shooting, this man has been so proud to be with me.
I hated any form of public displays of affection before he was in the picture, but I also never knew what it felt like to have someone want me the way he does.
He isn’t afraid to be seen with me.
He isn’t afraid to touch me, and he certainly isn’t afraid to love me.
I hadn’t realized it, but all I ever wanted in this life was to have someone love me freely, and that’s exactly what he does every single day of our lives.
“Are you nervous?” he asks. His deep voice is low enough for only me to hear, and I shake my head.
“We’re up against the new Avatar movie. Chances of us winning are slim to none. I’m just proud that the salon is even nominated to begin with.” I take his hand in mine, placing them both on my lap. “How’re you feeling, Mr. Best New Actor?” The pride I feel in my chest for this man is something I’ve never been able to put into words.
It’s suffocating, sometimes.
Any new sensation that overrides my senses, I put it down to love.
I’ve never known what it truly felt like to be in it, and all I want to do is tell every single person I talk to that I am Cole’s, and he is mine.
I refuse to run from something this good.
Not anymore.
So, yeah. I’m proud of him and everything he’s accomplished so far, and everything I know he’s yet to achieve and has set his sights on.
He’s had job offers upon job offers, but Tate has been accepting only the ones he predicts will be successful and worth his time.
Cole has also been very adamant on as minimal travel as possible, too, even though I told him I will follow him wherever he needs me to.
Work can wait. I know that now.
He and I have taken four vacations in the last year alone. He’s bringing out a part of me I didn’t know existed, and I hope this version of me sticks around forever.
Because I love me, and I never thought I’d be able to say those words.
I’m happy.
I’m confident.
I’m in love, and it’s all little Jenna ever wanted in life.
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” he admits, his tanned face palling at the realization that his category is quickly approaching, even though it’s the last to be announced for the night. Which means no alcohol until the after party. I rub his back to comfort him.
“Here, drink this.” I slide my glass of ice-cold water across the table to him, and he smiles in thanks, taking a sip.
The categories fly by quickly, and I was wrong about Avatar winning. Some gory, horror movie with all kinds of special effects took out the trophy for our category, but I don’t mind it at all.
They deserved it.
Elias clears his throat as he takes the stage, and my hand grips Cole’s tighter, while Cassandra and Lizzie have their arms wrapped around each other in anticipation of their youngest sister.
“Please give your warmest welcome to America’s newest pop star, Olive Herring, and her husband, NBA superstar, Avery Jones,” he says. His voice soaring into the microphone as the crowd rises to their feet, cheering on our girl.
Cassandra has tears flowing freely down her cheeks that she’ll no doubt blame on postpartum hormones, and Lizzie is pumping her fist in the air while chanting her sister’s name.
I just smile when I look at the three of them.
We may not share blood, but they treat me as though I do.
“Good evening, everybody,” Olive says, greeting the crowd with an authentic smile, and it takes a minute for the applause to die down. Avery’s face remains stoic. His piercing blue eyes are honed in on his wife, with his jaw clenched completely shut.
Wife .
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that one.
“My husband and I are thrilled to announce the winner of Best New Actor with you all tonight,” Olive says over the crowd, gushing as she threads her fingers through his, the microphone remaining in her other hand.
Avery, a man of many words, clears his throat. “Here is the list of nominees.”
The screen flashes with pictures of every new actor on the block. A picture of Cole is last to be shown, with Mara in the background, too, but the camera is focused on the man who captivated the nation.
Captivated me.
Ever since Jude called ‘cut’ for the last time, and we had the wrap party on set, Mara Scott has taken a step back from the spotlight. Almost completely M.I.A, aside from the occasional check in on social media, saying how much she’s enjoying some wellness retreat she was forced to go on.
I hope she comes out of it as a better person, but I won’t hold my breath.
“And the winner is…” Olive trails off, the crowd waits in anticipation, while Lizzie, Cassandra, Harley, Tahnee, Robbie and Tate all await the verdict. Cole’s clammy hands squeeze my thigh.
My mom is noticeably missing, but I don’t miss her.
If I’ve learned anything over the last twelve months, it’s that just because she’s my mother, it doesn’t give her a free pass.
It doesn’t excuse all her wrongdoings. Stroke or not.
Mom is a word.
A title.
A privilege .
All things the both of us have accepted that she doesn’t deserve.
She’s on the mend—thankfully—but we don’t have a relationship.
“Hurry up, Olive,” I whisper under my breath, feeling my boyfriend’s legs bounce erratically beside mine.
“Cole Green!”
Our entire table, along with the hundred other people in the room, cheer and scream his name, but it’s all drowned out by applause.
Camera’s hone in on the two of us. He grips my face, no doubt taking off some of my makeup on his hands, and plants a kiss on my lips.
“Come up with me,” he tells me, the adrenaline visible on his face.
“No way, Mr. Big. This is your time.” I shoo him away, clapping my hands to join in with the rest of the crowd, watching my man accept an award he was born for.
“Thank you,” he says with a pause, letting himself enjoy the moment. I doubt he can see a lot while the spotlights shine on his face, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “One year ago, I walked into this room a nobody. I was broke, living in a dingy apartment above the Lotus bar across town, wearing clothes that permanently smelt like alcohol and cigarettes. I left the building still a nobody, but a nobody who had just unknowingly met the woman I would marry. I haven’t married her yet, but I will.” The crowd chuckles, and my entire face turns beet red, my thighs clenching together.
Cassandra winks at me, and I shake my head with a smile, mouthing stop it to her.
He continues to thank everyone he worked with on the film,—Mara included—and his brother for helping him get to where he is and where he’s continuing to go. “Thank you to the academy for giving me this immense opportunity, and Ol, and AJ for calling out my name.” He smiles with a nod, raising his metallic blue trophy into the air, and makes his way backstage.
“Are you guys secretly engaged and we don’t know about it?” Cassandra asks as she and Lizzie bombard me on my side of the table.
I shake my head. “Not that I know of. We never even spoke about it,” I say with a shrug. “There’s no rush. I’m happy just living this life with him.” It’s true.
I have no sense of urgency to have a ring around my finger or a baby in my belly.
I’m still getting my head around this new life that we live, and I’m happy to figure it all out one day at a time.
“OK, but can we please take a moment to talk about how stunning my twin sister looked?” Lizzie asks, fanning her face. “Marriage looks good on her.” She wiggles her brows.
“You know their relationship is all for PR, Liz,” Cassandra reminds her sister. “He has a bad rep, and she’s the newest pop star taking the world by storm. I’m not overly convinced he’s going to be good for her image, but this is one of those things we just have to let play out.” She takes a sip of her water.
“Did I hear something about a fake relationship?” Cole’s voice sounds from over my shoulder, and I stand to throw my arms around his neck, leaving lipstick stains all over his overjoyed face.
“We were just talking about Ol and AJ,” Lizzie tells him, waving him off like it’s no big deal.
“I know a thing or two about a fake relationship.” He kisses my temple. “And let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing fake about those two,” he says with a chuckle. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“They could actually fall in love?” Cassandra points out, but the regret on her face is instant.
She’s a protective, older sister who doesn’t want Olive to end up hurt.
I get it. But Olive is a grown woman who wouldn’t do well if she’s coddled.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Cole says. “I hope you’re not expecting to go to the after party,” he whispers in my ear, and my body coats with goosebumps, warmth pooling between my legs.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask him, watching as our friends all rise from their seats, collecting their things before each of us heads our separate ways.
“How many orgasms has a man given you in one night?” He quirks a brow with his head tilted slightly to the side, already knowing the answer.
“Fourteen,” I tell him confidently, threading his fingers through mine as he throws his suit jacket over my shoulders. The reminder of that night is on a constant loop in my head. “Please don’t tell me to triple it this time, because I physically don’t think I can have forty-two orgasms in one night.” I flinch at just the thought alone.
Fun in theory.
Realistically, though… I shake my head. “I would like to have a functioning vagina for any future sex we have.”
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t try.”
The End.