36. Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lila
The hotel suite was basically a panic attack with throw pillows.
I stood dead center in a silk robe that refused to stay on my shoulder, glaring at my reflection in the tall mirror like maybe she’d have the guts to talk me out of this.
Nothing in here was actually mine. Not the robe, not the suite, not even the fluffy slippers that made me shuffle like a lost hotel ghost. The whole night felt borrowed, like someone handed me a priceless vase and expected me not to drop it.
Finn lounged on the edge of the couch, ankle over knee, scrolling his phone with the zen of a man who’s seen enough disasters to stop flinching at fire alarms.
Harper paced by the open garment bag, chewing her gum like she was prepping for battle. She eyed the dress, then me, then the dress again, like she was deciding which of us needed more help.
"You're stalling," Harper said.
"I'm thinking."
Finn didn't look up. "That's a lie."
I shot him a look. "Excuse you."
His mouth twitched. "I'm a truth teller tonight. It's my brand."
Harper pointed at the dress bag. "You picked it. It's bold. You love it. Put it on."
"It's a lot."
"It's a premiere event," Harper said. "It's supposed to be a lot."
Finn lifted his eyes from his screen. "You're not nervous about the dress. You're nervous about the carpet."
"I'm not nervous."
Finn's expression went flat. "You're vibrating."
Harper nodded. "You are."
I let out a breath, irritation prickling under my skin as they both zeroed in on me like I was the world’s most nervous zoo exhibit.
I walked to the mirror and pressed my palm to the glass for a second, grounding myself in the cool surface.
"I'm nervous about being seen," I admitted.
Harper stopped chewing. Finn's gaze stayed on me.
I swallowed. "As myself. Not as a story."
Finn nodded. "Good. That's the honest fear."
Harper leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. "Say it out loud so it stops owning you."
I looked at myself again.
The makeup was flawless. The hair, shockingly, was behaving. But underneath it all, I felt like a peeled grape—zero protection, all nerves.
"I'm nervous they'll look at me and still see him."
Finn's brows lifted. "You said you weren't nervous about whether Evan looks at you."
Heat crept up my neck. "I'm not."
Harper's eyes narrowed. "That's true."
I blinked at her.
She shrugged. "If it were about him, you'd be fixing your hair for him. You're doing it for the camera. It's different."
I stared at my reflection again.
The stylist's notes sat on the counter in a neat stack. The schedule sat beside them, printed, clipped, timed down to minutes.
Hair. Makeup. Dress. Car. Pre-premiere dinner. Tomorrow's carpet.
Just a walking, talking, lip-glossed robot. Glam on the outside, existential crisis on the inside.
I rubbed my forehead. "I don't want to be a machine."
"Then don't be," Finn said.
Harper stepped forward and lifted the robe tie from my waist. "Off. Dress. Now."
I swatted at her hand. "Stop bossing me."
"I'm not bossing you. I'm protecting you from your own spiral."
Finn nodded, dead serious. "She is."
A laugh huffed out of me, and I let Harper untie the robe.
The dress hung from the garment bag as if it were waiting to be judged.
Black. Sleek. Cut high on one leg and low across the back. The fabric caught light without glittering. It didn't beg for attention. It assumed it.
I had picked it myself after the stylist offered safer options. I had stared at it in the fitting room and felt something in my chest settle. Not comfort. Not ease. Ownership.
Harper held up the dress. "Arms."
I lifted them.
The robe slid down and pooled at my feet. Finn glanced away immediately, because Finn had been raised right, then looked back to his phone as if nothing had happened.
Harper guided the dress over my head and down my body, careful with the fabric. When it fell into place, it felt cold at first, then warm against my skin.
As the dress slid into place, I let out a breath I’d apparently been holding since the dawn of time. Some of the tension finally unclenched its claws.
Harper stepped back and took me in. "Yeah."
Finn looked up, eyes narrowing as he assessed me. "Okay. That's a statement."
"Too much?"
Finn shook his head. "Exactly enough."
Harper moved behind me and adjusted the back, fingers quick and efficient. "You look like you chose it."
"I did."
"Then stand in that."
I turned toward the mirror.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look like she belonged to anyone but herself. She looked sharp, maybe a little older than I felt inside, but steadier too. My collarbones caught the light like they had a secret, and my posture straightened up all on its own.
Finn watched my face in the mirror. "You're spiraling again."
"I'm fine."
He made a small sound. "Okay."
Harper stepped beside me and tapped the mirror lightly. "You're nervous about being seen as yourself. That's real."
"What if they hate me?"
Harper scoffed. "People hate everything. They hate air."
Finn leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "They don't have to love you. They have to respect you."
"What if they don't?"
"Then they're wrong."
Harper nodded. "And you keep walking."
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself and letting their words settle.
My phone buzzed on the counter, face down. I didn't touch it.
Finn's eyes flicked to it. "No doom scroll."
"I'm not."
Harper moved to the counter and grabbed my clutch, checking the contents. "Lip gloss. Blotting paper. Tissues. Breath mints. You're welcome."
"I didn't ask you to pack my purse."
"You would've put a granola bar and a pen in here and called it a day."
Finn nodded. "Accurate."
I rolled my eyes, but the knot in my shoulders loosened, and I felt a smile sneak up on me before I could stop it.
Harper set the clutch down and picked up a small notepad. "Okay. Statement."
My stomach tightened. "I'm not doing romance."
"We know," Finn said.
Harper flipped the notepad open. "One sentence. For the carpet tomorrow, or tonight if someone gets nosy at dinner. You control it so nobody pulls it out of you."
"I already told PR no."
"This isn't romance," Harper said. "It's boundary."
Finn nodded. "And it's smart."
"What kind of boundary?"
"Honesty and credit. You say what you will and won't answer."
"They'll still ask."
"Then you repeat yourself until they get bored," Finn said.
Harper held out the pen. "Write it."
I stared at the blank page, pen hovering.
My mind tried to run away into a hundred possible disasters. Cameras catching me blinking too much. Someone shouting Evan's name. A question that hit too hard. My words cracking.
I forced myself back to center.
What did I actually want to say? One sentence. Clean. True.
My grip tightened on the pen. I wrote slowly, stopped, then crossed out a word that felt too soft.
Harper leaned in to read over my shoulder. Finn leaned forward too.
I finished the sentence and lifted the page.
Harper's brows rose slightly. Finn nodded.
I stared at my own handwriting, then read it out loud.
"I'm proud of this film and my music, and I'm here to celebrate the work with full credit where it belongs."
Harper's mouth curved. "That's good."
Finn nodded. "Strong."
"It's true."
Harper took the notepad and snapped a photo of it with her phone, then handed the pen back. "Memorize it. Say it once. Say it again if they push. Then you walk."
I exhaled. "Okay."
Finn stood, smoothing his shirt. "Cars in twenty. You need water."
"You sound like Grant."
"Grant pays attention. Copying him works."
Harper walked to the window and peeked through the curtain, scanning the street. "Security's down there. No fans in the lobby. We're good."
I stared at myself one more time in the mirror.
Bold dress, chosen for myself. Nervous about being seen as me, not about Evan.
That part surprised me too, even if it was true. Evan looking at me was the least complicated element of this entire night. He looked at me as if I existed. The world was the one that tried to rename me.
I lifted my chin. "Let's go."
Harper grinned. "That's my girl."
Finn's mouth twitched. "Don't say that on camera. The internet will ship you."
Harper laughed. "Let them."
The hotel door opened, and hallway noise spilled in. A staffer with a headset nodded at us.
Time moved again.
I picked up my clutch, took one breath, and stepped into the corridor.
Evan
Across the country, I stood behind a stage curtain with sweat cooling on my spine.
A festival at night had its own kind of chaos. Lights everywhere. Crew shouting into radios. Fans pressing against barricades with wrists lit by bracelets pulsing in time with the bass.
The band moved around me, tuning up, checking pedals, adjusting straps.
My guitar hung heavy against my chest. The strap bit slightly into my shoulder. I barely noticed.
I watched the stage manager's hands as she counted down. Two minutes. One minute. Thirty seconds.
My phone sat in my pocket, turned off. It had been off most nights since the coffee shop, when I realized access to Lila was not the same thing as being trusted with her.
I had kept my promise. I had not touched her spotlight. I had watched her shine from a distance anyway.
The headlining tour announcement. The magazine covers. That bold dress shot her stylist had teased in a behind-the-scenes clip without giving away the full look. The industry finally shifting around her instead of stepping over her.
Pride made my chest ache. Longing made my hands tighten around my guitar neck.
I had posted sunsets when my chest got too full. I had watched her post one ten minutes later and pretended it wasn't a quiet conversation.
The Twilight nickname had come back. Fans loved patterns. Fans loved meaning.
I tried not to. I mostly failed.
Miles bumped my shoulder lightly as he passed, then stopped beside me. Miles could make a joke in the middle of a tornado. Tonight, he looked serious.
"You good?"
I nodded. "Yeah."