I sit on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to my ear, the cream carpet cool beneath my bare feet. Outside the window, gardeners move methodically across the lawn—the low hum of mowers cutting grass into perfect stripes, shears clicking as they trim hedges into sharp, unnatural angles. Everything controlled. Everything precise. Everything exactly as it's supposed to look.
My room smells faintly of perfume and dry-cleaning plastic. A life half-lived out of garment bags.
"I didn't—" I start, then stop, because the truth is slippery and humiliating and lodged somewhere behind my ribs. "It all happened really fast."
“TMZ knew before I did!” Camilla says.
She's pacing. I can hear it in her voice—the way she moves when she's angry, quick steps across hardwood, probably still in her work clothes.
"Nora, it's everywhere. People, Us Weekly, E! News—'NoraWells Engaged to Producer Wesley Grant.' 'Hollywood's Newest Power Couple.' 'From Page to Screen to Forever.' Articles. Photos. Headlines. And I found out through a push notification."
This is the side of Hollywood I can never get used to. Where everyone knows everything about your life before you're even aware of it.
"I know. I'm sorry. I haven't even told my mom yet," I say quietly. "Or Ollie."
There's a pause then. The kind that means she's softening even if she doesn't want to.
"Oh, Ollie knows." She pauses before taking a breath. “I know this isn’t about me. It’s just…Nor, is this what you want?"
The question lands heavy. Or maybe it lands exactly as heavy as it deserves to.
Is this what I want?
In my head, the answer doesn't come out clean or confident or singular. It comes out layered. Fractured. A thousand smaller thoughts talking over one another.
I've always wanted to get married. I've always wanted the kind of love that anchors you, that gives you a home inside another person. The certainty of it, the safety, the future stretching out clean and bright ahead of me.
But whenever I'd pictured myself standing next to my husband, he didn't have blonde hair and blue eyes that appraised me like an acquisition.
His eyes were hazel—warm and bottomless, catching light like honey held up to the sun. They came with a crooked smile that tilted higher on the left. The kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you weren't.
“Camilla it all happened so fast and you know how news breaks here. But I mean why wouldn't I want to be married?" I say instead, because it's easier than untangling the truth.
Camilla exhales slowly. She doesn't push any further because she knows me well enough to hear the dodge even if she lets it pass.
"Listen, I love you and will always support you in anything no matter what. Just as long as it’s what you really want,” she says finally. "Call me when you need to start planning this wedding. And yes, I accept."
"Accept? Accept what?"
"Being your maid of honor."
I laugh because she's right. Of course she's right.
"I'm glad you accepted the non-existent offer."
"Love you."
"Love you too. I need to go and get ready for this awards night. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Oh you better, I need details!”
I hang up and stare at the black screen of my phone until my reflection stares back at me—eyes too bright, mouth set in a careful line, someone who looks composed and successful and nothing like how she feels.
There's half an hour until the awards ceremony.
Just half an hour until I need to slip into the version of myself that knows how to smile on command, how to stand with shoulders back and chin tilted just so, how to be gracious and grateful and glowing under lights that make everything feel both overexposed and somehow not real at all.
I should feel lucky. I know I should.
