Page 310 of Rush

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. “Whatwasthat—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.”