Page 105 of Born to be Wilder

Before I could argue, heads turned around us. A ripple of attention moving through our section, people shifting in their seats to look.

I turned too.

And there she was.

Alice walked down the aisle, leading Alejandro by the hand, and she was absolutely stunning.

The dress was midnight blue, fitted to perfection, reminding everyone she’d always known exactly how to dress her body. Her makeup was flawless—dramatic eyes, perfect lips, the kind of glamour she’d always carried effortlessly. And her wig—shoulder length, dark, styled in soft waves—looked so natural you’d never know.

My throat closed.

Thank God she got that mastectomy.

The thought came unbidden but fierce. Because that brave decision—choosing the double mastectomy, choosing the one percent over the twenty-five—had saved her life.

What the doctors had thought was Stage 0 DCIS turned out to be Stage 3 that had spread to the lymph nodes. The scans had missed it all. If she’d gone with the lumpectomy, if she’d chosen to keep her breasts...

I couldn’t finish the thought.

Instead, it had meant a double mastectomy. Then an axillary dissection surgery when the lymph node biopsy came back positive. Then the red devil chemo that turned her inside out. Then another round of chemo. Then radiation.

We’d held her while she threw up. Sat at her side through the tests, the recoveries, the pulmonary embolism that almost killed her. Doris had kept her hydrated, filled her with soup when she couldn’t keep anything else down. Marge had pushed her through the pain, refused to let her quit, barked orders until Alice dragged herself through each day. And I’d organized every appointment, triple-checked every plan, made sure my friend got the very best care available.

And now she was here.

We’d rung the bell just a month ago.

Alice was cancer-free.

She slid into her seat, Alejandro settling beside her, and immediately she turned to me. “Is my wig on straight? Because Alejandro and I just went at it in the bathroom and I need to know if it shifted.”

Doris’s mouth fell open. “ALICE! Oh, you didn’t!”

“Of course I did.” Alice straightened taller, her eyes gleaming. “It was a new first for us—banging in the bathroom at your own movie premiere. You know I want all the firsts I can get, and this…” She paused, her gaze slipping to Alejandro as he stared at her like she hung the moon. “Well, this was a first I just had to check off the list.”

“Don’t say banging!” Doris hissed, glancing around like someone might report us to theater security.

Marge reached over and clapped Alice on the back. “Atta girl.”

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it.

Because she hadn’t changed. Not one bit.

Her hair was still growing back beneath the wigs. She’d just gotten her new implants two months ago, and they looked fabulous. But underneath all of it—the reconstruction, the treatment, the year of hell—she was still exactly herself.

Tom leaned close to my ear. “Maybe we should hit the bathroom too.”

I elbowed him in the ribs, still laughing.

The lights dimmed.

The crowd settled into expectant quiet.

And then the opening credits rolled.

For the next two hours, we watched in awe. The film was incredible.

We’d known it would be good—we’d seen the cast, the director, the scale of production—but watching it all come together on-screen was something else entirely. The cinematography was gorgeous. The performances were raw and real. The story hit exactly the way it was meant to.