Page 112 of Falling Like Stars

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Are you nervous? Best Actor.” He whistles low between his teeth. “You’re kind of a big deal.”

“I’m not nervous about winning or losing, I’m nervous that I have to present.”

“Oh, that’s right. Last year’s Best Supporting Actor passing the torch?”

“I’ve been having nightmares about not getting the envelope open.”

“Nah, you got this.” Jeremy narrows his eyes. “Where are you? This doesn’t look like your house.”

After Rowan and I finished decorating and furnishing our house, we had the family over. It’s such a far cry from the cold glass box I used to live in; I could tell by the looks on everyone’s faces that they considered it an improvement too. The house and the woman in it. They tried to love Eva, but she made it so hard. Loving Rowan is the easiest thing in the world.

For the millionth time, my hand goes to the jacket pocket of my tux. The small velvet box is sitting right over my heart. I don’t have a plan in my head, but I can’t seem to stop carrying it around with me, either.

“We’re at the Roosevelt Hotel getting ready,” I tell Jeremy.

“Getting ready? We’re watching the preshow right now!”

“I know, but they have us arriving at the last minute. Don’t know why.”

“Could it be because you’re one of the biggest stars on the planet? Just throwing that out there.”

“Cut it out.” I check the time. “Shit, I actually have to get going. I love you, Jer.”

“We love you, bro. We’ll be rooting for you. And give our love to Rowan.”

“I will.”

I hang up just as the bathroom door opens and Rowan steps out. It’s a good thing the floor is carpeted, because I drop my phone at the sight of her, and my jaw drops with it.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

“Wow, thank you,” Rowan says, radiant and smiling. She lifts the train of her dress. “What do you think?”

“Are you kidding me? You made that?”

Rowan is wearing a fuchsia pink dress that is cinched at the waist and flows to the ground. The top only covers one shoulder—toga-style—leaving the other bare. The whole dress is made with something Rowan called loose ruching that gives it texture. Her hair is up, and her only ornament is a diamond-encrusted hair pin in the shape of a lily, on loan from Harry Winston. They wanted to drape her in diamonds, but she refused, saying it was too much and too nerve-wracking.

She needs at least one more diamond…

Once again, my hand itches to go to the breast pocket of my jacket, but then she’s approaching, smoothing the lapels of my tuxedo, so close to the box, I wonder if she’ll find it first.

“If putting clothes on you should be illegal, you in a tuxedo is downright cruel.”

She leans in to kiss me when a knock comes at the door.

“Mr. Butler? Ms. Walsh? They’re ready.”

Rowan slips her hand into mine. “How about it? Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s do this.”

We head down to the lobby of the Roosevelt, where Ezra escorts us to the waiting limo. The driver opens the door, and we climb inside to find the interior filled with bouquets of flowers in champagne buckets (and one bucket with actual ice and champagne).

“Did you do this?” Rowan asks.

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