Page 146 of Let’s Make a Scene

“What part of working with Jack do you enjoy the most?” Brooke asks. It’s from an interview we did only this morning.

I watch the smile curl on my lips, finding it hard to believe that I ever thought I could hide the way I feel about Jack from anyone, let alone myself. I smile like I have the best secret in the world. “Honestly?” I laugh. “It’s everything. He’s fantastic at his job, but he’s so much more than that. Working with him is… the most fun I’ve ever had. I just love being around him.”

Now Jack’s face replaces mine and Brooke asks him the same question.

He blows out a slow breath. “I don’t know where you start,” he says. “Her passion, her intelligence, her dedication. The way her skill pushes everyone around her to be better. Mostly though, it’s the pure joy of it. Working with her, knowing her, has changed my life forever, for the better in every way.”

“It sounds like you’re really in love with her.” I can hear the smile in Brooke’s voice.

Jack’s own smile grows. “Oh, yeah,” he says, sincerity in every line of his beautiful face. “I’m so in love with her it’s ridiculous. You know, people think Edward and Emilia’s story is the height of romance, but they have no idea, none at all.” He shakes his head. “What you all saw on-screen doesn’t hold a candle to what happened in real life. The story of me and Cynthie? That’s the real love story.”

The screen goes black, and Jack’s words hang in the still, warm air. I don’t even realize that I’m crying until I feel Jack’s thumb come up to my cheek, brushing the tears away.

“Don’t cry, love,” he murmurs.

I look at him, and the rest of the world simply disappears. It’s just the two of us, and he’s looking at me with so much emotion in his eyes that it hurts—it physically hurts—like something inside my chest is cracking wide open.

Transformation.

“It is real, isn’t it?” I whisper. “This thing. Us. It was always real.”

“Always was.” Jack’s voice is steady. “Always will be.”

And like a key turning smooth in a lock, I hear the words, and I believe them.

“I love you, Jack.”

“I know.” He tucks a strand of hair tenderly behind my ear.

“Did you just quote Star Wars during our big romantic climax, you dic—” I don’t get any further because then his mouth is on mine, and somehow I’m kissing him and laughing and crying all at once, and my hands are around his neck and he’s pulling me in tight against his body. I can feel his heart beating, can hear my own in my ears, perfectly in sync. He kisses me like I’m the most precious thing in the world, and distantly, dimly, I’m aware that the crowd is cheering for us, but none of that matters now. There’s no need to perform anymore.

Right now, there’s no one but us.

And this isn’t the happily ever after moment. It isn’t the perfect ending to our story at all. It’s the perfect beginning.

TWO YEARS LATER

Epilogue CYNTHIE

“And Jack,” the moderator says from behind his podium, “how are you feeling about season seven?”

I watch from the side of the stage as Jack leans forward in his seat, grinning wide. “I’m feeling great about it. We’ve got a lot of fun stuff coming up.”

The enormous Comic-Con crowd cheers. They’re so loud that the floor shakes, and Jack’s expression is gleeful. He looks unbearably handsome, so I’m not surprised it sounds like he’s about to cause some sort of riot.

“And is there any truth to the rumor that there might be a musical episode?” the moderator presses. “I know a lot of fans would be excited to see that.”

The screaming crowd reaches a higher pitch at this, and Jack laughs. “I’m pretty sure my wife started this rumor,” he says, and it’s my turn to smile as I twist the gold band on my ring finger. Jack’s turned into an even bigger my-wife guy than Theo. Clemmie and I have had to call off our drinking game for the time being now that she’s pregnant, but the last few times we played the pair of us got totally smashed because, the two of them together are utterly out of control. “She just likes to see me tap-dance,” Jack continues.

“And not all of us have been off over the summer starring in West End musicals,” Emily, one of Jack’s costars teases him. “Trust me, no one wants to hear Phil belting out show tunes.”

Phil, who plays Jack’s uncle in the show, grimaces. “That is… accurate.”

I linger in the shadows for another couple of minutes, enjoying myself. Jack is happy and relaxed as the questions continue. He laughs with his friends, charms the audience, and I know he’s fired up about starting shooting on the series in a few weeks.

When it looks like things are wrapping up, I slip away, following the directions of the helpful assistant toward Jack’s dressing room. After I close the door behind me, I take a second to check my reflection in the mirror and spot the photos he’s tucked around the edge. They’re the same ones that graced his dressing room every night that he performed in Singin’ in the Rain at the theater on Drury Lane: there’s one of the two of us windswept and beaming into the camera, my hand—adorned with a giant diamond ring—cradling his cheek; there’s one of Priya dressed as Gru surrounded by six inflatable minions; there’s a battered Polaroid of me and Jack from all those years ago. I’m wearing a wig, a ballgown, and a pair of sunglasses, and I’m looking down at my phone. Jack is dressed in full Regency getup, clutching a cup of coffee.

He’s looking at me.