But even better than that, if what her gut was telling her was right—and it often was, at least for things like this—this role was going to be great for her career in so many other ways. The box office for this movie would be over-the-top no matter what, but if her reviews were excellent, and if the press came calling, that would mean very good things for her ability to get everything else she wanted.

Like the role in the Varon film.

Damn, did she feel victorious. All of her stress, all of her hard work—it had all been worth it.

Her smile got wider.

“Anna!” One of the other women in the movie—whom she’d filmed no scenes with; it was that kind of movie—opened her arms. “You were incredible! Wasn’t she incredible, Jeff?” she said to the man next to her, presumably her husband. “And I love your dress!” Anna had only met her twice before, but she gave her an enormous hug and vigorous air-kiss. Which, she was glad to see, a photographer was just in the right place to catch.

Since last year, she’d worried that her anxiety would bleed over and infect the things she loved about this job—the acting itself, most of all, but also parties like the one tonight. Where she and her colleagues could embrace and celebrate one another, make connections, even make friends. Some of her best Hollywood friendships had come from industry parties like this one, mostly starting from tipsy chats in the bathroom, like with all good parties. And tonight, she was so relieved that she could still find joy in nights like this that she almost laughed out loud.

And she loved her dress, too. She usually wore sleek, appropriate, boring looks to things like this—she didn’t love any of them, but they were what designers would make for her size, and she looked good in them. She never got on any best-dressed lists for them, but she never got on any worst-dressed lists, either. Except for that time at the Golden Globes, when she’d gone rogue. But this dress was the opposite of her usual dresses, and she felt incredible in it. It was fun, and a little frothy, but still elegant. It felt like her. She was so glad Ben had encouraged her to wear it.

She introduced Ben to everyone, and they all exclaimed over him and air-kissed him, which she was pretty sure amused them both. He’d been on the quiet side since they’d left the theater, but no matter how much of an extrovert someone was, parties like this were overwhelming the first time. At one point he disappeared, then came back and handed her a plate of finger food—everything small enough that she could pop it in her mouth with one bite and not mess up her lipstick. Bless him.

She was happy that Ben got to see her in her element tonight, especially after last week. She hated that he’d seen her fall apart like that—it was one thing for him to know what she’d been through last year, but another for him to see it. She didn’t want him to think she was the fragile, needy person she’d been last week; she didn’t want anyone to think of her like that.

Tonight she was a star, and Ben had a front-row seat. Every so often she could feel his eyes on her, and she would look at him and smile. Maybe the next time he came down . . .

Oh. Right. There wasn’t going to be a next time. She’d forgotten.

Well, but did it have to be that way? They could keep this going for a while, couldn’t they? Why had they given the premiere as an arbitrary end date, after all? That had been all Simon, but she might need this to continue for a little while longer, just through the press for this movie, and whatever came afterward. She’d see what Ben thought.

“Are you bored? Do you want to go?” she asked him under her breath.

He shook his head.

“I’m happy to stay as long as you want to—this is a great night for you; you should enjoy it.”

She kissed his cheek.

“Thank you. I hope you’re having fun, too.”

He touched her arm.

“Of course I am.”

But she wasn’t convinced by the look on his face. She knew him too well by now for that. She started to ask him if something was wrong, but then he smiled that wicked smile of his at her.

“I’ll be having even more fun later.”

She laughed and started to answer but heard her name again and turned away from him.

Thirty minutes later, though, she touched his hand.

“You ready? Let’s head for the door.”

She didn’t stop to wait for his answer.

“Are you sure?” he asked her as they made their way out. “You seem like you’re having fun.”

She nodded.

“I am. But I learned awhile ago I have to leave these things when I’m still having fun—much better to do it then than five minutes after it all stops being fun.”

They slipped out the back door, and Ben quickly found their waiting limo.

“You didn’t say good-bye to anyone,” Ben said once they got inside. “I wouldn’t expect you to be the type to disappear like that.”

She laughed.

“I didn’t used to be, but you’ve got to do it at these things! Otherwise you’re there twice as long.”

She pulled her phone out of her purse. She had to text Simon about tonight.

He’d texted her already.

My phone has been ringing off the hook about you tonight. Have a lot of champagne, we’ll talk tomorrow.

 

She grinned.

On it. Not to jinx anything, but . . . I’m feeling good about tonight. Really good.

Me too.

 

Ben was silent next to her, but she flicked the light on in the back of the limo, leaned in close, and took a selfie with him. He smiled obediently when she held up her phone.

“Had to memorialize tonight just for me,” she said.

He gestured to her phone.

“Was that Simon?”

She put it back in her purse.

“Yeah—he’s already been hearing a lot of buzzy things about tonight! Ahhh, I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but—”

Ben put his hand on her cheek.

“That never works. Get your hopes up all you want—life is more fun that way.”

She put her hand on top of his.

“You’re right. I will.”

She’d expected, after what he’d said at the party, that Ben would be all over her in the limo. But he seemed content to sit there with his arm around her and his hand in hers as they drove home in the glowing nighttime sky. She almost turned to kiss him, but he’d seemed a little off for the past few hours, so she held back. She wanted to give him room to breathe, too, like he’d given her the week before.