Can't Turn Back Now, I'm Haunted (A Ben Willbond Rom Com)

Epilogue | The Present

One year later...

"Ms. James! Ms. James!"

I wheeled around, tripping ever-so-slightly on the train of my black De La Renta gown. I almost hadn't heard him in the cacophony of excited voices mingled with the harried orders of the glitterati's various handlers.

"She's got time for a quick one, Roland," barked my publicist, Megan. "And I mean quick."

The reported nodded and directed his full attention on me. I grinned back at him, more than happy to oblige.

"Maggie James," he said efficiently, cheating slightly toward his camera. "Your countrymen at Access Hollywood have to know — how does it feel to be nominated for a BAFTA for the first time?"

"It feels..." I shook my head, my chest bursting with excitement. "I don't even know how to put it into words. I'm so, so grateful and excited to be here, genuinely."

"Your show, Green Card, has been a big hit so far! Any talk of a season two?"

"I can't say anything yet," I demurred, knowing full well that I had a writers' meeting in two days to plot out the next series with my amazing gang of creatives. "But I'm so happy that people like our show, and I really hope we can keep telling our story!"

"You're nominated for Best Female Performance in a Comedy tonight," said Roland. "And your show is also nominated for Best Scripted Comedy."

I felt a swell of pride. The acting nomination had been exciting enough, but to have my writing acknowledged in such a high-caliber way had made me feel completely bowled over.

"Is it difficult," he continued, "being nominated in the same category as your partner? Obviously the wonderful Ben Willbond's show Ghosts is also nominated for Best Scripted."

I laughed and glanced to my left. About fifteen feet down the carpet, Ben was giving an interview with Larry.

"Not at all," I said sincerely, with a mischievous glint. "A little competition can be fun."

Ben's eyes slid away from the interviewer and met mine through the chaos. He shot me a wink, and I blushed. Even after a year, he still managed to make me blush.

"Sorry, Roland," said Megan in a dry voice that didn't sound sorry at all. "We gotta go!"

She corralled me along the carpet.

"Pictures with your man, then inside please—" she looked at me with pleading eyes. "—you're not missing a second of this!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," I assured her.

I felt a familiar hand on my waist.

"Hi," came Ben's soft, playful rumble in my ear. I turned around and beamed up at him.

"Hi, you."

We were shepherded to the step-and-repeat, where we took up our spot in front of the clamoring photographers and smiled, proudly.

"Have I mentioned how absurdly hot you look in that dress?" He murmured, hardly moving his lips — though I felt his hand threatening to wander down past my lower back. I bit back a chuckle.

"You may have said it a few times back at home," I replied. "But I think its fair to restate at least once an hour, so by all means, continue."

Our publicists signaled for us to go with them into the theatre. As we stepped away from the photographers, Ben looked down at me lovingly and brought the back of my hand to his lips.