Perfectly Imperfect

I’m about to freak out.

Alessandra had already won the first award of the night, given for Lead Actress in a Motion Picture, just as I knew she would. I swear Kane had tears in his eyes when he gave the younger actress a hug. I know I did. We didn’t win the nomination that the film had in the Lead Actor category. I could tell that Logan was bummed, but the reality is that even though he’s now one of the most lusted over young actors, Alessandra stole the film and everyone knows it. The emotions she was able to bring to the surface, the power in which she broke before she healed were exceptional in their brilliance.

And we were still over the moon excited when that award went to Kole. So even though I know Kane would have loved to take another win for Impenetrable, when Kole stepped around me and hugged his brother before taking the stage, I could tell all thoughts of his own film not winning were gone.

When Best Screenplay was up, I wasn’t as nervous as I am now. I clapped like a mad woman and silently wiped the tears when Kane took the stage to give his acceptance speech. He left the stage with a wink toward where I was seated in the darkened audience just as a seat filler had sat down. I was—thankfully—used to this from last year, but it’s still weird to have some stranger sit next to you just so there are no empty seats. I don’t think I’ll ever understand Hollywood.

I know that winning for Best Screenplay was an incredible honor, but I felt like all of my eggs were sitting in the basket of unease for his next nomination. This film is his baby. Something that eerily matched my own life, a fact Kane had not missed. So while all the other awards are something to be so proud of, the one for Best Director is not only proof that the film had been a phenomenal success, but also gives Kane the validation that he’s not just an actor.

He’s created this film word for word.

He crafted its beauty.

And he deserves this moment.

Which is why by the time he had finished his behind the scenes obligations, I had hit a whole new high in my anxiety. Why does this have to be one of the last awards of the night? I’ve sat here for hours about to come out of my skin in sick anticipation.

His hand squeezes mine when they say his name, giving away his unease. I know the exact moment the camera must be showing us to all the viewers watching on television because I feel a rush confidence from his body. I look over, making sure I have a smile on my nerve-stricken face, and watch my man work the camera angled his way from the aisle. You would never guess how much he wants this by the easy, handsome smirk on his face.

“And the Golden Globe for Best Director, motion picture, goes to,” the female voice says, her voice echoing around us.

Oh, God.

“Kane Masters for Impenetrable!”

“Oh, God!” I exclaim, jumping up at the same time that he slowly stands.

When he turns to me, I smile at him through the tears running down my face. His lazy smile grows, dimple comes out, and he wraps his arms around me before giving me a hard press with his lips against mine.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper, just for him, before I shove him playfully into the aisle.

I can see his broad shoulders moving as he chortles, walking toward the stage with so much power in his controlled steps. Each one that he takes so sure and steady, as if he isn’t facing one of the biggest recognitions in his career right now. I don’t know how he isn’t skipping down there while sobbing like a baby. Okay, so Kane isn’t a skipper or a sobber, but still. I have apparently decided to take over the sobbing in happiness end of the emotional gauntlet while he deals with the thankful happiness.

I watch him hug both of the presenters before turning toward the audience, his deep laugh of disbelief as he holds the award up in reverence. I swipe at my face, removing the tears from my vision so I can memorize this moment. He brings his free hand up to run it through his hair, losing that messy-like perfection that his stylist had created. I’m sure if the camera were to show my wet, makeup ruined face, Kirby would be throwing things at the television, which I hope isn’t the case since I’m a fan of the ninety-inch screen in Kane’s media room. I can only imagine the elation flowing through that room now with Kirby, Eddie, Kane’s parents, Mia, and little Milo making it party central.

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