Two awards

Zoe’s POV

“Zoe Merida!!”

Did I miss that part? It was M.J.’s idea. Adams seemed to be a dull name for the star he was going to make out of me. I needed to drop the name too; maybe my family would have less impact on me.

But that didn’t change the fact that the host just called my name for an award!

I got nominated and won an award! I didn’t care if it was the only one I would win, but knowing I could win just one released a bubble inside of me that I hadn’t known existed.

In life, most successful people have a good luck piece. For some, it is a charm bracelet given by their grandmother or a very respected relative, or even a godmother; for others, it could be a pin, a brooch, or maybe a scarf. I had none before today, but as I stared at the silver shoes on my feet, I knew I had one now. I wore these shoes to receive my very first award. And I promised myself that it would be the first of many others.

I stood up with practiced poise; sounds of camera shutters filled my ears like a symphony of chaos around me. I tried my best not to hide my face from the lights of the cameras. Never have I been the center of such attention or spotlight. I did not know whether to run away or revel in it.

I walked up the stage and not once did the cameras stop flashing. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were trying to get a picture of me or the dress.

Or maybe the shoes. Definitely the shoes; surely someone must have felt the aura of my new charm.

I hadn’t noticed Arman until he spoke into the camera, “You look breathtaking.” His voice was like that of a man caught under a love spell as his eyes did not leave mine. Damn! Arman was a very good actor. I would give him that.

It was then I realized the award I had been called for: Best On-Screen Couple. Arman and I. It would seem that our fans had interpreted our banter as chemistry.

I smiled for the crowd as I made my way to his side; it took great will not to bite my lips when I felt his hand on the bare flesh of my back. I internally cursed the open-back design of my dress, but my smile did not falter.

“Thank you, Manny. You look dazzling yourself,” I complimented back. It was no lie. He did.

The crowd cheered at the use of the nickname. I wondered where it came from, and would deny with my last breath that my subconscious had been thinking of Arman enough to give him a nickname.

We received our awards and posed together for pictures. Arman wrapped his arms around me and for a moment I lost my step, sinking deeper into his embrace.

I knew it was fake—all for the camera, acting—yet I knew I had never felt like this before. If home were a person, I would find it in Arman’s arms. So I respected my sanity and took a step away from him.

But the crowd would have none of it and began a chant that was born right there in that hall. “Zomanny! Zomanny! Zomanny!”

Arman and I smiled and waved, hoping to satisfy their cheers; instead, it fueled them and gave them a new voice, a new cry: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

It was then I knew panic. No, I was still trying to recover from the smell of cedar and mint that had invaded my nostrils; I couldn’t kiss Arman.

With one smooth spin, with skills sharpened by years of experience, I came face-to-face with Arman. Because of our height difference, I came face-to-face with his lips when I had angled my head to meet his eyes.

My hands between us did nothing to stop my body from pressing against his. “Seems like you did not have to dare me after all.” And then his lips came down on mine.

This was nothing like the fake kisses we’ve had. This was real. This was a kiss. I melted. Into. A. Soft. Puddle. In front of a crowd.

The hall exploded. Fans screaming at the top of their lungs, mad with excitement. It was like a high.

I stepped back from Arman and almost swooned at the sudden movement. I was heady. I felt drunk. I wanted to kiss him again. I must be mad.

Arman reached out to me with gentle hands and made sure I was steady on my feet before letting me go.

We exited the stage side-by-side as the host moved on to call other award winners.

Like it was a prophecy, I won two awards that night, but it could have been three because I got to kiss Arman.

I took more pictures than I have ever taken in my life—even enough to last a lifetime.

M.J. was almost happier than I was. He had won an award too. Many other celebrity managers came to show their respect. M.J. had turned a nobody into a successful actress. M.J. had his own fans because girls didn’t stop trying to take pictures with him. He was nice to them and turned down unholy advances.

The rest of the night continued as a blur to me. My brother did not come. I had no one to share my success with.

I won two awards. I was alone in the world.