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Sunday dinner at my mother’s was different from every one before it. She opened the door and looked at us both and then at my hand and said, “Good.” Just that. Like the ring confirmed something she had known long before either of us had caught up. “Come in,” she said. “Food is ready.” We sat at her small table and she served chicken again and Grayson complimented it genuinely and she accepted the compliment without deflecting which meant she was pleased. “Eleanor called me,” she said to Grayson. He looked up. “When?” “Yesterday evening,” she said. “She saw the ring on the City Arts social media.” She looked at him. “She was very emotional.” “I should have called her first,” Grayson said. “She wasn’t upset,” my mother said. “She was happy.” “She said she had been waiting for Grayson Knight to choose something real for thirty years.” Grayson's expression changed. “She said that?” he asked quietly. “Verbatim,” my mother said. “Call her tonight.” “Yes,” he said. “I will.”

Eleanor arrived on a Tuesday. I knew because Grayson called me at seven in the morning sounding slightly unlike himself. “She landed early,” he said. “How early?” I asked. “An hour ago,” he said. “She’s at my apartment.” “Is that a problem?” “No,” he said. Then, “She redecorated my living room.” I sat up. “She what?” “She moved three things and added a plant and somehow it looks completely different,” he said. “She’s been here forty minutes.” “Grayson,” I said. “She sounds like my kind of person.” “I was afraid of that,” he said. “When do I meet her?” “She’s asking the same question,” he said. “Loudly.” “Dinner tonight,” I said. “My apartment. I’ll cook.” “I’ll tell her.” “Leo.” “Yes.” “She’s going to be a lot,” he said. “I grew up with Patricia Carter,” I said. “I can handle a lot.” He laughed quietly. “Fair point.” Eleanor Knight was not what I expected. She was tall and sharp eyed. She walked into my apartment at seven and immediately looked at the plant on t

Morning came too early. I woke up before my alarm and lay still for a moment. Grayson was already awake beside me. “How long have you been up?” I asked. “An hour,” he said. “Thinking?” “Reading,” he said. “The responses to Claire’s piece.” I turned toward him. “And?” He handed me his phone. The comments were extraordinary. People who had read both stories, Ryan Cole’s teaser and Claire’s full piece, chose the honest version overwhelmingly. Industry voices. Public voices. Ordinary people who recognised the difference between a narrative designed to damage and a truth told without apology. One comment stopped me. I’ve been following Leo Carter since his first screen test clip went viral. Watching him navigate this with this much honesty and dignity is more compelling than any role he’s ever played. And his roles are extraordinary. I handed the phone back. “Ryan Cole pulled his story,” Grayson said. I looked at him. “When?” “An hour ago,” he said. “His editor apparently ma

I read the message twice. Congratulations on the engagement Mr Carter. I represent a publication that has obtained recordings of your original contract negotiations with Grayson Knight. We plan to run the full audio tomorrow unless you’d like to comment. Call me. A number under it. I stood on the stage, Eleanor and my mother talking quietly, Grayson watching me with an expression that had already changed because he could read my face better than anyone. “Leo,” he said. I stepped off the stage and crossed to him and showed him the screen. He read it. “Recordings,” he said. “Audio,” I said. “Of the original negotiations.” “That’s not possible,” he said. “Those meetings were private.” “Someone recorded them,” I said. He took the phone and read it again. Then he looked up. “This isn’t James.” “No,” I agreed. “James is finished.” “Someone else,” he said. My mother appeared at my elbow. “What’s happened?” I told her simply and directly. She listened without interrupting. Whe

The week before the wedding was so fast. Monday I had my final costume fitting for September’s project. Tuesday Grayson had his last weekly appointment with Dr Osei before moving to monthly check ins. Wednesday Max and I had coffee and talked about nothing important for two hours which was exactly what we both needed. Thursday I went to see my mother alone. She opened the door and looked at me and said, “You look like your father when he was happy.” “Is that good?” I said. “It’s the best thing I can say,” she said simply. “Come in.” We sat at her kitchen table with tea and talked about Maria Santos who had sent a handwritten thank you letter to the foundation. About Eleanor who had apparently already planned her outfit for the wedding in considerable detail. About the September project and what Carol had written and what it meant. Then my mother said, “Are you ready?” “For Saturday?” I said. “For all of it,” she said. “The wedding.” I thought about it honestly. “Yes,” I sa