Page 113 of Frosted Fakes

None of it mattered.

What mattered was Julia in her arms, Julia's laugh against her lips, Julia's heart beating steady and sure against her own.

Real.

Finally, wonderfully, terrifyingly real.

Epilogue

Julia had never been to an awards ceremony before, and she was fairly certain she was doing it wrong.

For one thing, she kept wanting to touch things. The crystal glasses, the embossed menus, the heavy silverware. But she was afraid of getting fingerprints on everything. For another, she couldn't stop grinning like an idiot every time she looked at Elliott, who was sitting across from her in a tailored navy suit and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Stop fidgeting," Shay said, elbowing Elliott. "You're making me nervous."

"I'm not fidgeting."

"You've straightened your napkin four times."

"It was crooked."

"It's a napkin, not the Mona Lisa, I don’t think anyone cares that it’s crooked.."

Julia bit back a laugh as Milly, seated on Elliott’s other side, patted Elliott's hand. "You're going to win, dear. I can feel it in my bones."

"Your bones predicted rain last Tuesday," Elliott said. "It was twenty-three degrees and sunny."

"My bones were confused by the new shower that was fitted in my room," Millie said primly.

The table was a mismatched collection of everyone Julia had come to love over the past two years. Milly, resplendent in purple and already on her second glass of champagne. Shay, who kept checking her phone and smiling at whatever Jo and Sam were texting her. Jamie, looking uncomfortable in a tie but gamely making conversation with Tom, who was practically vibrating with excitement about starting pastry school next month.

And Elliott. Nominated for Best Cookbook. Sitting in a room full of publishing luminaries like she belonged there.

Because she did. After all, her first book had won the debut award last year, so there were high hopes for her second.

"Did you hear about Candice?" Tom asked, reaching for a bread roll. "Her bakery's officially closed. Saw the 'for let' sign go up last week."

Julia exchanged a glance with Elliott. They'd never told anyone about the frozen goods. Hadn't needed to, in the end. Candice simply couldn't compete with Elliott's creations, and one by one, her customers had migrated across the street. And Julia was glad of it. She didn’t have it in her to deliberately hurt someone else, even if Candice was a… she didn’t want to think the word.

"Shame," Elliott said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

"You're a terrible person," Julia told her.

"I'm an honest person. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Elliott's mouth twitched. "Marginally."

Shay's phone buzzed again, and she laughed at whatever she'd received. "Jo says to tell you that if you don't win, they're staging a protest outside the venue. Sam's already making signs."

"Please tell your partners that vandalism is not an appropriate response to literary disappointment," Elliott said.

"We don’t like the label ‘partners.’ We're just... very happily entangled." Shay grinned. "All three of us."

Julia smiled and let her gaze drift across the room. The venue really was stunning, all chandeliers and white tablecloths and the kind of hushed elegance that made her want to whisper. Tables filled with authors and publishers and assistants, all mingling and networking and then there was someone else. Obviously.

Her mother.