27. Billie

CHAPTER 27

BILLIE

SIX WEEKS LATER

I t’s a series of events that I would have considered impossible just a few months ago, but the second I get the letter in the mail, I go straight over to my mother’s.

Things aren’t perfect between us, but it’s better. We’re speaking and see each other regularly, and she’s helping me with everything I need during this time.

It’s exactly the support I had been yearning for. I can hardly believe that it’s happening.

The second I get in, Mom takes the envelope and tears it open, finding out my fate. She gives very little away as she reads the letter to herself.

“Well? What does it say?”

“You want to know?”

“Yes! Of course I want to know!”

Mom clears her throat and reads aloud. “Dear Ms. Ballard. On behalf of the Nature Photography Awards, we are writing to let you know that you have been nominated for Wildlife Photograph of the Year.”

I jump into my feet and squeal, clapping my hands together. “Are you for real?”

My mother rolls her eyes in mock disapproval at my outburst. “Would I lie to you?”

I launch at her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and squeezing her tight. “I can’t believe I did it!”

“ I can. Your photos are good.” It’s such a simple sentence, but it’s enough to make me want to skip down the street for joy.

“Where’s the ceremony?” I ask.

She skims the letter again. “New York.”

“Oh. That’s kind of a long way away.”

“Billie, you go to all these tropical islands. Aren’t they far away?”

“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s for work. This is…”

My mother folds her arms at me. “You have to go. This is prestigious. You’d be foolish to miss it.”

“But…” I start weakly. I don’t have a good argument against going. I’m not ready to admit that I don’t want to go without her, though. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

I get a stern, disbelieving look for that. It’s a lame excuse and I know it. “Good job we can fix that, then.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. Unless I would embarrass you if I came shopping with you.”

“No!” I say quickly, cutting her off from spiraling before she can even start.

“Good,” she smiles. “Let’s get to the mall.”

That afternoon, Mom’s staying true to her word and is dragging me around the shops. It isn’t, but all of a sudden my bump feels huge, and I’m convinced that everyone can notice it.

“We’re not going to find anything,” I say with a sigh as we have another failure. “What is the point of any of this?”

“We’ll find something. Don’t you doubt me. I’m not having my baby girl win a big award looking hideous.”

“I’m not going to look hideous. I just don’t think we’re going to find a dress that looks good.”

She doesn’t argue any further, but she does take me into every single shop. I was losing the will to live by the fourth one, but now we’re on number seven, and I’m close to tears.

Mom’s trying her best to be patient, but I can tell this is just as frustrating for her as it is for me.

“I need something to eat,” I say, hoping to put us out of our misery. “I can’t keep walking around without eating something.”

“Okay. We can stop for a while.”

“We could just go home?” I try.

But Mom shakes her head. We have a goal, and we’re going to achieve it. We’ll get ramen or burgers or whatever you want — and then we won’t give up until we find perfection.”

“We could be waiting a while,” I mutter.

Much as I hate to admit it, lunch does help me feel better. As I finish my noodles, I sigh. “Can we just go home now?”

Stubborn as ever, my mother stares me down. “No.”

“Mom…”

“I’ll make you a deal, okay? One more store, then I’ll let you give up. But I know we can find something if you’ll just try.”

“Okay, fine,” I groan. “But if I vomit, it’s not my fault.”

Turns out, listening to my mother is a good idea sometimes, because when we enter the final store, it turns out to be the one.

I wander among the racks, looking at satin and short skirts and despairing at how so many of them are close-fitting and have holes cut in strange places. It’s starting to feel like the only options are boob-window bodycons or frumpy layers designed to make you look like a five-year-old.

“Billie, come here,” calls Mom, and with a sigh I trudge over to her.

She holds up a dress, and I gasp. It’s blue, it’s flowing, it’s loose — but it’s still flattering, and it’s absolutely gorgeous.

“Where did you find this?” I ask her.

“I have my ways,” she grins. “Go try it on.”

I don’t hesitate, and when I come out of the changing room, I have to swallow hard to stop myself from crying. It fits around my bump in a way that would be obvious if you were looking for it, but hides it in enough layers of fabric that you could easily bypass it if you didn’t know. It goes to the floor and makes me look tall and elegant.

“It’s perfect,” I breathe, turning to stare in the mirror.

“No,” says my mother, coming to stand behind me. “ You’re perfect.”

“Mom, come with me to New York,” I say. “I get a plus-one, and I want you to be there.”

Her mouth wavers before twisting into a smile. She wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my cheek. “Of course, honey. I’ll always be there for you.”

By the time the ceremony comes around, I’m scared my dress isn’t going to fit anymore, but with a little help from my mother tugging on the zippers, it does. We take our seats in the theater, and I shrink into my seat, realizing how out of place I am.

Most of these people are career professionals, much older and more experienced than me, and I’ve seen all of their photos. I’ve been trying to emulate them for years. I’m good, but no way am I on their level.

I’m only here because of how rare the woodpeckers are.

My heart is pounding in my chest. What am I doing here?

“Nervous?” asks Mom. I nod. “Don’t be. You have every right to be here. You have as good a chance at winning as anyone.”

“I know my photo was good,” I murmur. “It’s just intimidating to see all these people who are well-known in my field, that’s all.”

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Even you being nominated has made me so proud.”

I swallow thickly hearing the words I never expected my mother to say. A lifetime of guilt threatens to rise up in my chest again, but I shake my head to push it away. The past is already gone, and now is not the time to be dwelling on it.

Besides, Mom is right. It’s an honor to have been nominated at all.

The ceremony gets underway and of course, my category is the last one. By the time we’re getting close, I’m fighting not to fall asleep.

I’ve also been thinking as people have got up and down for their awards. My photo was pretty good, and I was pleased with how it turned out, but these awards are by nomination only. Who could have nominated me for this? I didn’t nominate myself, and while it could have been one of the scientists, why wouldn’t they tell me?

Finally, we get there, and Mom pokes me excitedly. The lights go down, another fanfare plays, and the crowd go quiet.

And all my questions get answered because Jensen, Prince of Sólveigr, walks out onto the stage.

He waves to the crowd, grinning, then steps up to the microphone as the music ends. “As many of you know, I haven’t always been interested in conservation.”

Laughter breaks out at his understatement. He waits for it to quiet before continuing. “But in recent months, I’ve had reason to reassess my priorities. Partying is fun, but as a prince of Sólveigr, it is my duty to help uphold and look after the land that I call home. Of course, here in the US, you also have many brilliant and clever people looking after your own land. If you can, find a conservationist and speak to them. Listen to what they have to say, find out what you can do to help. You might be surprised by how little can make big difference.

“That’s definitely something I’ve learned as I’ve gone on this journey. Even a little bit of effort, of action, of time — any of those things can become greater than the sum of their parts. And if we all did just a little bit more, then maybe all of us could make a big difference. It is, therefore, my great honor and privilege to announce the winner of the Wildlife Photograph of the Year Award.”

He fumbles with the envelope and throws a cheeky smile out into the audience, making some more people giggle. He might be unrecognizable from the party prince now, and all these people might be impressed with that speech, but I know in my heart that all his words are because of me.

Does this mean he’s been thinking about me ever since Mostaza?

He pulls out the card, and his eyes widen as he scans the name. He leans in to the microphone, and reads the card with a warm smile. “The winner is Billie Ballard.”

“Billie, it’s you,” Mom whispers, pushing me to get up out of my seat as the crowd applauds.

But my body does not belong to me. Of all the ways I could be seeing Jensen again, this wouldn’t have made my top-fifty list of fantasies.

God, the idea of having to be close to him now, it’s almost more shocking than the fact that I won. Almost.

I take a sharp breath and force a smile, knowing that cameras are going to be on me. I’m more relieved than ever that I’m not wearing heels. My ankles are way too swollen for that, anyway, but with the way my legs are shaking, I don’t think I could have made it up the steps to the stage in anything but these flats.

Jensen smiles at me as I approach, and I cannot for the life of me tell what emotion he’s feeling. This is that smile I saw a hundred times on the island, the one with the vacant eyes that gives nothing away.

He holds out his hand and I take it, hoping he doesn’t feel how sweaty my palms are as we shake hands. “Congratulations,” he says, handing me the trophy. “You really deserve this. Your picture was wonderful.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

Then the panic really sets in. I know I should make a speech. Mom told me I should prepare one, and I scoffed at her — but she was right. I find Mom in the crowd, grit my teeth, and step up to the podium. I’m not that great at improvising but I have to say something.

“Wow,” I say into the microphone, wincing as I hear my own breathless voice echoing through the speakers. “I just want to say, thank you so much for this. It’s a privilege to be here, and I never thought I was going to win. Um…”

I chuckle nervously and decide it’s best to just say something quickly and get out of here. “I want to thank my mom, who’s here with me today. Her support these last few months has meant the world to me. And I want to thank everyone who’s ever given me an opportunity to travel the world. I couldn’t do this without the efforts of conservation teams worldwide. Really, this is all down to them. So, thank you again.”

I hold up the trophy, grin awkwardly, then rush off the stage. The applause is thunderous around me, but I don’t stop to return to my seat. Instead, I keep going, willing my feet and legs not to give in before I reach the exit.

The aisle seems so much longer than when we came in, and time is slowing down with every step, but at last I reach the way out. I slam my hand against the door and walk out into the lobby — and that’s when I finally allow myself to burst into tears.