5. Orson

Chapter 5

Orson

The flash of cameras catches the glimmer of Kim's sequined dress as we step onto the red carpet, her arm looped through mine in a picture-perfect pose. She smiles, radiant and practiced, her cheek brushing mine for a fleeting second as photographers shout our names. Actresses are all the same—they need to be the center of attention, but Kim Dawson is particularly obsessed with having all eyes on her. And since this is her movie, I’m fine fading into the background and letting her shine.

"Orson! Kim! Over here!"

I force a smile, trying to mirror her effortless charm, but my eyes scan the crowd for another face—a face from a past life that still haunts my dreams more often than I care to admit. Winter. Just the thought of her sends a sharp pang through my chest, probably due to the knife she plunged into my heart so many years ago.

Kim leans closer, sensing my distraction or playing the part the cameras expect. She's good at this—good at being the dazzling starlet by my side. But there hasn’t been anything between us in more than a year. I have no interest in rekindling whatever magic she swears we had. My memories differ dramatically.

"We're heading in," Kim whispers, tugging gently at my arm as the journalists line up, eager for a few words before we head inside.

As we move forward, each step feels surreal, almost dreamlike. My responses to the questions are automatic, rehearsed blurbs about the film, my upcoming projects, and anything to keep from revealing the turmoil that stirs just beneath the surface.

As much as I try to focus on Kim—the present—I can't shake off all the could-have-been with Winter. Would she be here tonight? What would she think of this film? Of me now? She’s a far bigger name than me. I wonder if anyone invited her to the premiere on a whim. Last I checked, she wasn’t dating anyone, but I’ve heard she’s friendly with one of the actresses who played Kim’s sister in the movie. Why the hell do I even know that? My mother’s right. I made a mess of things and should have begged her back before she moved on with her life.

I feel somewhat bad for Kim. Although I’ve told her I’m not interested in commitment, that’s not entirely true. I feel like a coward for not confessing that I don’t want to commit to her . She thinks if she keeps applying pressure or sets up scenarios to make me jealous, it’ll manipulate me into proposing. She deserves someone who is fully present, not someone trapped in what-ifs and memories. Yet every relationship since Winter seems to pale in comparison, none touching that raw nerve that she did. It’s unfair to Kim; this half-hearted romance was born out of convenience and mutual benefit rather than passion.

Suddenly, amid a sea of beautiful faces and flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of silver, hear familiar laughter echoing lightly over the murmurs of the crowd—and my heart stalls. There's a woman with dark hair laughing gracefully at some comment made by a reporter. It couldn't be— could it? I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision or perhaps confirm my hopes.

But as quickly as she appears, the crowd swallows her up again. My heart sinks—it was just a trick of light, wishful thinking taking form in my momentary desperation.

"Are you okay?" Kim’s voice breaks through my reverie, her gaze laced with concern.

"Yeah," I reply with another forced smile. "Just thought I saw someone I knew."

It's not entirely a lie. But as we move farther into the theater, surrounded by applause and enthusiasm for a film I can barely remember shooting, all I can think about is how empty my hand feels without hers in it. If there was ever really going to be a forever for me with anyone, it would have been with Winter.

As Kim squeezes my hand reassuringly, hoping to anchor me back to this moment with her, I can't help but feel like I'm drifting further away from where I truly want to be.

"Orson! Here!" Kim tugs my hand, guiding me to pose beside her. Smile here. Look there. It's a rehearsed dance we perform flawlessly.

Again, my eyes wander past the cameras, scouring the crowds behind the barricades. I'm still looking for the silver dress—for Winter—with a maddening hope that spikes my pulse.

Kim senses the shift in my focus and jabs an elbow into my ribs. "Hey," she murmurs, "Are you with me?"

"Of course," I reply, but even to my ears, it sounds hollow.

As we shuffle along the aisle of the auditorium, escorted by tuxedo-clad ushers, I see Winter. She’s across the theater, almost shadowed by the crowd, but unmistakable. Still captivating as ever, her silver dress outshines every ostentatious outfit on this carpet.

Our eyes meet. It’s brief—a flicker, but it’s enough to send decades of unanswered questions crashing through me. Is Winter still angry with me? Does she ever think of us and wonder how we got things so wrong?

Kim attempts to grab my attention, but her voice fades into the background noise of shouts and laughter. When I realize she’s talking to me, I smile and nod, hoping she hasn’t asked a question and is now waiting for a specific reply. I have no idea how long I tuned her out.

How do I tell her? How do I explain that every moment with her feels like I'm silently apologizing for yearning to be elsewhere? With someone else? We’re not even together, and I feel wrecked by nonstop guilt.

Across the room, Winter turns away first—perhaps a friend calls her name, or maybe she decides it’s too awkward to maintain our gaze. Either way, she disappears into the crowd, and with her goes the part of my heart that seems to only beat in past tense.

Internally groaning, I turn back to Kim, her eyes narrowed, suspicion and wariness lining them. "Sorry," I say as we take our seats. "I just thought I saw an old friend."

Kim nods but says nothing further, as if she knows what I’m thinking about. Perhaps tonight, everything will finally come to light. The lie between us feels heavier than ever before. And yet—amid it all—I can only wonder if Winter looked back one more time before she disappeared entirely from view. I’m such a jackass.

I’ve only entertained this pseudo-relationship because it’s easier than having the difficult and uncomfortable conversation that Kim and I have no future. Owen’s wedding couldn’t have come at a better time.

Kim will expect me to take her, and that isn’t going to happen. She’ll demand an explanation, and I’ll be forced to give her one. It’s time to put my foot down and stop letting her believe there’s any hope where we’re concerned. She wants love and marriage, and I am in no position to give either to her.

After all, my heart isn’t mine to give away.