Scarlett cleared her throat awkwardly and tried again. “I’m sorry, Troy. I got a little carried away and didn’t see where I was going.”

  “I’m fine, Ms. Johansson. Are you okay?” I smiled at the future Bck Widow in a stunning red dress. Her golden blonde hair fell to her shoulders in soft curls, perfectly plementing her vibrant green eyes, making her look out of this world. Of course, a big tributing factor to her look was her plunging nee and her rger than usual bust.

  She me before her eyes lit up in realization. “I ’t believe we’re meeting under such circumstances. I’m a huge fan of yours. I’ve seen all of your movies. Especially [Echoes of You]. And I just love your musiuch.”

  “What are you saying?” I shot back. “I’m a bigger fan. [Ghost World] and [Lost in Transtion] are some of the best movies I’ve ever seen. You were robbed when you weren’t nominated for an Oscar, especially for [Lost in Transtion].”

  Scarlett’s smile widened if that was even possible. “That’s so sweet of you.”

  Before I could tihe versatioh Branagh stepped in. “I hate to break this, but I think we should all move in and take our seats. The ceremony is about to start.”

  I gnced down at my Patek Philippe, a gift from my mother for my 17th birthday, and sure enough, the ceremony was starting ihan ten minutes. I’d have to find my seat as well.

  “Yeah, let’s move in,” I said, turning to Scarlett. “It was lovely meeting you, Scarlett. I’d love to talk to you ter.”

  “Definitely!” Scarlett beamed.

  The three of us walked in, where multiple ushers guided us to our respective seats. Keh branched off to sit iV se of the hall, nominated for a TV movie, while Scarlett and I moved toward the front reserved for film stars. The segregatio a little arbitrary and discriminatory, but such was life. It felt weird that at one point I sat there in the back during my first TV appearan [Sex Education].

  After a few moments, I sat down at the same table as my family. As luck would have it, Scarlett was also pced at our table. Three more people were there, though I didn’t reize them. I greeted them all with a polite nod heless.

  “What took you so long?” Evan asked curiously.

  “Just ran into Johnny Depp, Keh Branagh, and Scarlett here,” I said, motioning toward her. Scarlett smiled and waved at my family as they turo her.

  “I love your dress,” Mum said warmly.

  “Thank you!” Scarlett beamed at the praise.

  Quitrodus followed, and soon everyone was engaged in versation. My attention, however, was elsewhere. I sed the room, looking for my fellow nominees from my films. A few tables over, I spotted Emma Watson and Emma Stone. After more searg, I found Jonathan Groff, Stephen Chbosky, Stephen Daldry, and Rian Johnson. That rounded out everyone from our side who’d been nomionight. Holy, though, I hardly thought any of us would win.

  This year articurly stacked when it came to films and shows that had been nominated. Looking at the lineup, it was clear that the movie that wo Picture at the Oscars in the inal timeline wasn’t even nominated in any category today. I’m talking about [Crash]. An average film at best, it had famously defeated [Brokeback Mountain], a movie that would ter be sidered the best work of Ang Lee’s career. Paul Haggis, the director of [Crash], had iwined multiple storylines, whiitially gave the film an air of plexity. But och, it felt hollow and maniputive.

  The reason [Crash] wasn’t nomihis time around was simple—it had been released a year earlier in December 2004. It made a mediocre box office colle and didn’t win any signifit awards, probably due to insuffit promotional efforts.

  In trast, my three movies, which had barely received any reition in the inal timeline, were making waves this time. Warner Bros and I had allocated over 20 million to aggressively promote the films to Academy voters. There were interviews, sings, and, of course, parties packed with Academy members. Initially, the promotional budget had been modest, but after [Echoes of You] became a superhit and received a phenomenal respo the Golden Globes, we revamped our strategy and doubled down on the funding. Even the shooting schedule for my ses in [Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince] had been postpoo fully capitalize on the award season.

  Other than [Crash], most of the movies I remembered from the inal timeline were still here. [Brokeback Mountain] was universally aowledged as the frontruo wi Picture (Drama), Best Director, a Spy. Personally, I believed [The Perks of Being a Wallflower] was a better film, though I obviously was a little biased.

  [Syriana], [Good Night and Good Luck], [Walk the Line], [The Squid and the Whale], [Match Point], [Memoirs of a Geisha], and [Munich] were some of the other strong tenders. I’d seen and enjoyed all of them t degrees and could uand their nominations. Some, like [Memoirs of a Geisha] and [Munich], were undoubtedly elevated by their renowned directors and thematic weight rather than the quality of the films themselves.

  Soon enough, the ceremony was underway, and the first award being announced was Best Supp Actor. As I had expected, it went to Gee ey for [Syriana]. Moments ter, Best Supp Actress was awarded to Rachel Weisz for [The stant Gardener].

  Just like that, Jonathan Groff and Emma Watson lost their ces at a win. While I hadn’t expected anything else, a small part of me had hoped for some miraix-up in their favor.

  A few TV awards were presented before another category of i came up: Best Spy. I g Evan, who looked visibly nervous as the nominees were announced.

  Leaning forward, I whispered to him, “Don’t worry. We’re not winning this. So we won’t have to go up there.”

  “But I have a speech ready,” he pointed out.

  “Mum?” I asked, gng at her, only to receive a nod of agreement. She had made me write one as well when it was my first awards show.

  As the envelope ened, I could feel the tension radiating from Evan and my parents, both of whom were holding onto our hands reassuringly.

  “The Golden Globe goes to [Brokeback Mountain]!”

  Evaed in disappoi immediately. But I couldn’t afford to do the same. I knew cameras were broadcasting my every move to tens of millions of people worldwide, and unlike Evan, I had an image to maintain. So I stood up and cpped heartily. Moreover, it was undeniable that the spy of [Brokeback Mountain] was excellent.

  Five awards lost, eight more to go.

  The Best Director award went to Ang Lee for [Brokeback Mountain], while Best Actress and Actor in a edy or Musical were awarded to Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix for [Walk the Line].

  Five more awards to lose.

  Then Julian McMahon and Rosario Dawson walked onto the stage with an envelope in their hands.

  “Here are the nominees for Best inal Score,” Rosario announced, before a pre-recorded voice took over:

  “John Williams – [Memoirs of a Geisha]

  Alexandre Despt – [Syriana]

  Troy Armitage – [Echoes of You]

  James on Howard – [King Kong]

  Gustavo Santaol – [Brokeback Mountain].”

  “And the Golden Globe goes to…” McMahon opehe envelope, took a quick peek inside, and announced, “Troy Armitage for [Echoes of You].”

  I sat frozen for a few moments, genuinely stuhis wasn’t supposed to happen. I had posed that syself, p all my love and care into it, but never in my life had I imagi would actually win something.

  My mother broke me out of my reverie with a fierce hug. Immediately, I snapped back to reality. Smiling widely, I hugged her back before turning to Evan and Dad, giving them both brief but heartfelt embraces.

  Meanwhile, the audience uding wildly, and some were even on their feet.

  “This is Troy Armitage’s third Golden Globe. His first two wins were iing category. He is the you poser to win the award for Best inal Score.”

  Emily stood g loudly with a wide grin on her face. I took a slight detour and hugged her as well to show how much her support meant to me. She may have rejected my romantic advances, but that hadn’t dampened our friendship at all. There was also no denying that she was one hell of a friend, and still my most loyal fan.

  Soon, I was on stage. I shook hands with the two presenters before finally holding my third Golden Globe trophy in my hand.

  “I was not expeg this at all,” I began my impromptu speech. True to my belief, I hadn’t prepared anything for this award—I didn’t feel the o. “I think I’m still in denial that a kid like me beat legends like my fellow nominees, some of whom have been posing musice before I was even born. I owe this award to all of you for inspirih your melodies.”

  Pausing briefly, I smiled and tinued, “I’d also like to thank my brother in all but blood, Evan Spader, for writing this story. Without him, I wouldn’t have had the idea to write this score at all. To my parents, Steve and Kathy, for supp me every step of the way. To Stephen Daldry for making such a great film. To my co-stars, Emily and Rihanna—you made filming so much fun. And to my assistant, Tobias, for managing my life so effectively.”

  A small grin tugged at my lips as I added, “I know I’m deviating from the music part, but I know that I’m not getting the ag award, so let me have this.” The audience chuckled in response.

  “Last but not least, thanks to the Hollywood Fn Press for this.” I raised the award slightly before stepping back from the mic. A woman standing behind the presenters motioned for me to move to my right.

  As soon as I stepped aside, I found myself in front of reporters, still holding the award.

  “Troy!” someone called out, and I turoward the voice. It was a woman in her mid-twenties.

  “gratutions on the win,” she said, smiling.

  “Thank you!” I replied warmly.

  “I noticed you didn’t give a shout-out to O’Brien in your speech, as you promised him on his show.”

  Huh. I’d pletely fotten about that. But before I could respond, a stagehand rushed up to me and whispered in my ear.

  “Troy, I’m so sorry. There was a mix-up. You shouldn’t be here right now—you’re also nominated for Best Song, and that category is up.” He discreetly poioward a TV s showing Mariah Carey on stage with an envelope in her hand. The s, pced for reporters irium, dispyed the live broadcast so they could prepare for interviews iime.

  Realizing what was happening, all the reporters turoward the s as well.

  “And the Golden Globe goes to…” Mariah smiled, reading the name. “‘All of Me’ from [Echoes of You]. Troy Armitage, e back to the stage.”

  I guess I have to go back.

  The reporters around me began g, clearly amused by the situation.

  “Thank you!” I said into the mic. “I’ll be ba a bit.”

  I quickly jogged back toward the stage, where Mariah Carey waited patiently. When I reached her, I gave her a big hug. I had been a fan of hers my entire life—her voice was just too good not to admire.

  “gratutions,” she whispered warmly in my ear. “You deserve it. You were amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I said with genuine gratitude before accepting my sed trophy of the night. Mariah gave me an encing smile as she gently nudged me toward the mic, then stepped back to give me the stage.

  “I couldn’t have gotten this award from a better person,” I began, smiling at her before turning to the audiehank you to Doug Sanders who helped me produce all my songs."

  And then I went bnk. I searched for words, for the right things to say, for more people to thank—but I came up bnk. I’d already mentioned everyone I wao in my first speech. I hadn’t thanked Warner Bros., but that omission was iional. With nothing else ing to mind, I remembered the reporter's words from a few minutes ago.

  “ O’Brien is the best talk show host in America,” I announced, catg the audience off guard. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as I let the moment linger. “Please do watch his show. He’s amazing and hirious,” I tinued early.

  Then, employing every ouny ag skills, I dropped my voiock-trembling tone, as though fessing something dire. “I’m not saying this because of any coer. has not kidnapped my dog and is not holding him hostage. I swear. These are just rumors that were absolutely not started by me.”

  The audience burst into ughter at the absurdity of the joke, and I could practically hear ughing in his studio, or wherever he was watg. He might have gotten his shout-out, but certainly not in the way he’d expected.

  “Thank you,” I said once more in a cheery voice, raising my two trophies before stepping away from the mic.

  The few moments passed in a blur as I found myself ba front of the reporters.

  Before they could bombard me with questions, I leaned into the mid said, “I hope that cleared up the fusion about .”

  The reporters chuckled good-naturedly before moving on to their question.

  “Why is Rihanna not here tonight with you?” a man asked, his tone almost spiratorial.

  I rolled my eyes internally, already brag for the tedious round of questions that iably came with award shows. Outwardly, I maintained my polite smile and answered on autopilot.

  Even as I spoke, my thoughts wandered. I’d been wrong—I won something tonight. Did that mean we had a ce at more? Three major awards were still up frabs: Best Picture in two categories a Actor in a Drama.

  The Globes had already proven they weren’t hesitant to give multiple awards to the same person in one night. Anything could happen now.

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