"You shouldn't be going, Georgie." Lili protests for the umpteenth time.

I roll my eyes as I let Virginia, my hairstylist, work her magic on the bags under my eyes and the grim skin.

"We have 8 nominations on the movie. I'm nominated twice. I can't just skip the Oscars because I lost my baby a week ago." I retort.

"Yes, you can. You can skip whatever you want."

"And I don't want to skip the Academy Awards." I shrug.

"Okay then."

Lili shakes her head as she leaves the room. She's been momming me all week, and I guess I need some time off of her.

"There we go. All done." Virginia tells me.

She starts packing up her makeup while I walk up to the bed to open up the dress cover. Once open, a mountain of burgundy silk spills out of the cover. The off-shoulder number from Oscar de la Renta is a spin on classic Hollywood and exactly what I need to feel pretty, even if it's just for one night.

"Hey, George. The car's--" Keneti walks in, stopping in his tracks at the door, "Damn..."

I turn to him as he's eyeing me from head to toe. I actually forgot for a moment that I'm standing there in my underwear. Complete night and day seeing him in his tuxedo.

"Liking what you see?" I grin, "With my beautiful adult diaper and all?"

"I was mostly looking at your legs, but yes. I'm definitely liking what I'm seeing." He smirks, "You need help with your dress?"

"Definitely."

I grab the body of the dress and pull it on. The designers gladly changed the build of the dress, unhooking the enormous skirt from the body so I can at least be a bit more comfortable.

Keneti holds the waistband of the skirt open for me to step into and I do so. He hoists it up and I grab the snaps on the back, buttoning up the waistband. 

"You need help with your shoes as well?" 

I smile. "Well, aren't you a gentleman?"

I sit down on the edge of the bed and move the mountain of fabric away from my feet. Keneti kneels down in front of me with the golden block heels.

"I'll be by your side at all times, George." He reassures me, "Except when you go up to accept an award."

"My emotional support Kiwi." I laugh, lightly touching his cheek. 

"You're so weird." He laughs. 

"If you haven't noticed, I'm weird. I'm a weirdo." I mimic that infamous speech from the first season of Riverdale. 

He grins at me, helping me up on my feet. 

"Let's go..."

_______

The moment Keneti and I stepped out onto the red carpet, nerves have been through the roof. Apparently we're the surprise hot commodity on the red carpet. But it makes me seen, and not in a good way.

We're somewhere in the middle of the red carpet, posing for another set of pictures. I'm quite certain Keneti's hand is black and blue because of my constant squeezing.

"They want pictures of you alone." Keneti whispers.

I turn my head to him, only then realising how close his face is to mine. I'm not uncomfortable though; we've been closer.

"Okay." I whisper back.

"You gotta let go of my hand, George." He smiles.

"Right."

I let out a deep breath and relase my grip on his hand. He nods reassuringly before leaving my side. I turn my attention back to the many cameras, posing a first time. Once that first pose is finished, it's like my body has completely gone into autopilot. I grab the front of my dress and rearrange the fabric to make the dress appear a little puffier. I turn a little to my left, pose again. Move a few steps down the row. Another pose.

I'm all good until my hand grazes over the waistband. The air catches in my throat and I glance over to where I left Keneti. He catches on somehow, hurries to my side and helps me to a secluded corner.

"Breathe, George. Just breathe."

He sits me down on some crates and kneels in front of me. His hands are leaning against my elbows as I'm trying my best not to smudge my make-up with mine.

"Breathe with me, come on."

He touches my forehead with his.

"Deep one in. Slow exhale. And again."

I'm finally calming down as I lock eyes with Keneti. He slowly nods to reassure me I'm doing great and I'm regaining my strength again.

"You did great out there, Georgia." He whispers, "And it's okay to feel not okay. That's what I'm here for. Your emotional support Kiwi."

"Okay..." I breath out.

He lets go of one of my hands and I quickly latch onto his remaining hand with both of mine. He lightly rubs his thumb over the back of my hand as his right hand travels up to the side of my face. He pulls back a little, only to sit up straight and press his lips against my forehead.

"I'm always here for you, Georgia Brown." He tells me and my heart jumps a little.

"Shall we go inside, Keneti James Fitzgerald Apa?" I reply with a big smile.

He smiles and stands up, carefully pulling me up with him. And whatever we do, I'm not letting go of his hand.

_______

3 more categories we're in. We've already gotten 3 statuettes: cinematography, costume design and adapted screenplay. I went up that stage for the last one. I had thanked Roberto for giving me my first writing gig, my actors for helping me bring it to life, my best friends and brother for supporting me throughout the writing process. I should've thanked more people, but it was such a blur.

Greta Gerwig has taken the stage to announce the winner for achievement in directing.

What will I say if I win?

But I'm don't need to worry. I'm not going to win. These other directors, they're so much better than me. More established in the business. I'm just a rookie in comparison.

"... And Georgia Brown, 1914." Greta Gerwig ends the list of nominees.

She opens the envelope and reads the name for herself.

"And the winner is..." She smiles against the microphone.

Keneti squeezes my hand and I glance over at him. He comforts me with just one look in his eyes.

I would love to just kiss him right now, but I don't want the world to creep.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my name through the speakers.

Wait, what?

I stare at Keneti as his smile is wide and he's pulling me in for a brief hug.

"Get up there, George. You won." He whispers, knowing I had zoned out just seconds ago.

I feel myself break a smile as I stand up and walk towards the stage.

"This is the second Oscar tonight for Georgia Brown. At 25 years old, she is the youngest in history to ever win best director."

Greta hands the award to me and I kiss her on the cheek to thank her. I walk up to the mic and look over the crowd. Some are still standing, clapping for me. It's surreal. I've stood here before, but this seems more real than the previous one.

"I told Keneti that, if I would win this award, I would be flying every person on the crew and their families out for a week at a resort to recharge. I guess I'll start planning when I get home."

The crowd laughs and I wait a second to cintinue.

"These past few days have been an emotional rollercoaster. Holding this statue reminds me of hope. That everything will get better one day. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but someday. Everything will get better."

The room claps and cheers, but I have more to add.

"I'd like to thank my producers and the studios for always believing in me. Trusting a woman to write and direct a war movie wasn't an easy task. The board meetings and pitches to greenlight the project had taken up months, but it's your persistence that brought us here. It's been a great honor to work with all of you to make a movie like this. To tell a story that hadn't been told before. So thank you."

The crowd cheers on as the music plays, aka my cue to leave the stage. I follow one of the assistants backstage, trying to catch my breath.

Not as if I'm having another panic attack, but from realising how blessed I've been with all of this.