“Really?” I ask, my mouth dropping open as I pull back to get a good look at his face. “Emmitt, that’s amazing! What did she say?”

He shrugs almost bashfully. “I knew I couldn’t explain over the phone, so we arranged for me to fly out to London to see her. That’s why I didn’t respond to your texts, and I’m so sorry for that. But me and Mum sat down and talked, and I told her about the photography contest and everything else. It was a long and painful conversation, but she promised to balance her work life and personal life better in the future after I showed her some of my photos. And I promised to be honest and up-front with her about what I want, rather than expecting her to catch on when I act like an asshole in interviews.”

A breathless laugh escapes me. He did it. He actually did it. It couldn’t have been an easy decision, but he made it anyway, for himself and for his future.

“I’m sorry you won’t get to work with Shana Torres,” I say, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “But I hope you know your dad would be so proud of you. I know I never had the chance to meet him, but I don’t doubt he would have hung up your pictures on the wall, too. Just like he hung up Shana’s.”

He leans into my touch. “I know. But Mum will hang my pictures up for both of them.”

“That’s what you deserve.” I’m nearly vibrating with overwhelming pride for him. “So what happens now?”

“Now I get to pick and choose what films I want to work on in the future. I’m still going to be in Firebrand’s upcoming project, but I’m kind of looking forward to it now. I can finally put all my AAAS knowledge to use.” His smile is full of mischief and I can’t help my breathless laughter. “And on an even brighter note, Mum said she’ll let me decide what is and isn’t too much in the future, and that I’ll have more free time to pursue my passions.” His smile grows. “And more time to spend with a girl that makes me happier than anything else.”

“Be quiet,” I say, but the way I’m beaming undercuts my demand. I don’t think I could make myself sound serious if I tried. “You think you’re so smooth, don’t you?”

“A little,” Emmitt says, reaching out to pull a lock of my hair through his fingers. I’ve been wearing it loose more often than not these days. “What about you? What happened? Did you get into USC?”

“No,” I say, and his face falls.

“Mina, I’m so—”