Page 105 of Doc Hollywood

“Clara Upford, I love you. I want us to have a home together.” Taylor stared deeply into her eyes.

Clara couldn’t help it; tears trickled down her cheeks. If you had told her a year ago that she would be sitting with a man she loved, and he would be asking her to move in with him, she would have told you that you were delusional. But here she was, happier than she had ever been in her life.

“I want that too,” she sobbed and flung herself into his arms.

“That’s good.” His voice was muffled against her neck, “I collect the keys tomorrow.”

“What?” Clara pulled back, her tears instantly stopping in surprise. “Tomorrow, tomorrow? As in Saturday?”

“Yeah. It was empty, and my business manager pushed the deal through. I figured you could rent out this place to pay the mortgage. Keep it as an investment. And we could move into our house.”

“Our house.” Clara tried the words out and found she loved them. “And the three cabins?” She was already grinning when she asked.

“If it’s okay with you. One for my mum, one for your parents when they stay, and the third for the registrars to use.”

“That’s perfect. I can’t wait to see our house.” She hugged him tighter, unable to quite believe how lucky she was.

Clara sat in her midnight blue gown, which she had insisted on wearing rather than buying anything new. Telling Taylor multiple times that it was the nicest dress she had ever worn; it was the dress she had been wearing when they had their first kiss, and it would be the dress she wore on his biggest night.

The red carpet had been unreal. The press had all been vying for Taylor’s attention, and they also all knew who she was and referred to her as Doc Hollywood, the nickname the press had given her. She had tried to quash the name, as it sounded so pretentious, and Sadie took great glee in calling her it whenever she could, but Taylor told her not to bother, as it wouldn’t stop them calling her what they wanted.

On the red carpet, when asked who she was wearing, Clara apologetically said she didn’t know, and Louisa, who had been standing nearby, rolled her eyes in exasperation and provided the designer’s name, whispering in her ear that she should have picked a new dress and that any number of prestigious designers would have dressed her. Clara had just shrugged; she was happy with what she wore.

Everywhere she gazed, there was a face she knew from a movie. It was overwhelming, and Taylor seemed to know so many of them, shaking hands with the men and exchanging air kisses with the women, which were always respectfully brief before he took hold of Clara’s hand again.

Standing amongst the most beautiful women in Hollywood, Clara’s insecurities threatened to surface. She wasn’t as pretty as them, she wasn’t as thin as them, and she wasn’t the type of person who should be on Taylor’s arm.

The traitorous voices were silenced when Taylor stared down at her, the love in his eyes obvious. She was the only woman for him.

Clara had seen the Oscars on television and found the whole thing fascinating. She was sat down in the main part of the Dolby theatre with Taylor, even though she had offered to sit in the balcony so Gloria could be next to her son. But the older woman had kindly insisted that she would sit with the other families, and Taylor would want Clara by his side.

When it was finally Taylor’s category, Clara clutched onto his hand as they watched the presenter make their way onto the stage.

She flinched a little as they became the focus of the camera nearest them. After nine months together, she was almost used to the constant cameras being turned their way, and she would either ignore them or subtly push Taylor forward so he would be the main focus.

However, stuck in a seat, she had nowhere to go, so she worked hard on keeping a small smile on her face, hoping not to have another article online analysing her ‘resting bitch face’.

Clara barely heard the presenter’s words as her heart beat too fast, waiting to see which actor’s name would be announced.

They had watched all the nominated movies, and she had been convinced that Taylor was the best actor, although she would be the first to admit that she was biased.

The funniest part coming up to the night had been Taylor practising his ‘gracious loser face’, so no one after the evening could analyse how he had reacted and say that he was a bad loser if the award went to someone else. Clara had practised too and was terrible, concluding that if he lost, she would just lean over and hug him so no one could see her face.

When the moment came, Clara and Taylor’s fingers were twined together, and neither moved as the envelope was opened.

“And the winner of best actor in a leading role is,” The pause felt like a lifetime before they finally said, “Taylor Anderson. Dreamless Sleep.”

Neither Clara nor Taylor moved, both frozen in total shock, until Clara turned to him and said, “It’s you.”

Taylor’s stupor broke, and he nodded, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him as applause and cheers rang through the theatre. He stared down into her eyes, ignoring everyone around him, and bent down to kiss her gently on the lips, then leaned his forehead onto hers, gazing into her eyes as he smiled.

Clara grinned back until her gaze was caught by Damien, who was right next to Taylor, jumping with delight, waiting for his turn to congratulate him. She pulled away to allow the director his moment with Taylor.

“Well done. You deserve this, Taylor.” Mr Atrosky pulled Taylor into an embrace, thumping him on the back.

“Thank you.” Taylor returned his hug, then stepped away and turned back to Clara, dropping a last swift kiss on her lips before he strode up onto the stage, looking a little shell-shocked.

The presenter handed over the Oscar and congratulated Taylor, stepping back to allow the actor to have his moment in the spotlight alone.

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