Page 39 of Flipping the Script
The comment caught Quinn off-guard. "Iris?—"
"Go find her," Iris said gently. "Some conversations need to happen away from the crowd."
Quinn stepped onto the terrace, the cool night air a welcome relief after the party's warmth. Solen stood at the railing, her auburn hair catching the breeze as she gazed out at the city lights below. The distant hum of traffic and music from other rooftopparties created an urban lullaby that felt intimate despite their height above the bustling streets.
"Second thoughts about the chaos?" Quinn approached carefully, setting her award on a nearby table before joining Solen at the railing.
"The opposite, actually." Solen turned, leaning her hip against the metal barrier. "I was thinking about how surreal this all feels. Six months ago, I was persona non grata. Tonight, studio executives want to work with us as a creative team."
"Your rehabilitation arc has been remarkably thorough," Quinn agreed, then immediately regretted the clinical phrasing. "Sorry. That sounded like a marketing analysis."
Solen laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "I like your brain, remember? Even when it processes emotions like data points."
The confession hung between them, heavier than Quinn expected. She gripped the railing, metal cool under her palms. The party continued inside, visible through the glass doors but feeling worlds away.
"Solen, I need to tell you something." The words emerged before Quinn's analytical mind could edit them. "I need to say it without cameras or contracts or any agenda except the truth."
Something shifted in Solen's expression, vulnerability replacing her usual confident charm. "I'm listening."
Quinn turned to face her fully, the city lights creating a soft halo around Solen's silhouette. "What started as a performance became the most real thing in my life.
It was a Tuesday, a day with no scheduled appearances, no cameras, no script. You had shown up at her apartment with two ridiculously oversized sombreros and a sudden, intense craving for bad karaoke. I, armed with a mental list of tasks, had initially resisted. But then your laugh, free and uninhibited, had broken through my defenses. In that moment, surrounded by the joyfulabsurdity, I had felt a shift. I had put down my list, grabbed the other sombrero, and sung off-key with a freedom I hadn't known I possessed. It wasn't planned, it wasn't perfect, but it was real. And for the first time, that felt less terrifying and more exhilarating.
You didn't just change my screenplay—you changed how I see everything, including myself." She paused, gathering courage. "I used to think control meant knowing the outcome. You taught me it means trusting the process.”
Solen stepped closer, close enough that Quinn could catch her subtle perfume beneath the night air. "I thought I knew what acting was until I realised I wasn't acting anymore. Somewhere between the coffee shop and tonight, this became real for me too."
The admission settled between them like a shared secret. Quinn felt her careful walls crumbling, not from external pressure but from internal choice. "I don't want to perform anymore. I want to build something genuine with you, no scripts or stage directions required."
"What would that look like?" Solen's hand found hers on the railing, fingers intertwining naturally.
"Messy," Quinn admitted. "Uncertain. Probably involving me learning to trust improvisation in more than just creative contexts."
"And me learning that structure doesn't mean losing spontaneity." Solen's thumb traced across Quinn's knuckles. "I want to try, Quinn. Not for the cameras or the career boost or even the incredible creative partnership. Just because you make me want to stop running from real connection."
The space between them disappeared gradually, neither leading nor following but meeting in the middle. When their lips touched, Quinn's analytical mind went blissfully quiet forthe first time in months. The kiss tasted like champagne and possibility, soft and exploratory and entirely theirs.
Solen's free hand curved around Quinn's waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Quinn responded instinctively, her usual need to control the narrative replaced by simple desire to experience this moment fully. No cameras captured them, no social media documented their connection, no publicists managed their image. Just two women choosing each other authentically under the indifferent stars.
When they broke apart, Quinn rested her forehead against Solen's, breathing unsteady. "So what happens now?"
"Now we figure it out together." Solen's compass necklace caught the light between them, the brass warm from her skin. "No timeline, no performance metrics, just us learning how to be real with each other."
Through the glass doors, the party continued without them. Industry professionals would speculate about their relationship status and creative plans regardless of their presence. Tomorrow, entertainment journalists would analyse every photographed moment for clues about their personal and professional future. But for the first time since their fake romance began, Quinn felt completely unconcerned about public perception.
"Should we go back inside?" she asked, though she made no move to step away.
"In a minute." Solen's hand still rested warm against her waist. "I want to remember this exactly as it is. No audience, no agenda, just us choosing something real."
Quinn retrieved her award from the table, its weight familiar now but somehow less important than the woman beside her. "Ready to face the circus?"
"With you? Always."
They walked hand-in-hand toward the party, but instead of returning to the penthouse, Quinn found herself guiding them toward the elevator. The night felt too precious to share with networking colleagues and industry small talk.
"Where are we going?" Solen asked as the elevator descended.
"Somewhere we can talk without interruption." Quinn watched the floor numbers decrease. "My place is quiet. We could order terrible takeout and analyse the entire evening without anyone photographing our food choices."
