I get ready for the EBC Awards at Soobin and RALA’s studio. My black Saint Laurent gown, on loan from the designer, is sleeveless, with a fitted bodice tailored to my exact proportions. It tapers at the waist, flaring slightly at the hips before dropping down to the floor. The long split that ends halfway up my thigh allows for movement, even if it’s admittedly a bit . . . scandalous.
I decide not to wear a necklace, leaving my shoulders and décolletage bare. The only jewelry I wear is pearl drop earrings. As for shoes, I choose stilettos.
Soobin has already blown out my hair so that it falls in waves luxuriously over my shoulders, and RALA has executed a sultry nighttime look with winged eyeliner and a matte red lipstick, which leaves only getting dressed. Afterward, Soobin and RALA take photos of me on the balcony, where the lighting, in the hour before sunset, is the best.
My next stop is Joah. Since Nathaniel and I are cohosting the event, we’re supposed to arrive together at the venue. On the drive over, my nerves get the better of me. I’ve never been to an awards ceremony, let alone hosted one. Nathaniel hasn’t either, not one of this caliber, though he has experience hosting the weekly music shows at EBC. What if I can’t read the teleprompter in a natural way or lose my place while reading? Because of the short notice, we hadn’t had time for a rehearsal.
The car service drops me off outside the building—tonight, Secretary Park is accompanying my mother—and I hurry through the front doors.
As I enter, I draw up short. All four XOXO members are standing in the lobby, dressed in formal black-tie attire.
They all turn at my entrance.
Collectively, their eyes move from the ground upward, checking me out, and I smile at their appreciation.
“Sori-yah,” Sun says, meeting me halfway as I approach them across the lobby. “You look beautiful.”
“Min Sori,” Jaewoo says with a grin. “Were you always this tall?”
I wrinkle my nose at his teasing. “Shouldn’t you be on the way to the airport?” I ask. “Jenny’s arriving at any moment.”
“I’m thinking of bailing early.” He grins. “Do you think anyone will notice?”
“We wanted to support our CEO,” Sun explains.
My heart fills with gratitude for all of them. They didn’t have to be here. Though invited, they’re not actively promoting an album, nominated for an award, or performing. But they’re showing up anyway, to support my mother, their CEO, as she accepts this year’s Trailblazer Award.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
It’s Youngmin’s turn to greet me next. “Nuna,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re gorgeous!”
I laugh at the way he keeps his eyes level with mine, staring at me almost fixedly so as not to inadvertently drop his gaze to the very deep V of my neckline. Poor Youngmin. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this dress and had more consideration for his innocence.
Then it’s Nathaniel’s turn. And now I’m the one who’s stunned. He’s dressed entirely in black, even his shirt beneath his jacket, but unlike the others who wear a necktie or a bowtie, the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. Nathaniel in casual wear is heart-fluttering, like your boyfriend who’s also a bit of a bad boy, mischievous and too charming for his own good. But Nathaniel in formal wear, with his hair slicked back, his gaze direct, is breathtaking, still a bad boy, but entirely grown up, and quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I’m vaguely aware that we match almost perfectly, without having coordinated our outfits at all.
“Sori.” Nathaniel’s eyes are warm as he takes me in. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous,” I confess. “On the way over here, I was thinking of all the things that could go wrong.”
“They won’t,” Nathaniel says confidently. “And if they do, I’ll have your back, just like you’ll have mine.”
He grins. “We’re going to kill it. I just know it.”
My heart rushes with warmth at his words, and I . . . believe him. I believe him wholeheartedly.
“Limo’s here,” Sun says, leading the way out the building.
As we’re walking out the door, a deliveryman approaches holding a large bouquet of red roses. “Min Sori-ssi?”
I blink at him. “Yes?”
“These are for you.”
I gather the bouquet in my arms. Jaewoo and Youngmin tease me as I reach in between the roses to pull out a card. Congratulations on hosting the EBC Awards. I look forward to seeing you tonight. I read the name written at the end of the message. “They’re from Cha Donghyun.”
“Cha Donghyun, CEO’s Cha’s nephew?” Sun asks.
Jaewoo frowns. “Was that the guy you were with on Wednesday?”
“Why is Cha Donghyun-ssi sending you flowers, Nuna?”
I stare at them, unsure what to say. Their expressions aren’t exactly accusatory—and all of them are careful not to look at Nathaniel, but I can sense their confusion.
“Who wouldn’t send Sori flowers?” Nathaniel interjects. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get some, Youngmin-ah.”
Youngmin grins, dispelling whatever tension there might have been. Together, we shuffle into the limo. Sun takes the flowers, putting them to the side, while Jaewoo hands me his suit jacket to cover my legs. As we ride to the venue, I risk glances at Nathaniel. Unlike the others, he hadn’t reacted to the bouquet. It’s not that I want him to be . . . jealous, but only last night, he’d told me he loved me. Though later, after we got off the Ferris wheel, he’d acted as if nothing had changed, laughing and joking with Youngmin, teasing Hyemi, and treating me . . . just like he treated them, as if I were a friend, nothing more.
It’s exactly what I asked for, every time I’ve pushed him away, so then why do I feel so unhappy?
The limo pulls up outside the venue for the awards show at one of the largest arenas in Seoul. Already photographers line the red carpet leading to the front entrance. Even though I’m prepared this time—these photographers are supposed to be here; they’re doing their jobs in a respectable manner, compared to tabloid reporters—I still feel a bolt of anxiety go through me.
Sun opens the limo door, and a rush of sound pours into the car, high-pitched screams coming from the crowds of fans behind the photographers, separated by a partition. I give Jaewoo back his jacket and he exits after Sun, the screams erupting again. Youngmin is next. I shift closer to the door, wincing at a sudden flash of light—a camera, directed at the limousine.
I remember the paparazzi outside the event hall and outside the batting cages, and even before then, those lights from my childhood, following me home from school, reporters yelling for my attention, asking me about my father’s affairs, the rumors that my mother was frigid, cold-hearted, that she was the reason they fell apart, because she drove him away.
“Sori.” I look down to find Nathaniel holding my hand. His is warm, his grip firm but gentle. He’s wearing rings on his fingers. Reaching up, I twist the one on his pointer finger, around and around. He lets me, remaining completely still. He doesn’t rush me, though everyone outside is probably wondering why we haven’t stepped out yet. He’s so patient with me—the one person in the world who has always seen me, as I am, flaws and all.
“It’s you and me, remember?” he says softly. “We got this.”
All those times with the paparazzi, I hadn’t been with Nathaniel. I’m with him now. I nod. He lets go of my hand to step out of the car, then he’s reaching back to take my hand. There’s a roar of sound as I emerge—from the photographers shouting my name, but also the fans, screaming, cheering, for me. For us.
Nathaniel draws my hand to his arm, and I grab on to the fabric there, taking strength from him. Together, we face the cameras.
“Nathaniel, look over here!”
“Sori. Nathaniel, over here, please.”
“Sori, Vogue Korea over here. You look stunning!”
I glance at Nathaniel, who’s waving at the photographers, smiling and confident. His confidence, his presence, gives me confidence.
Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the cameras, pretending the director from Sun’s drama is on the carpet, shouting, “Be bold! Be beautiful!” Throwing my shoulders back, placing one hand on my hip, I channel that energy. I direct my sultry gaze at the cameras and pout my lips. The noise on the carpet seems to get even louder, the fans screaming, the photographers clicking at a faster rate.
Nathaniel and I start moving ahead, allowing for more cars to drive up behind us. Every few steps, we stop to pose, and I know we look good, standing side by side. At one point, I even drop Nathaniel’s arm to take photos alone, showing off my dress and earrings. I’ve already posted on my SNS that my makeup was done by RALA, my hair by Kim Soobin.
After the red carpet, we head inside the arena. Attendants usher Sun, Jaewoo, and Youngmin to their seats, while Nathaniel and I are shown through a door backstage.
We enter a long, curving hallway, which presumably leads to the stage area. I shiver, the air colder here than it was outside.
Nathaniel notices. Taking off his suit jacket, he places it around my shoulders. It’s warm and thick and smells of his cologne.
“Sori-ssi? Nathaniel-ssi?”
A motorized cart pulls up next to us, with Woogi sitting in the front with a driver and Woori sitting in the back next to an empty seat.
“You two . . . Wow . . . ,” Woogi says. “I want to take a photograph of you both and frame it on my wall.”
“What a silly thing to say, Oppa!” Woori laughs.
Nathaniel steps closer to the cart. “Woori-ssi,” he says, “can I ask you for a favor?”
Her eyes widen, blinking rapidly. “Yes, of course.”
I stare at Nathaniel, curious what he’s up to.
“You’re heading to the backstage area, right? That empty seat beside you, can Sori take it?”
“Oh no,” I start to protest. “I can walk.”
Nathaniel gives my feet—specifically my stilettos—a significant look. “Please, for me.” My stomach flutters. Then he adds teasingly, “You’re slowing me down.”
My feet are starting to smart a bit. Woori moves over and I climb into the cart, turning my head to peer at Nathaniel as we pull away.
“I think he’s smitten with you,” Woori says, drawing my attention to her.
“He was just being considerate.” I blush.
“Really? Oppa . . .” She leans forward to shout at her brother. “If I were wearing stilettos, would you think to put me in a passing cart?”
Woogi shouts over the motor, “He said she was slowing him down!”
I feel a little bereft about being parted from Nathaniel, but at least we’ll be reunited soon, and he has the attendant with him to keep him company.
In the backstage area, an assistant is waiting to greet me. As we walk toward the hosts’ waiting room, I spot Sun Ye and the other ASAP members.
“Sun Ye-yah!” I shout.
“Sori-yah.” We air-hug. She’s stunning, dressed in a glittering performance outfit. The other members are dressed similarly. They bow to me in greeting. I feel a pang at not seeing Hyemi among them.
“How have you been?” I ask. “I’m sorry I’ve been absent so much this past week.” I was trying to fix the fallout from the scandal with Hyemi, but I was also feeling guilty and sad about my own life.
“It’s all very challenging, with ups and downs, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Though I wish Hyemi were promoting with us. Your mother says she’s announcing something about that next week.”
I frown. “She is?” Did Hyemi’s father agree to a deal?
Sun Ye nods. “Whatever it is, she says that she’ll take care of everything and not to worry.”
Sun Ye says this so matter-of-factly, as if, because my mother told her not to hold on to her worries, she’s able to let go of them.
I never asked her why she stayed as a trainee at Joah for so many years when others had left, and I wonder if it’s as simple as because she believed in my mother.
“Min Sori?” the assistant calls, having waited patiently this whole time.
“I’ll be sure to watch your performance,” I tell Sun Ye. “You’re opening up the show, aren’t you?”
“I am. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? Since our middle and high school trainee days.”
I laugh. “Yes, and still a long way to go.”
“I look forward to it!”
Nathaniel’s already in the dressing room when I arrive, getting his makeup touched up. Mine has stayed perfectly intact, thanks to my diligence and RALA’s superior products. Once Nathaniel is finished, we’re whisked away to the staging area. My heart picks up at the rush of sounds coming from behind the curtains, of instruments warming up in the pit below the stage, the mingling voices of thousands of artists, writers, actors, visionaries.
Nathaniel’s hand slips over mine, tightening. I look up at him. “Nervous?” I ask.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “A little.”
“It’s you and me, remember?” I repeat his words from earlier. “We got this.”
He smiles at me. “We do.”
“And now,” a voice booms for the speakers, quieting the audience, “introducing our hosts, singer, Nathaniel Lee and model, Min Sori.”
Nathaniel and I walk onto the stage to polite applause. The stage lights are bright, making it difficult to see the audience, but I follow Nathaniel’s lead as he approaches the markings on the stage, where we’re meant to stand behind side-by-side microphones.
As the noise settles, I locate the teleprompter.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” I read slowly, enunciating my words as clearly as possible. “Tonight we’ve come together to celebrate the best of music, acting, and variety.”
“Speaking of variety, you and I have had our share of guest appearances. How come we weren’t nominated for anything?” Nathaniel’s reading from the script, but his delivery of his lines is so natural, I can’t help laughing as if he were ad-libbing.
“That’s true. What category do you think we could have been considered for?”
“Best couple?” Nathaniel says cheekily.
The crowd cheers. I hear a loud whistle to the left side of the stage, where I swear I can see Sun and the rest of the XOXO members in the front row.
“Nathaniel-ssi,” I say, playfully, “don’t be silly.” On the screen, that’s all it says, but I decide to ad-lib. “That category is for fake couples, not real ones.”
Nathaniel’s bark of laughter is genuine, joined by the audience.
We continue with the script, which was written by a board of EBC’s writers and vetted by Secretary Park beforehand. It’s lively and fun, and we ad-lib whenever the opportunity arises.
I can feel the chemistry between us; it’s electrifying. We joke and laugh and flirt, even. We act as if we share a secret between us, and the secret, which isn’t a secret at all, is that we’re friends. There’s no one else I’d rather be on this stage with, no one who makes me feel as beautiful and confident and clever and safe. I trust him, and he trusts me, and because of that, we make a spectacular team.
“And now for our first performers,” Nathaniel reads, “in their awards show debut performance.”
“Please welcome,” I say. “ASAP.”