I’m so, so lucky.

When I get to the gate, the security guard nods at some hanging thing on my rear-view that Vaughn must’ve placed in here the other day and waves me through with a, “Good evening, Mrs. Asher.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes to get on the lot. I expected a little more resistance, but I guess being Mrs. Asher has a lot of perks. I barely remember how to get back to Vaughn’s movie set, but I manage to find the parking lot and locate his trailer from a distance.

I try there first, but it’s locked.

“You looking for Mr. Asher?” an attendant asks me.

“Yes, please. Do you know where he is?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s on set right now. They are almost done. Do you want to wait here or have me take you in to watch from the observation room?”

I hesitate. I’m not sure.

“No one’s in there,” he explains. “It’s a sensitive scene today. Only required personnel allowed on set. So you’d have the place to yourself if you want to watch.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not sure I can handle much more public scrutiny.

We enter the building and I’m led down a long hallway. There’s no stage in sight. No people in sight, either. He points to a door and then opens it for me. “It’s down the hall and to the left. They can’t hear you from this far away and you won’t be interfering if you just stay back.”

I nod and walk through the door alone and find myself in a dimly lit hallway. I can hear a few voices further down so I follow that until I reach a black curtain. Peeking through, I can see the set. It’s incredible. It looks like an actual city street alley with a side of a building, complete with a fire escape as the backdrop.

There’s lots of talking at the moment. People are laughing and joking. Vaughn is not in view. I lean against the wall and consider if I’m being overly dramatic about my recent experience.

I mean, I’m fine. Yeah, it got a little dicey for a few minutes, but I’m fine. My heart is not beating fast anymore. I’ve calmed down from the scare, and now I’m feeling more ridiculous than anything.

I’m just about to turn around and say forget it when I hear his voice. It’s booming and boisterous and a smile immediately forms on my face. God, I love him.

He walks out onto the set dressed in a suit, like he was at a party. His face, which is usually invisible in post-production, is clearly visible now. In fact, he looks a lot like the man I met on the beach the night of Samantha’s wedding.

I have not thought about that night in months, but now it hits me how far we have come from those first arguments on the island.

God, I was such a bitch to him. I smile as I watch that same man on set in front of me. He was more patient than he should’ve been. Especially that weekend. And I was so scared of what he represented to me. The control was frightening.

And now he’s more aloof than I’m comfortable with.

It’s probably my fault, but that doesn’t make me wish for a do-over any less. I wish I was back on that beach right now, experiencing him for the first time again.

His co-star, Valencia Cruz, joins him in the scene. She’s his ex-girlfriend from his teen years.

She’s very beautiful. She’s wearing a gold gown. They must’ve just come out of some kind of a ball in this part of the script. She’s very exotic, like Bebe. Long, dark hair. Striking amber eyes. Olive skin. And a body most eighteen-year-old girls would be jealous of, even though she’s about the same age as Vaughn.

They talk briefly on set, and then there’s a call for quiet and the stage people do their thing.

I strain to hear what’s happening, I’m not really that close, but my whole world goes silent when I witness what happens next.

They are kissing.

Vaughn leans in, cupping her face, his mouth covering hers in a kiss so passionate I almost want to faint from the steam. I move a little closer to get a better look. As he kisses her, it feels familiar. It feels like he’s kissing her the way he kisses me.

Then his hands are all over her body, grasping at her tits, her ass, and then he roughly grabs one of her gown straps and pulls until it breaks. He yanks her dress down, exposing her breasts, all the while his mouth never stops its assault on her lips.

I’m stunned. I’m picturing our rough sex the other night and I swear to God, I think he uses some of these moves on me!

I’ve watched him kiss countless women on screen, but he wasn’t my husband. I turn and walk away, following the dimly lit hallway back to where I entered, then make my way outside.

It’s dark now. I click the keychain and my car beeps, so I head in that direction, still trying to process what I saw and how I feel about it.

I sit in the car for a few moments trying to wrap my head around things.

This is his job. I realize that, but I can’t come to terms with the idea that my husband gets to have a rough makeout session with his ex-girlfriend and call it work.

I program the GPS for home, just in case I get lost again, and then drive off the lot. Security waves to me as I leave, but I can’t even pretend to be normal and wave back.

The drive home brings me no clarity. In fact I’m more confused than ever. I don’t feel like going to that Black Bash, but I feel… duped for some reason. I feel like there’s a whole other world that exists outside my little bubble of isolation. Like the Twitter stuff. It’s a world where people are talking about me. Like the Tiffany’s stuff. A world where people recognize me in a city where I know like four people with any amount of intimacy.

And what else are they saying? How much of what they are saying are things I don’t know about?

I pull into the garage just as my phone dings. A text from Vaughn.

Still working late. Don’t wait up.

Yeah, don’t wait up, my ass. I grab my shopping bags and take them inside, passing by Vaughn’s office to get to our bedroom. The phone rings in there just as I pass.

Figures. More things to make me uneasy.

I drop the bags off on the bed and head back to the office just as the message starts to play.

“Vaughn?” a woman asks on the other line—Valencia? “We’re still on for tonight, right? I wasn’t sure if you were still into it. So I’m gonna assume you are. Meet you at the Bash. You’re still Bogart, I’m still Bacall.” The message ends.

Wow. Just wow. My husband is going to this big party after denying it in front of everyone yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner, and not only that, he’s going dressed up as one half of an iconic Hollywood movie couple. And I’m not the other half.