Max AND I GOT MARRIED in Joshua Tree, with Connor, Harry, and Max’s brother, Luc. Max had originally suggested Saint-Tropez or Barcelona for our wedding and honeymoon. But both of us had just finished movies shooting in Los Angeles, and I thought it sounded nice, just a small group of us in the desert. I dispensed with white, having long ago stopped feigning innocence. Instead, I wore an ocean-blue maxi dress, my blond hair feathered ever so slightly. I was forty-four. Connor wore a flower in her hair. Harry stood next to her in dress pants and a button-down. Max, my groom, wore white linen. We joked that it was his first wedding, so he should be the one to wear white. That evening, Harry and Connor flew back to New York. Luc flew back to his home in Lyon. Max and I stayed in a cabin, a rare night alone. We made love on the bed, on the desk, and, in the middle of the night, on the porch underneath the stars. In the morning, we ate grapefruit and played cards. We flipped channels on the television. We laughed. We talked about movies we loved, movies we’d shot, movies we wanted to make. Max said he had an idea for an action movie starring me. I told him I wasn’t sure I was fit to be an action hero. “Tm in my forties, Max,” I said. We were walking in the desert, the sun beating down on us. I had forgotten the water in the cabin. “You are ageless,” he said to me, kicking up sand as we went. “You can do anything. You are Evelyn Hugo.” “Tm Evelyn,” I told him. I stopped in place. I grabbed his hand. “You don’t always need to call me Evelyn Hugo.” “But that is who you are,” he said. “You are the Evelyn Hugo. You are extraordinary.” I smiled and kissed him. I was so relieved to feel loved, to feel love. I was so exhilarated by wanting to be with someone again. I thought Celia would never come back to me. But Max, he was right there. He was mine.