Instead, I clear my throat and force a more dignified approach. “What I meant to say is, I’m sorry for being impatient with you.”
“I get it. I know what it’s like to struggle with something that should be simple.” His fingers tap against his sword hilt, a nervous gesture I hadn’t noticed before. “I have dyslexia. I can wield a sword, but if you make me read ‘ether’—I mean, ‘either,’ it always trips me up.”
“Either versus ether,” I repeat, nodding with understanding.
“Yeah. My brain says ‘either,’ my mouth says ‘ether,’ and now I’m going to be fucking up that word for a week.” He chuckles, a little sheepish, a little endearing. The kind of laugh that makes me want to learn every word he struggles with—
Nope.
“That must be frustrating,” I offer, my tone gentler than it’s ever been with him.
“Sometimes the simplest lines…” He bites the inside of his cheek, tilting his head. “What I’m saying is, everyone needs the right tools, whether it’s a properly balanced sword or…”
He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway. I’ll figure it out. You focus on nailing your scenes, with the correct equipment.”
What is wrong with me? I’ve spent the entire three days at the table read and this week rolling my eyes at him, convinced I had him pegged as the irritating playboy who coasts by on good looks, a family name, and never-earned talent.
But I was wrong.
Notcompletelywrong—he’s still frustratingly flirtatious when he should be focusing—but wrong enough that shame burns in my chest.
While I’ve been up here on my moral high ground, he’s been silently dealing with challenges I never bothered to consider.
The rest of the day drags on. Despite the better sword, I still can’t manage to say my lines while performing my choreography, earning many of Felix’s signatureI am deeply disappointed in youstares. His one-month ultimatum looms over me like a storm cloud.
I need to start taking things into my own hands.
Chapter 7
Reese
It’s now or never.
I traverse the path between the cabins to the one closest to the lake. My boots crunch on the gravel. My metal bra digs into my ribs with every step, the chain mail belt clinking like demon toddlers banging pots across the quiet lake.
I should’ve changed out of this costume. But it’s already late, I’m fresh off set, and if I stop walking now, I’ll overthink it and talk myself out of it.
I rehearse what I’ll say:I need your help. My lips move silently, practicing.
Simple. Professional. Not desperate at all.
I approach what should be Dante’s cabin. Laughter spills from the window, along with the sound of bass. Of course he’s having a party.
This is a bad idea. I fidget with my leather skirt.
I could back out, ask Heather for another trainer, but that would cost the studio money.
Money Felix has been complaining about nonstop.
Plus, requesting another trainer screams “disagreeable diva.”
I have to do this.
It’s either ask Dante for help or fail tomorrow. What if he rejects me? I was kind of mean to him. He seems like the type to enjoy that sort of thing, though. I bite my lip, weighing options.
You’re out of options, Reese.I huff, inching up his cabin steps. When I reach his porch, I peek through the window.
The place looks like he personally flew in a designer fromArchitectural Digest.
