“Noted.” She stares at the ground, and I don’t want her to close up. A second passes, and another, until I say, “My favorite of yours wasStrings of Time, actually.”
“Are you messing with me right now?” She squints at me, like she’s waiting for the punchline. “You’re seriously telling me you liked a romance where a physicist discovers time travel, tries to stop the apocalypse, and somehow finds time to fall for a time refugee?”
“Would you rather I lie?”
She cracks a little with a laugh, shaking her head. “Not a lot of people have seen that one, but I loved playing Aria. It was the first time I wasn’t cast as the ditzy girl.”
“That scene where you’re talking about being the oldest, carrying all that weight but wanting to make a name for yourself?” I lean in. “Hits close to home. Middle child here—always trying to prove myself against my siblings.” I catch myself getting too honest.
Her brow lifts. “I’m impressed you remember so much of it.”
“My sisters were all rooting for her and Julian to get together, but I thought the romance kind of undercut her story. She didn’t need him to save her—realistically, she would’ve figured out that time machine mess on her own.” I smirk. “Just like you’re going to figure out how to do this choreography.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Not trying to flatter you. If I were, I’d tell you I had your poster up in my room, the one where you’re lying in all those magnolias.”
“Are you serious?” Her pupils dilate.
I shrug. “What can I say? You’re my generation’s itgirl.”
“Not the worst thing I’ve been told by a fan.” She emphasizes the wordfanwith that frost I’m getting used to, but there’s a warmth underneath. “I once had a man tell me he got a life-size doll made of me.”
“That would be very interesting.” I hold back the cringe.
“Don’t get any ideas.” When she gives me her real smile—not the Hollywood one—I want nothing more than to see it again.
“How did you prepare for your role as Aria?”
“I was twenty years old and had no clue what I was doing. It was all awkward line readings and praying I wouldn’t trip over my own feet. I did learn the Charleston, though, for when we traveled back to the twenties and had to dance. It was really fun.”
Dance.
“Sounds like you weren’t trying so hard at being perfect. Unlike now.”
“This is different. I have to nail tomorrow’s scene. And then there’s the one next week, with the bandits, and the one after that with the king, and—” She catches herself. “A leading lady doesn’t get out of her head during a scene. She stays focused.”
A leading lady?It catches me by surprise. She’s one of the most famous actresses of our time. “Come on, how many movies have you been in?”
“None like this,” she whispers, and then I see it.
There’s a need here. A desire to assert herself on this set.
Damn. Her vulnerability gets under my skin, seeing someone else wearing a mask like that. Because I know exactly what it’s like, keeping up appearances while something wilder claws to get out. It makes me want to show her just how good it feels when you finally stop fighting it.
For a split second, the moment burns too hot, too fast, and I want to do what I do best, to show her how much I see her, to enjoy whatever the tightrope of tension is between us, but I keep the reins on myself.
This is important to her.
I’m going to do my best to get her to where she wants to go, because where else am I going to do that this year?
“Right then, time to shake things up.” I say, standing. “You’ll never nail this if you keep overthinking everything. We gotta adapt, improvise, and own it.”
Before she can protest, I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through my playlist until I find what I’m looking for. French electropop fills the room, and I turn up the volume to full blast, slide the phone onto the bench, and stand up, shaking out my legs and arms. Bass thrums through the mats beneath our feet as I roll my shoulders, letting the infectious rhythm take over.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“You need to get out of your skin,” I say, extending my hands palm-up in invitation. When she hesitates, I wiggle my fingers playfully. “Come on, Reese. Dance with me.”
