Cassandra hadn’t left her balcony doors open and the result was like stepping inside a pub after a bottle had been smashed on the floor. She was snoring, which was an instant relief, and Rowan went over to the bed.
All those who considered Cassandra flawless, downright angelic, one of the most beautiful women in the world, had never seen her this way: hair like a golden gorse bush shrouding the pillow; a tiny pool of dribble collecting at the corner of her famous, bee-stung lips. Frankly: a bit of a mess just like every other human being in the morning. It would do a lot of people an enormous amount of good to see what the reality was before two hours of makeup and a stylist had got hold of her.
‘Oi, Cassandra, wake up.’
Nothing.
‘Cassandra, your phone is ringing.’
Nothing.
‘Cassandra, do you want another glass of wine?’
She roused suddenly, violently levering herself up into a sitting position, like something from a Hammer horror film.
‘Rowan. Jesus Christ.’ Her voice was scratchy. ‘What the hell are you doing in here? Did we…?’ She glanced down at herself, where she was clutching the sheet to her chest and, thankfully, was still dressed beneath.
‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘Of course we didn’t.’
‘What do you want then?’ she groaned, slumping back down on the pillows just as her phone began ringing again.
‘For that incessant noise to stop. I had to wake you up. If I hear the“La Cucaracha”one more time, I’m gonna to throw your phone in the pool.’
‘Like I care.’ She flipped onto her front and pulled the pillow over her head. He reached over to yank it off, but she gripped it tighter, so – rather than take part in a tug of war – he lifted up one corner and bent his head down to talk into the gap he’d created.
‘Suit yourself, but didn’t you say something yesterday at dinner about a modelling job today? And that the car was going to pick you up. Maybe that’s it.’
‘So what?’ came the muffled reply.
He straightened, flummoxed for a second as to how to answer that. ‘So, they’ll replace you with some other model. Andso, your agent is here right now and will see exactly why that happened.’ Honestly, he didn’t know why he cared, except for the fact that someone was probably going to start banging on the front door next and he might lose his grip on the final thread of his sanity.
Finally, he got a reaction. She rolled over again and sat up. ‘Fine.’ She gave him a push. ‘Get out.’
‘Gladly.’
He retreated to his room, listening to the crashing and swearing and wondering if she was having trouble co-ordinating herself or was just majorly pissed off. High maintenance didn’t even come close. He was glad she was going to work so he wouldn’t have to put up with her mooching about the villa in her enormous sunshades, acting like she was dying of consumption, rather than just hungover.
He contemplated his bed and knew that it was too late. He wasn’t going to be able to get back into it and sleep. His insomnia was getting to the point where he might have to get some sleeping pills, but he hated to go down that route. With the strange work hours in the movie business, he’d heard of far too many actors starting out that way. First it was sedatives to get to sleep, then uppers to wake up again in time for the shoot. Before you knew it, you were a walking chemical factory and addicted to every drug under the sun. No thank you.
Scooping up his phone, sunglasses, and the cosy-crime book he was reading, he went downstairs and out onto the terrace. There was a small table positioned right beside the oval shaped pool, which he wasn’t allowed to use until he got his stitches out at the end of the week. He took a second to appreciate the barely there warmth of the sun, the low sound of crickets from deep within the wild, dark green shrubbery and the fairy-tale quality of the white clouds in the cornflower blue sky.
Better. Much better.
His phone beeped and he picked it up, seeing that Pearl – one of his old castmates – had messaged him in the group chat they’d established years ago for Helios franchise. Not all of them used it and they could go weeks without getting in touch, but the regulars would usually jump on if they saw a conversation happening – even if it was late evening in LA.
Pearl: How is “don’t be an asshole” training going, Roey-wan-Kenobi?
He’d told them the media training was the reason he was out in Italy because the fake relationship was obviously meant to be a secret and that was just the first part of the whole thing, which made him uncomfortable. He liked privacy but he didn’t like lying. Not to his friends.
Predictably, he tapped out in response.
Jayden: I don’t know why you find this so hard, dude. Just play nice.
Rowan: I am nice.
Kristof: Nice isn’t his problem. Young Rowan has a bad combination of idealism and a short temper.
Pearl: Having a short temper doesn’t disqualify you from being nice?
