July 1993
IT TURNED OUT IVAN WAS ABLE TO PULL THIS TOGETHER so quickly because, like everyone else at CADS, his family had money. His investors were predominantly his uncles, one of whom had a business contact with land in Austria—miles of dense woodland that felt like you might walk for days and never find civilization again.
It was perfect forDreadbase, as we were now calling it.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were loaded,” I muttered.
“I’m not, my family is.”
Which was, in my estimation, something only rich people said. But in Ivan’s case, it didn’t stop him being damn talented, even if he couldn’t have made itthisfar without help. Besides,Iwanted to be rich and famous and successful, so I figured I ought to stop pouting about those who were.
That first day on set captured me—there’s no other way to put it. The towering trees, the wheeled cameras, the people rushing about, the noise and the silence in perfect balance,and the way I floated above it all, guided by a PA from trailer to set, given rundowns by health and safety, asked my coffee order and shown the craft service table, all these things in place, all these people working so that I could focus on the one thing I had to do: perform.
Everything revolved around artistic pursuit, attention to the tiniest detail, a harmonious effort that felt magnanimous to experience, the very fiber of the world realigning to center around one single story.
I finally,finally, understood that hunger inside myself.
It had clawed out, ravenous and depraved, when I took that necklace, when I kissed that boy—and I’d denied its existence. But now I knew, feeling the magic of that set, that I would have done anything to be there. I hadn’t because I hadn’t had to. I’d just gone to school. Met the right person.Got lucky.
I wouldn’t wait for luck next time.
My regret began to fade and a hideous certainty replaced it: Harper was right. I was down in the dirt with the rest of them, and here—surrounded by towering trees—I was lost in the woods with her once more. I felt her picking me apart. Could practically smell her perfume and—
“Adeline, I take it?”
I turned so quickly I might have believed the name my own, one I responded to with sudden, intense recognition. Or perhaps it was the voice that yanked some cord within me—low, melodic, a soft, rolling accent that could have brought me to my knees.
The owner of it wasn’t bad either—a mop of dark, messy curls that felt too gentle for the chiseled face: the sharp jaw, the slashes of brow, the ridges of a twice-broken nose.
He seemed just as taken with me, which I was still getting used to. I’d been pretty before, but forDreadbase, I’d been asked to bleach my hair, get eyelash extensions, and hit the sun beds. Now I was platinum incarnate, a prize to be won.
“I’m Oisín Connellan,” he said, holding out a hand that I immediately took, feeling the broad span of it enclose around my own.
“Nadine Heywood. And yes, I’ll be Adeline. Who are you?”
He flashed a blinding smile. “I’m your Howard.”
My on-screen love interest.
Hopefully I had more luck with this one than the last.
———
Our first day of filming wrapped early, and the rest of the cast began discussing plans for the evening. Just as I was preparing my excuses and bowing out, Oisín turned his gaze sharply from the huddle of fellow actors and met mine. Almost as though he knew—could read my hesitation, not from my expression but an attunement born of a day pressed up together for the camera. Our characters had to reach for each other without their notice, glance to each other before they looked to the rest of the collective, and constantly move a little closer, as though they might hasten to safety but by each other’s side was the only true haven.
It was not so easy to drop once the cameras stopped rolling.
“Please,” he said, those verdant eyes piercing mine. “It won’t be half as fun without you.”
I was nodding before I was even conscious of it.
(It should be noted that I was nineteen and he was twenty-five. I think that explains a lot.)
At the bar, as we clinked tequila shots, our group solidified. And for once, I was on the inside.
There were six of us and for the duration of filming we were practically inseparable. On our rare days off, we flocked to Vienna and drank wine spritzers in the squares before lining up shots at the bars, kicking our shoes into the corners and dancing until the early hours, flirting with the constant array of backpackers rolling through the city.
Casper Short and Damian Ryan played brothers and behaved that way off set too; Damian’s joviality and Casper’s more jaded wryness empowered a comedic duo. Rafi Habib (yes, that one—moved away from acting and into perfumery shortly after, now stocks half of Selfridges) was our driving force, dragging us to one last bar or an after-party or, a few weeks into our time there, letting the revelry dwindle out so that he and Casper could mysteriously disappear within ten minutes of each other and come back looking decidedly disheveled.
