Page 34 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Or maybe . . .” Lily’s scarlet lips parted in a slow, delicious grin. “He sees something your sister never let him see.” She plucked a gauzy white sundress from the rack and pressed it into Erika’s unsteady grip. “Here. This is for the beach confrontation scene—you know, where Jake betrays Luna.”

“Speak of the devil,” Lily said, eyes flicking over Erika’s shoulder.

Erika turned. Stefan was leaning against a costume rack, arms crossed. Something in his expression said he’d heard more than he should.

“Ladies.” His voice was warm, unhurried. “Am I interrupting?”

“Just girl talk,” Lily said, already backing toward a rack of sequined gowns. “I’ll let you two . . . prepare.” She shot Erika a look and disappeared.

Stefan pushed off the rack and closed the distance between them, close enough that she caught sandalwood, gin, and something briny.

“Recovered from yesterday’s tumble?” His mouth curved. “You hit that mat pretty hard.”

“I was fine.” She gripped the sundress. “You’re the one who tripped me.”

“Mmm.” He didn’t argue, just let his gaze drift over her face. “You’re up early. I saw you on the beach this morning. Sunrise. Palm tree.” One eyebrow lifted. “Looked like you were enjoying the view.”

Everything in her wanted to flee. “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”

“Scenic route.” His smile widened. Slow. “I don’t blame you. The light was beautiful.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it—full lips, the ghost of stubble along his jaw. “For the record, Princesa—if you wanted a private showing, all you had to do was ask. I don’t bite.” A pause. “Hard.”

Then he was gone, strolling out of the tent like he hadn’t just unraveled her completely. Erika stood frozen, the sundress clutched to her body, her breath fast.

Lily’s head popped around a garment rack. “You okay, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I need air,” Erika whispered.

Before she could escape, Martin’s voice boomed across the set. “Let’s move, people! On the first day of principal photography, we’re already behind schedule. Burning daylight!”

Oh, God. Six more weeks of this. Erika clutched the sundress tighter and prayed she’d survive.

Erika’s finger hovered over the call button for a full minute. She couldn’t do it. But before she could retreat, the phone in her hand started buzzing.

The screen lit up: Anneliese.

Water dripped from Erika’s hair onto the plush white sofa as she swiped to answer. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Erika.” Her sister’s voice cut through pleasantries. “Did you see it? That Page Eight piece? The photos of you and Stefan?”

Erika’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” she said, digging her toes into the carpet. “I saw.”

Anneliese exhaled, a sharp hiss. “What exactly happened? Did he touch you?”

“No,” Erika said, tightening her grip on the phone. “Nothing like that. The photos just caught a weird moment.”

The line fell so quiet that Erika checked whether the call had dropped.

“You’re lying,” Anneliese’s voice dropped to that dangerous whisper. “I know his games, Erika.”

A pause. When Anneliese spoke again, her tone had shifted. “Actually . . . this could work for us.”

“What?”

“The tabloids are eating up the tension between you two. Olivia thinks we should lean in. Post something on my stories tonight. Nothing crazy—just a shot of you looking annoyed on set. Caption it ‘some people make work SO hard.’ Let them speculate.”

Erika’s stomach turned. “Annie, I don’t think⁠—”