Page 51 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“No.” She laughed, brittle and sharp. “That’s what I am. The invisible twin. The one nobody sees unless I’m standing next to her.” Her arms wrapped around herself, and just like that, the fury drained out of her. “I don’t know why I expected you to be different.”

“Erika—”

“Just tell me what you want.” The words cracked. “Money? A favor? Name it so I can stop wondering when the axe falls.”

She believed it—really thought he’d been cataloging her weaknesses, waiting for the right moment to strike. Joder. What had this town done to her? What had her sister done to make her think this was all she was worth?

“You want to know what I want?” His voice dropped. “I want to know why I can’t stop thinking about you. Why every time Martin looks at you wrong, I have to stop myself from putting him through a wall. Why—” He stopped, jaw clenching. Demasiado. He was saying too much.

She’d gone still, the fight draining from her face.

“Why what?”

“Forget it.”

“No.” She stepped toward him. “You don’t start that sentence and walk away. Why what, Stefan?”

He could see the flutter at her throat, every freckle scattered across her nose. She studied his face like she was trying to solve him. Dios. He wanted to let her.

“Why I see you,” he said. “Not her shadow. Not a scandal waiting to happen. You.” His hand rose, hovering near her jaw. “The way you watch light like you want to paint it. The way you’d burn yourself alive for your sister and never ask for anything in return. The way you stood up to Martin when you were shaking so hard you could barely breathe.”

“That’s why I haven’t told anyone.” His thumb brushed her cheek—barely a touch. Her breath stuttered. “Because you’re the only real thing I’ve found in this whole goddamn place. And I can’t—” His voice roughened. “I won’t be the one who destroys that.”

Neither of them moved.

The air between them had weight—everything building since the cove, the pool, the rescue boat. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted.

Walk away, Cruz.

But God, he wanted to kiss her.

Her hand rose, fingers brushing the open collar of his shirt, and the touch sent heat crackling down his spine. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She shivered under his touch, and the small sound she made nearly broke him.

“Stefan—”

“You keep saying my name like you haven’t decided what comes after it.” The words came out rougher than he intended.

A startled laugh escaped her. “I haven’t. That’s the problem.”

“Story of my life, Princesa.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. “This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.

“Add it to the list. Right after ‘impersonating my costar’s twin’ and ‘lying to a studio.’”

Neither of them moved. His forehead touched hers. The front door banged open.

“Oh, thank God.” Lily stood on the threshold, phone clutched in her grip, face drained of color. Her gaze ricocheted from his face to Erika’s, and her eyebrows shot toward her hairline.

Erika jerked back. Stefan’s hand fell to his side. Mierda.

“What happened?” His voice was raw.

“Corporate’s sending someone. Isabelle Vance.” Lily stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. “She lands tomorrow at two. Word is the studio’s not happy with Martin—budget overruns, timeline slips, the usual. They’re sending her to audit the production.”

“And if she finds problems?” Erika’s voice had steadied.

“She shuts us down. Or worse—she starts digging into why things have been ‘off.’” Lily’s gaze cut to Erika. “You see where I’m going with this.”