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“Hey, are we going?”
“Soon,” said the driver. “We’re just waiting for—”
The back door flew open and a reporter jumped in, one of the ones who’d been at our breakfast.
“I’m Iris,” she said. “I’ll be the one doing your interview segments, so I thought we’d get started on your way to work. You don’t mind, do you?”
I opened my mouth to say I didn’t, but Eric beat me to it.
“Nope. Go ahead.”
“Wonderful, thank you. This is going to be great.” Iris pulled out a little pocket recorder and pointed it at us, its red mic light flashing. “So, the two of you started as sworn enemies. Your feud in the tabloids was the stuff of legend. Then suddenly you’re married, like the plot of some rom-com. How does that happen?”
“Well, I—” I started, but Eric cut in.
“Itwaslike a rom-com, in the sense it’s a trope. Enemies to lovers, I know that’s a thing. But what I’d want to make clear is, we’re still real people. We aren’t characters. This isn’t a movie. There’s more to our story than you see in the press.”
I sat gaping at Eric, half-impressed, half-annoyed. He’d stolen my answer, but his delivery was flawless. He turned toward me and reached for my hands. His dark eyes went soft, and I almost felt something, a warmth sweeping over me. An all-over glow.
“It’s hard to describe,” he said, and his lips turned up. I smiled along with him and twined my fingers with his. Then he let me go and turned that smile on Iris. I snapped back to myself, blinking to clear my head. I must’ve been lightheaded from skipping breakfast.
Eric leaned into Iris like he was telling a secret.
“I mean, I’ll admit passion played its part. It’s true what they say about love and hate. But once we got talking, once we got past the fireworks, we saw sides to each other that we didn’t before.”
Iris bent closer. “New sides, like what?”
“Like, I always saw Lacey as this blonde rom-com queen. I confused the real Lacey with her onscreen persona. But there’s more to her than some ingenue. She’s smart and she’s driven. She—”
“Hold on, hold up.” I jerked to attention. Iris’s brows shot up, and I realized I was scowling. A bolt of panic shot through me —act like two adults. Berg had demanded that, and I’d agreed. And now, here I was, not even on set yet and yelling at Eric. I cleared my throat. “Uh…”
“Do you disagree?” Iris swung her recorder my way. Its light blinked, accusing, and my mouth went dry.
Ididdisagree. How could I not? I was proud of the work I’d done, of the roles I’d chosen. Was Eric saying my charactersweren’tsmart or driven? I’d never played a bimbo or a shrinking violet, never taken a role I couldn’t respect. Yeah, I did rom-coms, but—
“Lacey? Do you disagree?”
“No.” My answer came out half-squeak, half-croak. I grabbed a bottle of water and took a long swig. “I don’t disagree. I just, uh, I… Eric said everything I wanted to say. If he keeps going, there’ll be none left for me.” I smiled, wide and ditzy. Eric pulled me close. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and I wanted to smack him.
It only got worse from there, a wreck in slow motion. It was like Eric was on a mission to rub me the wrong way. Like every move, every smile, every word from his lips, was calculated expressly to drive me insane. He hovered between takes, the perfect husband, massaging my shoulders. Fetching me water. Offering to run lines with me, then giving me tips — tips I had no choice but to smile and swallow.
On set, he was worse, because he wasfocused. I was all over the place, up in my head, flustered from Berg’s threats and pissed off at Eric. We were shooting an intense scene, Kate and Lock’s big reunion, ten years of water under the bridge. Ten years that had seen them join opposite forces. All they had were their memories and two dreams at odds, two factions bent on destroying each other.
“Action,” called Berg.
Eric came running through the rain-machine downpour, mud-streaked and ragged. He collapsed at my feet. I jabbed him with my bayonet. Kicked him hard in his ribs. He rolled over, stared up at me, eyes glazed, unseeing.
I want you to both treat this like an audition. Because it is, if you want to keep working with me.
I gasped. Whispered “Lock.” It didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel that surge I felt when I slid into my role, when my feelings and my character’s were in alignment.
Some ingenue. Some blonde rom-com queen.
Eric coughed corn syrup the color of blood. He wiped it off and snarled up at me, teeth streaked with red. I dropped to my knees.
“Lock—”
“I don’t know you.” He twisted free of my touch. “You’re dead, or you should be. Better dead than…” He coughed and I held him. He beat at my chest. Berg holleredcut, and Eric sat up.
