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“No, just my headache from the other night.” I manufactured a wince and rubbed at my temples. “I need a night to kick back and take it easy.”
“Oh, man, that sucks. Why didn’t you mention?” Lacey pushed my hair back, and then she brightened. “You know what helps me when I get a headache? A nice deep massage to knead out my tension. Why don’t I come back with you and show you what I mean?” She gave my shoulder a squeeze, but I pulled back.
“I’d better not. I’m exhausted. Best I just sleep.” I kissed Lacey’s forehead and stepped away, pretending I didn’t see the hurt in her eyes. She’d see as well, given space, given time. She’d see us for what we were, and for what we could never be, and we’d both walk away from this with our hearts intact.
CHAPTER 18
LACEY
Iwas nervous the next morning, heading for breakfast. All night, I’d lain sleepless, arguing with myself — with my own fear of loneliness, of Eric’s rejection. Dad had loved Mom once, but he’d left her. Left me. How had that looked with him? Had Mom seen the signs? Had Dad gone to bed early pleading a headache? Ignored her feel-better texts? Left her on read?
This isn’t that. It’s a headache, end of.
But it started before that, in bed. He clammed up. You asked about his childhood, and boom. He quit talking.
But he was fine all day yesterday. Loving on set.
But that’s the agreement. Make the marriage look real.
His headache was real. He was all pale and sweaty.
But Sam…
Safire Rose…
My fears died at breakfast when Eric fed me a mango slice, then I noticed Berg watching from the buffet. Was the mango for my benefit, or was it for his? I felt better again in the back of our limo, no one to see us and he still took my hand. Then on set between takes, he kept checking his phone. I made a decision: I’d confront him tonight. I’d take him out for dessert, then we’d walk down the beach, past the bright lights of the tourists’ domain. We’d stand in the twilight with our feet in the surf, and I’d ask him outright, “Eric? What are we?”
We wrapped late that night, thanks to my distraction, and when I went to grab Eric, I found him with Sam.
“Sorry,” he said, when he saw me coming. “I was about to text you. Do you mind if we take the limo? Sam’s got me booked at some charity thing, but it’s last-minute. We’re about to be late.”
My heart plunged. “Tonight? What charity is it?”
Sam glanced at his watch. “Unhoused Children’s Initiative. Eric, are you ready? We need to beat traffic.”
“I’d love to tag along,” I said. “Is there room for one more?”
“Maybe next time,” said Sam, hustling Eric along. “I’m sorry. We’re already down to the wire. There’s no time to vet you for the guest list.”
Eric shrugged, helpless, as Sam dragged him off. I stood smiling blankly, watching them go. This didn’t mean anything. It was part of the job. And it was Sam’s doing, Eric had said. He hadn’t made plans with me. He hadn’t blown me off. This was bad luck, bad timing, just one bad night.
I asked him out the next morning on our way down to breakfast, so if Sam got any ideas I’d have first dibs. But I knew halfway through asking that it wasn’t to be. Eric had bumped into Joe Gruber at last night’s event, and Gruber was the director on his next project. Gruber had an interview booked for tonight, and he’d roped Eric into it. He’d already agreed.
The interview led to a party the next night, which Eric didn’t invite me to because Berg kept me late, shooting my long day standing on the landmine. He wanted to get it all in one day, all on thesameday so it looked authentic, even the night scene where I was rescued. I could’ve still made the party — we wrapped around ten — but when I texted Eric, he didn’t text back.
It’s loud,I told myself.He’s turned his phone off. It’s a string of bad luck, is all. Bad luck. Bad timing.
We were surface-level,said Safire Rose, in my head.Like, we had chemistry, but I wasn’t the one. He had parts of himself he never shared.
We didn’tfeelsurface-level when Eric held me. We’d felt more than that when I’d died in his arms, when he’d choked up for real and refused to let go. In time, he’d share with me, if we only had time. Soon, filming would wrap, and where would that leave us?
I needed to talk to him, simple as that. Be bold, be direct, and put an end to the questions.
The next morning, Berg had massed an army of extras, nearly a hundred all ready to go. He’d saved our biggest, baddest battle scene for close to the end, hoping if he shaved off some time early on, we’d have more to devote to getting it right. But we were over time and over budget, and Berg’s tension was palpable as he coached the extras.
“All I can tell you is, act like it’s real. As if any second could be the last of your life. If the man standing next to you falls, what do you do? Do you try to save him, or save yourself? Let your fear fill you and do what you feel. If that means run screaming, if that means piss your pants, I don’t care what you do, but I want chaos. And whatever you do, don’t step on my leads.” He jabbed a pencil at us and we waved to the extras. Berg frowned, then went back to his stressed-out tirade. “You can step on each other, but don’t step on Eric and Lacey. Fear and chaos, yes, but don’t rough up my stars.”
A few of the extras started to giggle. Berg’s expression went thunderous and they settled down. I glanced up at Eric in his muddy fatigues.
