Page 26 of Let’s Make a Scene

“I want to try a deeper color on the lip,” Liam muses. “We’ve obviously got to keep things natural, but I think more of a rose shade could work.”

“Mmm.” Patty tips her head to the side, observing my reflection with a clinical detachment. “Yes, and don’t you think the darker wigs will be better for contrast?”

As Patty and Liam chat details, I catch Hannah’s eye in the mirror, and she’s beaming.

You look beautiful, she mouths.

So do you, I mouth back. And just like that, it feels like everything is right with the world again.

Chapter 10 JACK

When I wake on the morning of the first day of filming, the sun is barely struggling up and the weather outside my window is dreary and overcast. I try not to take that as a sign, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shaking in my nineteenth-century riding boots. So much of my future hinges on the next few weeks, and rehearsals haven’t exactly gone smoothly.

I’m ready to admit that some of that might be my fault. After my spectacular argument with Cynthie in the coffee shop, I decided to embrace the time-honored British tradition of pretending that nothing had actually happened, while letting the animosity simmer.

The trouble is that the simmering is really more of a roiling boil at this point. I’m worried that the stupid feud that has grown between us is going to seriously derail production, and I know that I have to put the good of the film ahead of my own pride.

Honestly, though, it would require the patience of an actual saint to deal with the woman—not only is she still not up to the job, but she seems almost gleeful when presented with any opportunity to unsettle me.

I glance at my phone, and as well as informing me that it’s 4:30 a.m., I also have a new message waiting from my dad.

DAD:

First day. Don’t fuck it up, and try not to go too big. You know what you’re like. Remember it’s not a bloody pantomime!!!!!

Stirring words of support as usual. My anxiety spikes and I draw in several deep breaths, trying to settle my body. I check the time again. There’s absolutely no point in trying to go back to sleep, so I might as well try to do something productive.

Heaving myself out of bed, I move to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my bleary face, brush my teeth, then I pull on a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt and head for the gym.

It’s a small space, tucked away in the basement, and this morning I am—as I expected—the only person here.

My parents have had me working with a personal trainer since I was thirteen, but Jasmine and Logan want Edward to have quite a tough physique, so I’ve been doing a lot of lifting, trying to bulk up. I pull up my workout mix and stick my headphones in, letting the music blare as I lose myself in the soothing repetition of the exercises. My mind empties and it’s a blissful relief.

I’m standing in front of the mirror, on my second set of bicep curls, when I become aware of a presence in the doorway. I think I knew she was there even before I saw her move in my peripheral vision: somehow I always seem to know when Cynthie’s around… She’s like a thunderstorm, bringing a shift in the atmosphere along with her.

I pause the music.

“Oh, god.” Cynthie closes her eyes, she looks tired and pale in sweatpants and a ratty sweater. “It’s far too early for me to deal with you.”

I was also counting on ingesting an enormous amount of caffeine before having to speak to her, but right now I can only stand there blinking owlishly while my brain tries to catch up.

Clearly her hair and makeup trials have been a success because the awkward haircut is gone, and I feel inexplicably furious about it. She looks… Well, if she were anyone else, I’d say she was beautiful—all eyes and mouth and soft, glowing skin. But I know all too well that behind that sweet face lies the blackened soul of a banshee, and no haircut is going to make me forget it.

Her gaze travels over me, and when her eyes meet mine in the mirror there’s a second when that unsettling, unwelcome heat pulses between us again.

I pull a headphone from my ear. “Can I help you? Or have you just come to stare at my naked arms some more?”

“It doesn’t look like you need an audience—you’re clearly more than capable of admiring yourself. What a surprise to find you working out in front of a mirror.” Her eyes brush over me again. “Like a parakeet with its favorite toy. A tiny-brained little narcissist.”

“You’re supposed to lift weights in front of a mirror so that you can work on your form,” I reply stiffly. “Which you would know if you ever lifted anything heavier than a paperback.” I take my time giving her my own once-over in the mirror, and a slow, pink flush creeps into her cheeks.

“God, you really are the worst,” she spits.

“Right back at you.”

There’s a heavy pause. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask.

“I was just… wandering about a bit. I didn’t know there was a gym down here.”