Page 40 of Let’s Make a Scene

Jack.

Jack is a full sentence.

It’s deeply, deeply unfair that there is obviously some thousands-year-old instinct, some biological hangover in my DNA, that means the sight of him, strong and in control on the back of a magnificent, midnight-black horse, makes all my bones feel like they’re dissolving.

My eyes linger on his muscular thighs, clad in light breeches, before moving up to take in the rigid torso, the broad shoulders in the perfectly tailored jacket, the strong hands negligently wrapped around the reins, the rakish tilt of his hat casting his face in interesting, angular shadows.

There’s a flash of white teeth.

“Careful, Taylor. You’re drooling.” His amused voice does a fantastic job of breaking the spell.

“I was admiring the horse,” I say coldly.

“Sure you were.”

I grind my teeth together. Surprise, surprise, Jack Turner-Jones is a very experienced rider who looks incredible on a horse. Apparently, it’s one of many skills his parents deemed necessary from a young age. These, I have discovered in the last couple of weeks, also include fencing, speaking fluent French, and playing the violin.

This is quite a contrast to the special skills that Hannah and I mastered in our early years—performing a flawless Macarena; being able to play Britney Spears’s “Toxic” on a recorder (self-taught); knowing all the words to “The Real Slim Shady.”

“You know we’ve got a late start tomorrow,” Simon says as we watch one of the unfortunate runners try to herd Logan’s sheep into position with middling success.

“I know.” I sigh, deeply, happily. “A late rise!” The days have been punishingly long, more often than not starting at 6:00 a.m. and then lasting into the early hours of the evening.

“So we’re all headed to the pub tonight,” Simon continues. “You in?” He smiles hopefully at me.

“A night out actually does sound great,” I agree. I have to admit: I thought that there’d be a lot more partying on a film set, but by the time we limp back to Alveston Hall in the evenings we’re all exhausted. “I’ll ask Hannah, Patty, and Liam.”

“Cool.” Simon nods.

“I already asked them,” Jack butts in, his mouth curling up in satisfaction.

“What?”

“I already asked Hannah. And Patty and Liam,” he repeats slowly, as if I’m having trouble keeping up.

“Why would you invite them?” I straighten, my voice laced with suspicion, and I feel Domino’s muscles ripple underneath me, a reminder that she’s not—in fact—an armchair. I go as still as possible, and Domino doesn’t move any farther. When I’m sure it’s safe, I glance over to the side, where Hannah usually sits, behind the wall of camera equipment, but she’s not there.

“I don’t know where you get the idea that I don’t get on with people,” Jack muses. “I happened to run into them a few minutes ago, and I invited them out. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you must have known they’d invite me,” I say slowly.

Jack only shrugs, but I leap on this like a cat on one of those little laser pointers.

“Why, Jack,” I bat my lashes, beaming wide. “If you wanted me to come along, you could have just asked.”

Hattie smothers a laugh.

“It’s not their fault if they have terrible taste in friends,” Jack says, bored.

“Anyway,” Simon puts in, clearly trying to smooth out the tension. “It’ll be great. And I’m glad you’re coming.” He smiles at me, and I smile back.

When I glance over at Jack, he is glaring darkly at the pair of us.

“Okay, gang,” Logan shouts then. “Sorry for the delay, but we’re ready to run through now.”

He and Jasmine come and stand in front of the five horses.

“So, as we practiced, we start off with Jack, Hattie, and Rufus at the back with Simon and Cynthie in front. After Rufus’s last line, we should be approaching the curve in the path, which is where Simon and Jack change places, so that Jack and Cynthie can finish out the scene,” Jasmine says, gesturing with her hands as she talks. “We’re going to be doing multiple shots, so don’t worry too much about the choreography running smoothly, just make sure you’re on the mark for your lines. Got it?”