Page 83 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Oh,” I flounder. “I’m not… I wasn’t…” I don’t know what to say, and not only because I have no idea how much Clemmie knows about the reality of my arrangement with Cyn.

“I know it’s weird that they used to date.” Clemmie leads the way to an empty table, and I pull out a seat for her before taking one myself. “I was definitely freaked-out about it at the start. Imagine being in a relationship with someone when their ex-girlfriend is actual Cynthie Taylor.”

I exhale. “Yeah. I mean, on the other hand her ex is the most famous rock star on the planet so…” I trail off with a helpless shrug.

Clemmie shakes her head. “I really wanted her to be a tremendous bitch, you know? When she turned out to be an amazing person it was very disappointing.” She grins. “I did worry for about five minutes that I was the person standing in the way of their aesthetically pleasing love story, but then I realized that there’s really nothing romantic about their feelings for each other.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s pretty obvious your husband is obsessed with you,” I say. “Every time you smile at me, he looks like he wants to kick me in the shins.”

She laughs. “Don’t mind him. He’s not usually like that, but he’s obviously remembering one or two throwaway comments I might have made during our Blood/Lust viewings.”

“Ah, let me guess. The shirtless fight scenes?”

Laughter gurgles in her throat and her cheeks redden again. “Maybe.”

“What did we miss?” Theo arrives, placing a glass of champagne in front of his wife.

Cynthie is behind him holding her own glass, and a whiskey on the rocks for me.

Clemmie and I exchange a look. Probably best not to say shirtless fight scenes. “Clementine was just commenting on the architecture of the building,” I say airily.

“Yes,” she agrees. “The architrave has a really baroque influence, don’t you think?”

Theo looks baffled. “What the fuck is an architrave?”

“It’s… um… a decorative feature.” She buries her face in her champagne.

Cynthie is very obviously not buying any of this, so I decide to change the subject.

“Didn’t the studio say that Brooke was going to be here?” I ask, looking around. “She’s the director of the documentary they’re making about the movie,” I clarify for Theo and Clemmie.

“Yeah.” Theo takes a swig of his drink. “Cynthie mentioned that. Is it going to be weird having them follow you around when you’re trying to work? Not sure I’d like it.”

I shrug. “Honestly? Yes, but that was the studio’s condition, and I think it will be worth it if we get the movie right.”

“You start rehearsals soon?” Clemmie asks.

I nod. “I actually fly back to the UK in a few days.” I glance over at Cynthie, and she’s staring down into her glass, her expression hard to read. Her other hand is in her lap, and I take it in mine and squeeze. Her fingers are cold. She gives me the ghost of a smile. “Cynthie’s coming out the week after.”

“Funny to be going back,” she says, and I’m not sure if she means to England, or to the film, or to thirteen years ago. Maybe it’s all of the above.

I look over to the dance floor, where the pulsating beat of the music has dropped to something slower.

“How about a dance?” I ask.

“Good idea,” Theo agrees instantly, holding his hand out to his wife. “Let’s slow dance and then find a dark corner to make out in, like we’re back at school.”

“I think you and I had different teenage experiences,” Clemmie says, but he’s already tugging her to the dance floor and pulling her close, gazing down at her like she’s the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

“No school dance chaperone would allow it,” Cynthie says, shaking her head. “There’s not a millimeter of space between them.”

“They’re a great couple.”

“I know. Being around them is enough to restore a person’s faith in love stories. Which is lucky when we’re about to film an epic one, and I feel a bit shaky about pulling it off.”

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous?” I ask, idly. “I’ve seen everything you’ve ever made, and you could do this in your sleep. You’re an incredible actor. The script reads like it was written for you… which—I should remind you—it actually was.”

A shadow passes over her face, but she straightens her shoulders, shakes her golden-brown hair so that it spills down her back. “I suppose so,” she says.