Page 9 of Let’s Make a Scene

In truth, Jack was part of the reason I summoned the courage to send in my audition tape. As the son of two of the biggest legends of stage and screen—Max Jones and Caroline Turner—perhaps it was no surprise he ended up following in their footsteps.

I first saw him perform when I bought a cheap ticket to the Royal Shakespeare Company theater in Stratford-Upon-Avon to watch a production of Love’s Labour’s Lost. Jack had been playing Berowne, and I was captivated by his performance, scouring the program for information about him. At twenty-two, he’d just graduated from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and was already playing lead roles with the RSC—it was impressive, and envy overtook lust as I watched him prowl the stage, the audience hanging on his every word.

The following year, he had a small role in a BBC adaptation of A Tale of Two Cities, which thrust him more firmly into the limelight.

“You too,” he says now. “Did you have a good journey?” It’s a polite question, delivered in his posh-boy, private-school voice.

“Bit of a nightmare, actually,” I admit, the jitter of nerves making me chatty. “The trains were all late because it’s hot, which I don’t even get. I mean, snow on the tracks—sure, but how can it be too sunny for the trains to run on time?” I shake my head. “The most British problem. You know, we have a special ‘fallen leaves’ timetable where I live, too? Like it’s simply unimaginable that we could find an efficient solution to deal with the leaves that fall off the same trees at the same time every single year.”

He looks a bit startled by this breathless rant. “I think it’s something to do with the rails expanding in the heat,” he says finally.

“Ah,” I reply. “Yeah, that makes sense.” There’s an awkward silence (hard to believe when I am providing all this classic train timetable chat). “So, I guess you’re ready to get going,” I say finally, gesturing to the table.

He nods. “It feels like it’s been a long time coming. For me, anyway. Bit of a whirlwind for you.” Although his expression is mild, there’s a tension in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“Mmm, that’s an understatement,” I agree.

“The chemistry read went well, though,” Jack says, and for some reason I feel more like he’s trying to reassure himself than me.

The chemistry read had actually passed in a blur, almost an out-of-body experience. They had us go through a couple of scenes together several times, while Jasmine or Logan said cryptic things like, “Let’s try that again but… give us something different this time.”

In the beginning, I was thrown by Jack’s presence, but soon I stopped seeing Jack at all. Instead, he was Edward, the standoffish younger brother of the man Emilia was supposed to marry. After the first few minutes I lost myself in it. The thrill of slipping into a different character, the fun of performing: the pure joy of it. When the audition ended, I’d lost all sense of time and place. The way I had to peel myself out of Emilia’s thoughts and feelings was almost unnerving, as if the room around me was coming slowly back into focus.

Clearly it had gone well… well enough for them to offer me the part. I only wish imposter syndrome wasn’t currently hitting me quite so hard.

“Yes,” I reply. “I think so—it’s all a bit of a haze. I guess my adrenaline was working overtime.”

He frowns at this. “But you’re prepared for today, right? I mean, you’re ready to jump in?”

I fix a bright smile on my face. “Oh, absolutely,” I say, even as my stomach ties itself in knots.

Hannah once described me as “embarrassingly confident,” which, when you think about it, is obviously not a compliment, but it is largely accurate. I’ve always loved to be at the center of things. For my whole life I’ve dreamed of acting professionally, have chased that improbable dream in every way I could manage, fueled by a frankly insane level of self-belief. Finally, the moment has arrived. I’m being offered what I’ve always wanted… and for the first time, I wonder if I can actually pull it off.

“Right.” Jasmine claps her hands together, breaking through my reverie. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started, shall we?”

Deep breath. I guess we’re about to find out.

Chapter 4 JACK

We take our places, sitting behind the cards printed with our names. I’m next to Cynthie, and I watch the way she touches the script in front of her with something like reverence.

I run my eyes over her, still bewildered by her presence. And her god-awful haircut.

She’s not a quiet person, fidgeting at my side, crossing and uncrossing her legs. I think she’s trying to hide her nerves, but the way her eyes dart around the room gives her away, as if she wants to take it all in, but only in tiny bite-size pieces so that no one guesses she’s looking. I catch the sweet, citrus scent of her perfume as she leans over to grab a bottle of water, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.

A Lady of Quality is supposed to be the next step on a career path that has been carefully planned since I was practically in the womb, and I’m trying hard not to panic that the whole enterprise is suddenly at the mercy of an untrained, undisciplined wild card.

Even if she smells great and is quite interesting to look at.

She blows at a strand of hair that’s fallen in her eyes and offers me a rueful grin. “It feels like the first day of school,” she says, her voice low as she leans toward me.

I try to shake off the jittery feeling that I get around her—like I’ve just chugged a quadruple espresso and I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. “I need to focus,” I say aloud. The words come out too hard, a reprimand, and from the way she moves abruptly away from me, I know I sounded rude.

“I just… I have a process.” I try again, but my nerves are taking over, mixing with the heady swirl of her perfume to smother me, and I’m flustered, so rather than an explanation, it sounds like another brush-off.

“Oh, sure,” Cynthie replies lightly. “A process. Got to have a process. Absolutely.” She gnaws on her bottom lip, and my eyes linger there, on her pretty mouth.

Pretty mouth?