by Lee Winter
Chills shot down her spine, and Elizabeth forced the prick of tears back by sheer force of will.
Remarkable. Why the hell were they wasting talent like this on Joey Carter?
Summer inhaled deeply, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks.
Delvine wiped her eyes and then clapped loudly, earning a wince from Summer. “Oh yes, goosebumps every time. Brilliant.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Wouldn’t you agree, Bess?”
Oh, so that’s what this was. Delvine had contrived all this to prove to Elizabeth that Summer could act. She loved being right.
Elizabeth, in turn, loathed being manipulated, and the triumphant gleam in Delvine’s eyes set her teeth on edge. She glanced at Summer, who was watching her, breath held.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice neutral. “I would agree.”
Summer’s shoulders bunched up again, before she put her sunglasses back on and turned from them both, sagging in obvious disappointment.
Delvine lifted a shapely eyebrow at Elizabeth, looking scandalized.
Guilt pierced her. She hadn’t realized her opinion mattered so much to Summer.
Had they been alone, Elizabeth would have shared her true thoughts on the performance. She still could, later—assuming her furious co-star was still talking to her at the end of lunch.
Chapter 7
Jean-Claude Badour was exactly as Summer remembered him. Elegant, pretentious, eccentric, and sweet, not to mention devoted to his boyfriend—Marcus, a French-Canadian chef. She greeted them both like old friends. After all, once you’ve sung Mariah Carey in a Parisian karaoke bar together, there’s no going back. Besides, she’d seen them both at her mother’s grand Christmas party last year, so it hadn’t been that long between drinks.
“Summer! Mon cherie, you look the same as ever.” Jean-Claude kissed both cheeks with enthusiasm. “Taller maybe?” He winked.
She rolled her eyes, recalling the first time they’d met, on the set of his steampunk romance La Chute des Pétales de Rose—The Fall of Rose Petals, which her mother had worked on. Summer, then thirteen, had been bemoaning her shortness to a dapper Frenchman she’d discovered sprawled out behind a box of lighting equipment, nibbling on lunch. Of course, that had been two growth spurts and fifteen years ago. She now knew members of lighting crews never wore bespoke fashion nor indulged in cheese and paté lunch platters.
Summer glanced around. She could smell cooking, so obviously the luxury suite had its own kitchen. Was this all to impress Elizabeth?
“How is your père?” Jean-Claude asked. “Still smashing into things?” Before she could answer, he rushed on. “I’ve spoken to your delightful mère, of course. Skye is thrilled you have Elizabeth in your life. She tells me of this powerful amour between you that crosses all divides.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped around to look at Summer. Delvine’s eyes became speculative.
Okay, she would definitely have to kill her mother later. No wonder Jean-Claude had been so convinced Delvine was lying. He’d gone directly to his inside source, who’d confirmed the rumors as fact. Because Skye never listened to a damned word Summer said and loved making up her own narratives when the truth didn’t suit.
Turning, Jean-Claude greeted Elizabeth with a brush of lips against each cheek as they murmured their hellos.
Delvine’s phone rang and she muttered a half-hearted apology, announcing “duty calls” before she scuttled out onto the balcony in a jangle of beads and bangles, closing the French doors behind her.
“Sit, sit,” Jean-Claude waved at an overstuffed couch. He took one of the chairs facing it; Marcus, the other.
With a measured look that seemed to say gird your loins, Elizabeth took Summer’s hand and led her to the couch, where they sat side by side. Their thighs touched; navy pants against Summer’s thin yellow dress. The heat of that leg traced up and down her skin like wildfire.
Elizabeth did not let go of her hand. Summer might still be annoyed, but it took every ounce of concentration not to react to that warmth. She cursed her hormones for not yet getting the memo from upstairs. This woman was off limits, because she was unattainable, straight—not to mention rude and selfish and…still straight…and…a whole bunch of other things she couldn’t remember right now while her hand was being clasped.
Suddenly everyone was staring. Summer started. “Sorry?”
Jean-Claude tilted his head. “I asked what it is that attracted you to your lovely woman.”
Summer tried to think of a coherent answer. She needed something romantic, convincing, and heavily censored from her still on-edge hormones. At that thought, she felt her cheeks redden.
Jean-Claude chortled. “Non, non, I didn’t mean that.”
Ugh. Summer wanted to kill him for making this tawdry.
“Pardon, Summer, I have embarrassed you. I’ll give you an easier question. Tell me something she does that amuses you.”
“Um.” Summer’s mind blanked. Funny? Elizabeth didn’t appear to have that gene. She was dry and witty and highbrow with her humor, but she didn’t really do funny.
“It can’t be so difficult, can it?” Jean-Claude prodded.
Oh shit. She was screwing this up. Elizabeth’s eyebrow lifted in challenge.
“She screams like a little girl whenever she sees a spider,” Summer blurted out. “I’m not even talking big ones, just tiny ones. I have to go wade in there with brooms to get it outside or she’ll be checking under the bed all night.”
The hand holding hers tightened. Hard. “Spiders,” Elizabeth drawled. “Oh yes, that’s right. Hate ’em.”
Frowning, Jean-Claude said, “My film set is in the wilderness. There may be spiders sometimes. Will this be a problem?”
“No problem,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “I’m sure I’ll cope.”
“She will,” Summer nodded. “I was exaggerating a little. She doesn’t really scream that much. It’s more a pained whimper. Or series of them.”
Jean-Claude laughed.
Elizabeth’s look could have cut glass. “Arachnophobia is quite common,” she murmured. “And I do not scream or whimper.”
“Of course,” Jean-Claude said in a placating tone that only made Elizabeth clench Summer’s hand harder.
“And what of Summer?” Jean-Claude asked Elizabeth. “Does she have any amusing foibles?”
Elizabeth’s lips puckered as though tasting a lemon. “Not really,” she replied. “Her cactus obsession I suppose. Her home is a shrine to them.”
“You like…” he squinted at Summer, “the cactus plants? Really?”
“Succulents,” Summer corrected instantly, as if this was a common mistake. “Cactuses are just a type of succulent. Some of them are so cute. But I don’t like anything with prickles. Well, except Elizabeth of course.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand with the one not trapped in a vice-like grip.
“Ha!” Marcus brightened. “That is funny.”
Elizabeth’s face wore the odd, blank expression she used when she was about to turn into Hunt. That never ended well.
“It is good you can tease each other,” Jean-Claude said earnestly. “So, Summer, how goes the photography?” He glanced at Elizabeth. “You must know how talented she is, oui? Her mother is so proud and sends me her photos on the email.”
“Yes, so much talent,” Elizabeth said. “She always makes her subjects look so beautiful. It’s the way she lights them.”
Oh crap.
“Beautiful? Lights them?” Jean-Claude shook his head. “Summer, are you taking photos of people now?”
Elizabeth stiffened. “I meant her landscapes are attractive. She shoots in just the right light.”
There was a silence. Okay, Jean-Claude was about two seconds from working out this whole thing was a bust.
“I’ve been experimenting with landscapes lately,” Summer jumped
in. “Of course I still love photographing architecture. I take Elizabeth out with me often.”
Elizabeth exhaled beside her, grip loosening slightly. “Yes, we’re always investigating whatever building has taken Summer’s fancy this week.”
“Which style has captivated you most? I, too, love architecture. The perspective of lines and the beauty of light, it is not so much different from shooting movies. It’s all about angles and flow.”
Annnnd the vice grip was back.
“There are so many,” Elizabeth murmured. “I really couldn’t choose.”
“But you must like at least one?” Jean-Claude’s eyes never left her face.
“I’m not sure… I…” Elizabeth faded out.
“Carroll Avenue, wasn’t it?” Summer suggested. “In Angelino Heights. I’m sure last time we went you said it was such an interesting assortment of Victorian looks.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, yes, Carroll Avenue. It’s a reminder of home. Victorian style is so familiar.”
“Really?” Jean-Claude eyed her curiously. “Except LA’s Victorian is not much like London’s. It is so pristine; more like a film set.”
A twitch of Elizabeth’s eyelid was the only sign she was not handling this turn of events well.
“It’s the flavor of it she appreciates,” Summer said. “Plus she’s a huge Michael Jackson fan. So…”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up.
“She is? Oh. Oui, that makes sense then.” Jean-Claude nodded.
Marcus leaned forward. “I do not follow. What has a singer to do with this?”
“Thriller was shot at 1345 Carroll Avenue,” Summer said. “It’s the zombie house from the music video. It’s really famous.”
Marcus gaped. “And Elizabeth, you like this house of zombies?”
“Yes,” Summer answered for her. “She really does. She made me take photos of it from every angle.”
“I do,” Elizabeth confirmed. Then she lowered her voice to mutter, “Apparently.”
Jean-Claude clapped in delight. “How unexpected. Now tell me, how did you two meet?”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened.
Damn. They really should have gotten their stories worked out. Summer’s head started pounding, and only half of it was due to her hangover.
At their pause, Marcus stood. “Gossip later, drinks first! I have something special. Summer, assist me? We’ll let Jean-Claude catch up with his leading lady.”
More alcohol? Summer winced. She let go of Elizabeth’s hand, her fingers almost white from lack of blood flow, and followed Marcus to the kitchen.
“So,” Jean-Claude gave Elizabeth a close look, “I am very fond of Summer. I’ve known her for years. Her mère is a good friend also; supremely talented. I have all the time for Skye.”
“Indeed.” Summer certainly left some things out.
“This lovely girl, when she would come to my set it would be like a ray of sunshine. Always with the happiness. She has not changed even now. Still the same brightness in her. So I understand why it is people are drawn to her. What I do not understand is why you look at her the way you do.”
“How do I look at her?” Elizabeth tensed.
“Like she frustrates you. She is to be endured.”
“Not at all. Summer’s a delight.” Her smile felt flat.
Jean-Claude folded his arms. “Non, I do not like this. I won’t tolerate it if you are using her. Summer does not deserve less than your complete amour.”
Oh, fantastic. The pretentious Frenchman really can read human behavior? If he was even remotely good at this, he’d soon realize they weren’t in love.
“I don’t like to wear my feelings on my sleeve,” Elizabeth said.
“Hmm.”
“And I’m not here to discuss my girlfriend.”
“And yet, that is why she’s here.”
“I don’t follow.”
“In truth, my backers do not want you for the part, even though you are perfect. They think you are too hated, and audiences won’t open their minds to see you as Elspeth. They wanted me to find someone famous, yes, but someone with…humanity.”
Oh, ouch.
“I thought, maybe, seeing you with Summer, I would see the essence of who you are,” he continued. “Then I would calm my nervous investors, and explain, but of course you can capture Elspeth’s complex humanity. Instead, what do I see? Walls. Indifference. And that is how you are with someone you love? How will you be, playing Elspeth’s emotions?”
He demanded to see her human side, even though he had no right to it? The arrogance! Still. She lined his words up alongside Grace’s impressions. How Badour liked to expose the actors inhabiting his roles. He wanted to see her.
“So what am I to think, Elizabeth?” Confusion lined his face. “Either you hide your feelings for Summer so deep they are inaccessible to you—which makes you unsuitable for Elspeth. Or you have no feelings for her—which makes you unsuitable for Summer. Which is it?”
“Option three,” Elizabeth countered. “I hide my feelings because I haven’t yet shared them with Summer. She should know first, wouldn’t you say?” She lifted her chin.
“Ah.” He leaned back, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “But these feelings, they are there.”
It was sort of a question, sort of a statement, strung together with hope. He wanted to believe. That was reassuring, at least.
“I do care for her,” Elizabeth said, with every ounce of conviction.
He digested that. “Then tell me…make me believe it: What is it about Summer that captivated you?”
How was any of this his business? Elizabeth sighed inwardly. She could do this. She was an actress, after all. She’d interned at the Royal Shakespeare Company, for God’s sake. If Elizabeth couldn’t even convince one eccentric film-maker that she had a romantic interest in a beautiful, likable co-star, she should give up the game.
“Opposites attract,” she told him with conviction. “It’s really that simple.”
“You feel Summer is your opposite? You don’t see how you are alike?”
“Well, we have a shared passion for acting.” She considered what little she knew about her. What else do we share? “And tea!” Oh hell. She’d said that like someone coming up with the winning answer on a game show.
“You share acting and…tea?” Jean-Claude’s expression was baffled and withering. “What about the Shakespeare?”
The what? It dawned on her that Jean-Claude knew Summer a lot better than she did. And what did he mean? Had Summer dabbled in some high-school Shakespearean productions? Or did she like to see the Bard’s plays? Or…wait, hadn’t she grown up in London? Did she take in plays at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, like every would-be actress?
“Of course,” she said evenly, “we both love Shakespeare.” That seemed to cover all possibilities.
He gave her an odd look. “I meant the other thing, but yes, it is clear she loves the Shakespeare.”
The other thing? She desperately tried to think of possibilities and came up blank. Elizabeth shifted uneasily, wondering when they could talk about Elspeth, the tormented writer in her wilderness shack.
“How long have you two been dating?” Jean-Claude asked.
Well, that was too much to hope for. “Since we met at work, four months ago.”
“Ahh, an on-set romance. How do you get on with Skye?” Jean-Claude’s eyes twinkled. “She is something, oui?”
She could hardly lie. He could just check with Skye. “We’ve been so busy. I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone in Summer’s life yet. Besides, that’s the curse of new love, isn’t it? People get so wrapped up in each other.”
“But…” he frowned, “surely, you must have at least met Chloe by now? She is très amusing. I met her at Skye’s Christmas party last year.”
His frown deepened. “What is it you see in Summer then? If she is so opposite, what is it that makes you click…” he snapped his fingers, “and say, ah, there, she is for me.”
With reluctance, she let her thoughts drift to her guiltiest, most private secret. The memory clawed at her. The only woman she’d ever loved—not that the woman knew. How lost she’d felt when Grace moved to LA. Within six months, Elizabeth had given in and followed her. Who gives up their budding career for someone who can’t love them back? And, as pathetic as that was, it was no different to what Grace had done first. Elizabeth glimpsed her own pain mirrored in her mentor’s eyes every time Grace saw Amrit. How messed up could they get?
The saddest truth about unrequited love was how lonely it was.
Jean-Claude was staring at her impatiently.
Damn him. Elizabeth had promised herself over a year ago that she’d never again willingly think of Grace that way. For her own mental health, she’d forced herself to put out of her mind what could never be. But she also needed this role. Jean-Claude had to believe she understood love. So she drew on her most painful emotions.
The softness of Grace’s skin. Her perfect, classical features. Even up close, without make-up, she was flawless. Those palest of blue eyes could pierce Elizabeth. Her voice…undulating and sensual, like she was peeling an apple with her tongue. Her lips, pale coral, pliant, ready with a teasing smile or the plumpest of pouts. It was as if she’d been made to order: British Female. Class: Perfection.
Elizabeth let the memories tumble her back to London, so lost in love. She rolled over how that felt, that mindset and heart-set. Then she let the words come.
“I care for her because she’s beautiful. I don’t just mean outside. Inside, she shines with a charisma and vitality that draws people in. Everyone wants to be close to that, to warm themselves on it. I’m not impervious. I miss her whenever she isn’t near.”
Elizabeth inhaled, realizing everything she’d said could as easily apply to Summer as Grace. “You know when you hear a song on the radio you love and it just resonates? You want to hum to it long after it’s over, because you don’t want it to be finished? Summer makes me want to hum. She’s my song.” A flash of color drew her eye and Elizabeth realized Delvine was standing inside now, her back to the closed balcony doors, mouth slightly agape.