And then there was that kiss earlier…
Even thinking about it now sent my heart fluttering out of control. All I could think about was trying to get a second helping of that — that wholesome, all-encompassing feeling.
Now that I had time to examine and compare, I could contrast it from all of the kissing and touching yesterday.
Kissing Crim in that meadow had been life-altering; earth-shattering. Every part of me felt like it was arranged and rearranged every second my lips were on his.
Kissing Oliver during the threesome was a completely different experience entirely. Pressing my lips against his full ones was like being recognized for who I was. As much as I pretended it didn’t, that threesome was more than a hookup.
Then there was that tear that rolled down his face when he kicked me out…
I wondered where he was right now; probably working.
All day, I hung around the set, ate snacks, and chatted with the crew. I kept an eye out for any streak of crimson hair, but Crim was nowhere to be seen. Oliver was also absent from the set today…
I wondered if they were hooking up without me.
Something very much like jealously swirled in my gut, but it wasn’t quite there. It was its cousin: The Fear of Missing Out.
I was also watching Reese today. As the day wore on, he seemed to become more and more agitated. When he barked commands at the crew, I saw him sweep his hand over his face as if the world was collapsing around him. He reminded me of Gordon Ramsay right he had his famous meltdowns.
Everything came to a head at around four when Alina had to shoot another scene with Rachel. This was a pivotal moment in the story; it was shortly after Prince Valentine divorced Princess Valentine, then arranged a quick wedding to Alina’s character, Lady Bryn.
Princess Valentine was confronting Lady Bryn and delivering some empowered monologue or whatever, but Rachel couldn’t seem to get it right.
I watched them try to do the scene over and over, and each time, Rachel kept forgetting her lines halfway through. After the fifth take, I saw that her hands were shaking.
She was scared.
It was something otherworldly to watch— two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen were wearing fabulous medieval dresses and having a polite shade-throwing fest. I would have been completely convinced that I was actually in this fantasy world and that these characters were my rulers, but Rachel’s stuttering took me out of the story every time.
I felt bad for her as I watched. Try as I might, all of the positive vibes I was sending to her and the hopes that she would be able to deliver her lines cleanly were lost to the ether.
She was only getting worse.
I could tell Reese was getting frustrated. Everything in the scene was under his control; everything except Rachel.
If what Alina said was true and Rachel’s husband had that serious dirt on Reese, that meant he couldn’t fire her. He had to keep re-shooting this scene, no matter how many takes it took.
By the fourteenth take, Rachel tucked a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. When she raised her forearm, her wide sleeve slipped down and I saw a giant yellowing bruise in the shape of fingers on her forearm.
Alina tensed.
I quickly looked at Reese, but he was looking down and rubbing his temples. He’d missed it.
Glancing up at the village on the cliff, I wondered if Rachel’s husband was watching through binoculars or something.
The twentieth take happened. Then the thirtieth.
By the time it was the thirty-eighth take, we were losing sunlight.
It became clear to everyone on the set that it was time to call it.
“We’re done for today, everyone!” Reese said, his accent cutting through the air like a rapier. “Pack it up. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
“But we only have four more days at this location—” a cameraman said.
“I know that!” Reese erupted. “We’ll figure something out!”
Rachel approached Reese. “I’m… I’m sorry, I couldn’t get it right today—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Come back tomorrow morning and do it right!” he boomed.
Rachel flinched like he was going to hit her.
Then he abruptly stood up from his director chair, his black tie flailing wildly in the wind, and stormed off toward the water.
A dozen pairs of eyes watched him as he went.
I was sure that he was so angry, the ocean must be able to sense it, and it would certainly part for him. Maybe he’d be able to storm off all the way back to the U.S.
An awkward silence stretched out in his wake.
Alina looked at everyone except me.
I didn’t want to be near her anymore; I didn’t want her to somehow blame Rachel’s poor performance on me.
To escape her gaze, I went where I knew no one else would follow me.
I followed Reese towards the water.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A few paces ahead of me, Reese sat grumpily on a log.
It was a comical sight to see, like some kind of weird stock photo. He was a tall, modelesque man in a business suit, sitting on a log on an empty beach in the sunset.
If I wasn’t so afraid of his wrath, I’d laugh.
Nevertheless, my better judgment failed me and I sat down on the log next to him.
“How are you doing?” I asked, looking out at the sea.
“Bloody awful, what do you think?” he snapped.
“You want me to leave?” I asked tentatively.
He was quiet, and then I stood up.
“Stay,” he commanded.
I sat back down. “If you want me to stay, you can’t take this out on me,” I said.
“I can bloody damn well take it out on you if I want!” he said.
I looked into his steely gray eyes with fortitude. “It isn’t even about me. It’s about what Rachel’s husband has on you, isn’t it?”
Reese went white and his jaw got a little stiffer. “What do you know?”
“I’ve heard some rumors,” I bluffed.
Reese snorted. “What’s going around now?”
“I don’t know the details, I’ve just heard rumors,” I said vaguely.
“Who did you hear it from?”
I was beginning to make up a lie, because I even though Alina and I were in a fight, I couldn’t throw her under the bus. But Reese saved me the trouble.
“…doesn’t matter,” he said with a sigh. His shoulders finally relaxed. “This whole project is turning into a shit show.”
“I thought it was going well,” I said, my eyebrows coming together. It was only a few weeks ago when I first saw Reese on this beach, giving that impassioned speech about how we were all a symphony of art or whatever.
Reese ran his hand through his hair, then said, “The only thing good that’s come from this location is the producers letting me put you in the show,” he said.
I bit my lip, trying not to glow at his compliment.
“Everything else is a load of bollocks. I have a sodding rock star with no interest in being here contaminating my art. A mediocre actress playing one of my lead parts while her husband holds a bloody gun to my head. A pretty boy with connected parents is running around spreading rumors and making it so no one on the set trusts each other. It’s maddening!”
He leaned forward and grabbed fistfuls of his hair.
“And then we only have four days left at this location, and too many scenes to still shoot here. We don’t even have costumes… where the bloody hell has Oliver been?!”
I bit my lip as a pang of guilt wormed its way into my mind. “I know he’s working on them,” I offered.
“He’s a goddamn disaster,” Reese said harshly, throwing a shell into the waves.
“He does good work though,” I said pragmatically. That was surprising— was I defending Oliver? When I closed my eyes, I could still see that silvery tear running down his face.
“He d
oes,” Reese agreed. “I just wish he’d let me help him…”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s got what we call an ‘artist problem,’” Reese explained. “I’ve tried to hire him some assistants to do some of the more grunt sewing work, but he won’t accept it. He insists on doing it all himself. It’s an ego problem.”
I sat there, thinking. Maybe that’s why Oliver was so stressed? He was purposefully sabotaging himself if he single-handed planned on doing all of the costume work for The Black Castle.
“How do you know it’s an ego problem?” I asked, trying to keep Reese talking.
The more he talked, the more he seemed to calm down. What had been a man filled with a red-hot rage a few moments ago was now dulled to a quiet simmer.
“Because I used to be the same way,” he said with a far-off look on his face. “Until… until something changed.”
My curiosity was piqued. “What was that?”
“Something happened that made me realize that I need people. As much as I want to believe it, I can’t do anything great on my own.”
“What happened?” I asked, excited to see the real Reese. The one hiding under all of the layers of power and control.
“That’s a story for another day,” he said elusively.
I watched as his Adam’s apple bounced in his neck. All I wanted to do was run my tongue along it…
“Hey,” called a voice from behind us.
I recognized its melodic timbre before I even turned around.
Crimson Sin was standing behind us with his arms crossed. His face pulled into a grin.
“Ah, our fearless leader,” Crim said with a smile.
Like watching a chameleon change colors, I watched as Reese changed his demeanor. He stood up to face Crim, matching his pose.
“Crimson Sin,” Reese said, all business. “Welcome to the set.”
There was a coolness to his tone that was impossible to miss.
It only seemed to delight Crim more; his purple eyes were dancing with a mischievous power. “Couldn’t be happier to be here,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t wait to give a stunning performance.”
Reese’s smile faltered. “I’m excited to see what you contribute to the show.”
“Looking forward to it,” Crim said brightly. “I was hoping to talk to Charlie alone.”
A question mark rose on my face. What could he possibly want to talk about?
Regardless, there was some kind of weird standoff happening between Reese and Crim. Both of them were smiling a little too big, their eyes locked onto each other's: Purple to gray.
After a beat of silence, Reese said, “Very well, then,” and began walking back towards the set.
Crim sat down in his place.
“What… what happened there?” I asked, feeling like I’d just missed something.
Crim shrugged and crossed his legs, but I couldn’t miss the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
“People like to play weird little power games. Especially people with power. Starboys like Reese are no different.”
“Star… boy?” I asked, my eyebrow going up.
Crim scooted next to me and draped his arm around my shoulder. “Heh. I forget, not everyone knows what that word means. It’s something my childhood friend from Jamaica would say.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, originally, it meant a guy who sleeps with multiple women. But over time, between the two of us, the word turned into referring to men who slept with multiple guys. When I started my music career, I’d catch up with my friend on the phone. All these famous people I ran into daily who just loved attention and would give anything for fame — I started calling them starboys.”
I chuckled. “Well, thanks for letting me on your inside joke,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“You’re a starboy too,” he said.
“Wait, what? I thought that was an insult!” I said.
He chuckled a little. “You’re a guy. You’re famous now. You’ve slept with multiple guys — it seems like you fit the definition.”
“I’m not famous yet,” I said, my heart racing.
“Oh, but you are. Have you even checked your Instagram account today?” he asked.
“No, I look at it maybe once a week…” I admitted.
“Check it now,” Crim said.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. The screen was just my regular background.
“I have push notifications turned off,” I explained. “Don’t want to be bothered by it…”
“Good, me too. Distractions are the enemy of creativity,” he said, then sighed. “I can’t wait to be in Iceland where there’s no internet…”
I felt a pang in my gut at the reminder of what he wanted — to get away from it all.
He’d be getting away from me too. Not that it mattered to him…
He tightened his grip on my shoulder and pulled me closer, and I was able to banish the thought for a moment and just enjoy this.
I pulled up Instagram to see 99+ notifications waiting for me.
“What the hell…?” I said out to the sea as I looked through the list.
I’d gained thousands of followers overnight.
Crim smirked. “See? Famous. Starboy.”
I checked my DM’s. My inbox was filled with people trying to get in touch with me for one reason or another. A lot of the messages were asking if me and Crim were a thing.
Crim peered down at my phone and saw.
“Well? Do you want to be a thing?” he asked.
My heart felt like it exploded at that moment. Confetti was fluttering around in my stomach as I processed what he just asked. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Leo.
“Uh… I kissed someone else,” I said, letting the revelation pour out of me.
“So?” he asked with a smile, unfazed.
“Like, someone else besides you and Oliver,” I said.
“So?” he repeated. “I don’t care who you kiss. I don’t do jealousy. Takes too much effort; effort that could be spent on real things.”
“Don’t you even want to know who I kissed?” I asked, completely debased.
He shrugged, then cocked his head.
“Oh wait… you’re still off,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about, Crim?” I asked impatiently. I saw my chance to be with him slipping away because of my hesitation.
“You didn’t do it yet,” he said, disappointment lacing his voice.
“Do what?” I asked, even though we both knew what he was talking about. I hadn’t forgiven myself yet.
He looked around me, squinting, the same way that Hazel did.
“I can’t do it with this,” he said, gesturing.
“What?” I urged, trying to get him to say it out loud.
He locked his purple eyes onto mine. “You know what you have to do, Charlie.”
“I don’t,” I said, frowning. And it was true; I didn’t know how to forgive myself.
What I needed to do was talk to Hazel, but the last time we were on the phone together, she cut me short. Even though she always reminded me that she liked being bothered by me, there was something about the last time we talked — the tone of her voice maybe — that seemed like she was rushing me.
“You’re doing it again,” Crim said with a frown.
“I don’t know what you mean!” I shouted.
But Crim was already taking his arm off my shoulder as he stood up.
“Does this mean… you don’t want to be with me?” I asked.
“Not until you get all that—” he gestured to all of me again, “—in order.”
“How?!” I asked, standing up to face him.
Even though he was a few inches taller than me, I stood my ground. It wasn’t like I was looking into Crim’s face anymore — it’s like I was looking into the face of fate.
“I don’t know, that’s for you,” he said softly.
&n
bsp; Then he turned and began to walk back to the set.
I wanted to scream at him, throw a shell at the stupid back of his head to convey my frustration. I wanted someone to understand all of this emotional baggage I was trying to work through.
But it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.
I sat on the log for a little while longer, watching the sky get darker. After I fiddled with a seashell a few times, I decided it was time to turn in for the night.
Slowly, I stood up and made a beeline for my trailer.
Only a few more days here on this stupid beach and then I’d be in Morocco. I knew being in a different location wouldn’t change anything — it wouldn’t change the weirdness with Crim, the tears on Oliver’s face, Leo’s refusal to come out of the closet, Reese’s secrecy and frustrations…
And it wouldn’t change the fact that Mason was a complete asshole. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him around in a few days.
Halfway to my trailer, I realized that I’d have to walk through an area where the crew was hanging out.
Overwhelmed by a burning desire not to talk to anyone, I changed course. Making a last-minute decision, I snuck around the cluster of trailers and entered the path that ascended the cliff face.
I must have walked this way over a hundred times in the past few weeks out of sheer boredom; I couldn’t wait to start being on set.
For whatever reason, I found myself standing outside Oliver’s hotel. I couldn’t help but wonder about that silvery tear that slid down his face the previous night. Did that have anything to do with me?
It must have been about his ex, I reasoned. He did just have a recent breakup…
“Looks like someone’s sniffing around for secrets,” Mason’s voice came from the shadows.
I tensed up. “You’re the last person I want to see right now,” I said with a scowl.
“The very last? Aw, little Charlie, that hurts my feelings,” he said tauntingly.
I didn’t know what it was, but for some reason, I suddenly felt a boiling rage rise to the surface. “You fucked me and left,” I snarled, the anger finally pouring out.
Mason looked taken aback for a second, but then he quickly regained his swagger. “That’s just how things work in show business,” he said smoothly. “You can’t afford to get attached.”
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