by Meg Collett
The red carpet was the reddest hologram she’d ever seen in her life. A river of blood. She kept her eyes pinned to it until Roman’s heated presence appeared at her side. His arm slipped around her waist, his fingers scorching her through the cutouts in her dress. He leaned in, his breath warm against her neck, and planted a lingering kiss on her cheek.
The crowd went wild.
Wren lifted her face, the smile she’d practiced at night, alone in her room with only Sloane’s ghost for company, in place. She waved at the crowd before she really even saw.
Gathered behind the hovering electrical barriers, the crowd was a roiling sea of people. A line of Links stood shoulder to shoulder, the final barricade against the fanatic fans. People thrust Sloane Lux signs into the air and shouted her name in a rabid, enthralled chorus. They filled the entire street beneath the towering skyscrapers of downtown Hollywood, but most were packed into the narrow space between the water treatment facility and VidaCorp’s headquarters.
Far above, on the sides of buildings, billboards projected a live feed of the red carpet. They all showed Wren staring up at herself as she smiled and waved. Beside her, Roman watched her, his gaze dark beneath his heavy brows. Wren dropped her arm and winked up at the billboards.
The crowd erupted again. The Links closed ranks, stopping the crowd from bursting through the buzzing barriers. Reporters for every television feed, magazine, and social feed lined the carpet like a gauntlet. They surged forward with their microphones extended, begging for the first sound bite. Straight ahead, Hutton and Bode waited. Beyond them, Wren picked out the line of cast members stretching up the red carpet. She found the bony bare back of Viksyn Viper, clad in a silver wisp of a dress, as the young starlet twisted around to get a glimpse of Sloane Lux’s arrival. They were too far apart to really see each other, but Vik’s narrowed-eyed stare spoke volumes before she turned around, returning to her interview.
Roman’s hand pressed against Wren’s back, and they moved forward. The red hologram carpet shimmered and pulsed beneath her heels, lighting her up from beneath like a reverse spotlight. As she and Roman passed, Hutton fell into step behind them, with Bode bringing up the rear of their entourage. Above, camera drones whipped about, stirring up jetties of air.
Hutton steered them over to the first group of cameramen and reporters. Wren recognized the woman from the news feed about the building cleaners. She was so skinny that a stiff breeze would knock her over.
“Sloane!” The woman gasped, her unnaturally blue eyes brimming with excitement. Wren smelled alcohol on her breath. “Do you have time for a few questions?”
“Only a few, Moxie,” Hutton said. “We have to be in position for the fireworks.”
Wren flashed a nervous smile, and Moxie homed in on it like a shark to blood.
“Wonderful! So, Sloane, are you excited to start Glass House? What’s going through your mind tonight?”
Wren had never wanted to cough more than she did in that moment. This was the first time she didn’t have a script or magazine to answer by. This wasn’t one of Hutton’s games. No one would press play on Sloane’s better response after Wren had spoken. She had to be Sloane.
Roman’s fingers skimmed across her waist and pressed against her ribs. The pressure grounded her. The words didn’t matter, just the show. The performance.
Let’s give them the show they want, Wren thought.
She turned up her smile. “I can’t wait to start. The cast members are great, and I think the fans will love every single episode.”
Moxie drew the microphone back. “They’ll love watching you and Roman! Tell me, will any questions be popped this season? Perhaps viewers can expect a wedding for the Glass House finale?”
Roman leaned forward, and Moxie stabbed the microphone toward him. Wren tucked herself into his side and pressed her hand against his chest.
“No questions have been asked yet,” he said. “But when it happens, it’ll be a private event. Intimate.”
Moxie shuddered at the way his voice dipped and curled around the word. Wren arched an eyebrow at him and laughed. His arm tightened around her, pressing him against her until it felt like their skin was melded together.
“And Sloane,” Moxie shrilled, “what about Viksyn? Are you really looking forward to living with her?”
Turning her attention back to the reporter, Wren sharpened her smile. The performance, she reminded herself. She couldn’t feel guilty about Vik and Sloane’s past. “I’m sure if Vik keeps her hands to herself, she’ll be just fine. I won’t have to rip them off.”
Moxie’s eyes widened. “Oh! Well! That’ll be so exciting.”
“And gratifying,” Wren added, blowing a kiss at the camera drone behind Moxie.
Roman let out a low chuckle. “Easy now,” he said quietly, but not too quietly that the mics wouldn’t pick it up.
Wren bit her lip. Her cheeks flushed, heat dipping and swooping in her belly.
“One more,” Hutton barked at Moxie from behind the camera.
“Certainly.” Moxie checked her tablet. “Sloane, can you tell us a little more about your detox these past few weeks? What prompted such a drastic shut-in? People have speculated—”
“We won’t answer that line of questioning—” Hutton started.
“No, it’s okay.” Wren had anticipated this question, and though Hutton had said countless times they wouldn’t address the detox issue, Wren saw it as an opportunity to give something back to Sloane. “I’ll answer.” Behind Moxie, Hutton’s gaze turned razor-sharp on Wren in warning, but Wren ignored it. “I asked for some time off to detox and get my health back on track. It was time for me to straighten things out in my life.” She turned to Roman and cast her smile up at him. “Roman and I did a lot of yoga. Tantric yoga,” she added with a sly smirk toward the camera. “I really focused on healing my chakra energies and finding peace in meditation. I’ve never felt better or stronger. I’m more ready for Glass House than I’ve been for anything in my life.”
The words themselves were pointless, though Wren had practiced them last night so she wouldn’t fumble them when it counted, but she poured meaning into them. She gestured with her free hand and smiled the warmest smile she could manage with Sloane’s face. She added the show to the words until only the show mattered. Moxie soaked it up, practically vibrating with ecstasy that she’d gotten the exclusive first sound bite on Sloane’s recovery.
More importantly, Wren had given Sloane’s memory some power back.
“Isn’t she the greatest?” Roman asked Moxie. He lifted Wren onto her toes and planted another lingering kiss on her cheek. The cameras around her popped and whirred, flashing dizzyingly to capture the moment between her and Roman in case they missed the countless other ones.
Hutton had warned the red carpet would be lots of repetition, but Wren wasn’t growing tired of Roman’s kisses against her cheek.
“That’s all for now,” Hutton said and pushed past Moxie and her cameraman. With a dark glare, she motioned for Wren and Roman to move farther down the holo carpet.
“Thank you, Sloane!” Moxie cried as they left.
A new surge of reporters pressed forward, calling out Sloane’s and Roman’s names to snag the next interview. Wren smiled and nodded to the crowd, the blaze of lights warming her skin.
“That,” Hutton said, sidling up next to Wren and leaning into her ear, “was ill-advised.”
Wren waved again, smile still in place, as she put space between her and Hutton. They might not have planned for her to speak publicly about the detox, but she didn’t regret her choice. Not after everything they’d already taken from Sloane.
She and Roman progressed down the carpet, one interview after another. The questions were mostly the same. Wren realized, as she answered for the countless time who’d designed her dress, that these interviewers genuinely cared little for what she said, as long as her answers fell in line with what they expected from her.
Hutton kept h
er and Roman on the carpet longer than she’d told Wren to expect. Up ahead, the other cast members moved along at the same pace, their interviews streaming across the live feeds in between Wren’s segments with Roman. Most of the interviewers had abandoned their spots near the other cast members to move closer to Wren and Roman, hoping Hutton would choose them for the next sound bite.
Wren caught a few glimpses of Hazen. He and Beau worked the carpet together at the front of the line. Beau was the only other cast member who came close to getting as much live screen time as Wren and Roman, or it appeared that way, judging from the number of camera drones hovering around her and Roman, catching every angle and zooming in when Roman leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“You’re doing great,” he said.
His breath tickled the side of her neck and she shivered. His arm tightened around her, and she found she fit perfectly against his side. Had Sloane felt this secure in his arms? This content? He pressed a kiss along her jaw, and Wren’s smile split across her face. She cast her eyes toward the billboards as Roman leaned farther into her.
Atop the red holo carpet and beneath the darkening sky and flashing lights, Wren’s smile—Sloane’s smile—shone and her eyes danced. She laughed when Roman leaned back, grinning crookedly. They looked in love. They looked perfect.
Hutton steered them to the next interview, and an assistant scurried over with chilled glasses of pristinely filtered water straight from the treatment facility for Wren and Roman to quench their thirst in the staggering heat. For the evening, free waters were passed out to everyone in the crowd, the crew, reporters, photographers, and especially the cast to keep the attendees from dropping dead in the scorching evening heat.
Wren gulped down her water and then Roman’s when he offered it, the icy liquid tracking a path straight down her throat. As Wren handed off her glass and resumed her interviews with Roman, Hutton’s eyes sparked with such vehemence that if Wren hadn’t known better, she would have thought Hutton hated her. She’d never seen so much venom oozing off the young woman, and all directed at her. Had she messed up so badly by explaining Sloane’s detox?
Hutton’s hand lifted to her earpiece and she listened to whoever was on the other end. She motioned to the interviewer to wrap up with his final question. When he finished, she rejoined Wren and Roman on the holo carpet. “Time to get upstairs for the finale.”
Bode came up next to Hutton. He’d been shadowing them the entire time, and he’d clearly mastered the art of stealing himself away into a crowd and watching without being seen. Sometimes, Wren had been convinced he’d disappeared, but then she’d spot him scanning the crowd as if he’d been right behind her all along.
“Let’s move fast,” he told Hutton. “The crowd is getting rowdy.”
The crowd changed as the sky darkened and the skyscrapers lit up the night like stars. The atmosphere was pulsing, and flashing lights and the thrumming beat of music played behind the live interviews. The fans were the city’s heartbeat, and as night fell and the energy rose, the heartbeat raced.
The city was partying, and Wren had never experienced anything more electric.
The rest of the cast had already disappeared into the VidaCorp lobby, guarded by Bode’s team to keep out reporters and sneaky fans. The only contact Wren had had with the cast on the red carpet had been Vik’s lingering glare at the beginning. She had no real sense of who these people were aside from Hutton’s training, but all that would change soon.
Roman and Bode reached to open VidaCorp’s lobby door for Wren at the same time. They stared at each other, neither moving. A beat later, Bode relented and Roman pushed the door open. Wren slid inside, the air in the building instantly cooling her shoulders. The lobby was empty, aside from the hulking presence of Bode’s team.
Hutton led them straight to the set’s private elevator. The doors slid open as soon as she inserted the key, and Wren stepped inside. When she turned around, she glimpsed the crowd surging over the barriers, past the Links, and onto the red carpet. The Links held back as many people as they could, but the fans lurched forward like ocean waves beating against the lobby’s large windows.
Through the last inch of space before the doors closed, Wren saw Bode’s team raise large rifles toward the fans.
Wren screamed, “No!”
18:
“It’s fine, Wren.”
Wren swung around to face Bode. “They’re going to shoot those people!”
“It’s just a warning. If it comes to shooting, the bullets are blasts of compressed air. It’ll bruise them, but it won’t kill. I promise.”
“Oh.” Wren used the elevator’s wall to hold herself up. Roman stood against the back wall with his arms crossed, the distance between them off-putting after the hour or so on the red carpet. Had it all been a show? Had he felt anything when he kissed her or held her close?
“What the hell were you thinking answering that question about Sloane’s detox?” Hutton unleashed on Wren. “I told you not to speak of it!”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was a good opportunity—”
“How about you do me a favor and stop thinking? There are reasons I told you not to talk about her detox.”
“Chill out, Hutton. Wren handled it well.”
“Just shut up, Roman. You have no idea.” Hutton’s red-painted lips peeled back in a snarl.
“Everyone, just calm down,” Bode said, stepping between Roman and Hutton.
Hutton sneered at him. “Tell your brother that when he hears Wren’s special love note to Sloane. He probably already has.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Why would he care if I explained Sloane’s detox?” Wren asked. “What’s going on?”
“Hazen and Maddox have plans for Sloane this season—” The elevator dinged, cutting Hutton off, and the doors whisked open.
“There you are!” Maddox shouted, red-faced and with an antacid halfway to his mouth as if he’d been waiting for them to arrive. He grabbed his headset and shouted, “I have Sloane. Coming up.”
A typhoon of activity tore through the set’s first floor. Camera rigs and mic booms wove through the scampering assistants and crew members who ducked and weaved around each other in some extravagant dance that involved deafening amounts of yelling and cursing.
“We’ve got to hurry!” Maddox motioned them forward and exposed the sprawling sweat stains beneath his arms. “Five minutes until we’re live on set.”
He cut a path through the people and machines. Gathering up her skirt, Wren dove into the fray behind Maddox.
“You’ve prepped the closing sequence?” Maddox shouted over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Wren yelled back. They hustled through the set’s living room to the spiral staircase. Legs burning from her heels, she climbed upward, moving quickly to keep up with Maddox and Hutton, who tackled the stairs two at a time in her six-inch heels and tight dress.
By the time they made it to the conservatory on the top level of the set, Wren was sweating. She went to wipe her brow, when she caught her first glimpse of the dome around her.
In the center, a massive crystal fountain splashed water toward the nearly three-story-tall ceiling. Plants and trees and flowers of all types bloomed in the space, filling the air with a fragrance that took Wren’s breath away. Beneath the strong scent, she’d never smelled air so clean and pure. At the edge of the forest, the curving glass walls offered a panoramic view. The city below glowed with lights so bright they dimmed the moon where it hung, opalescent in the darkening night sky.
Amongst the plants, a hundred people were crammed onto the set. Some held sleek cameras mounted to a rig on their shoulders, while others scurried around like squirrels before winter, hoarding headsets and tablets, makeup brushes and lipsticks, wireless mics and body tape.
The cast and their handlers were huddled in tight pockets, like prizefighters in their corners. Wren picked them out by the bright spots of evening gowns or the dark slide of expensive t
uxedos whenever people shifted or moved in for a better angle to touch up lipstick or fix a stray piece of hair, but she spotted Vik and Foster, with his crop of red hair, and the flesh-feed twins. Somewhere, Hazen’s prize contender—Beau Montgomery—was preparing for the big opening.
Maddox assessed the scene with a grimace and spoke into his headset. “Get touch-ups on Sloane. Four-minute warning.”
A second after his command, a handful of stylists descended on Wren. Hands went into her hair, smoothing out tangles and fluffing the roots. Another patted her face with a sheer powder that worked its way up Wren’s nose and made her eyes water. She teetered on her heels as more people shook out the wrinkles from her dress. Hutton stood off to the side, her eyes glued to her phone’s glowing blue screen. Behind Wren, Roman received the same attention, though not on the same scale. Bode coordinated with his slew of security personnel lining the back of the dome that faced away from downtown.
“She’s good.” Hutton pushed away a stylist’s hands before she could add more powder to Wren’s face. “You’re going to make her look like an eighty-year-old woman. Jesus Christ.”
Hutton spun Wren in a circle, checking every inch of her. Wren pushed a heavy piece of hair off her shoulder, and Hutton promptly pulled it right back. “Now,” she whispered, “you remember how we practiced it?”
“Yes.” How could Wren forget? They’d gone over the live show’s concluding sequence countless times. She didn’t understand what was so difficult about walking to the dome’s edge, smiling and waving at the crowd below as the live show came to an end. Below, the red carpet party would continue well into the morning hours, with free water and mixed drinks provided by the city’s water treatment facility.
“You better.” Hutton guided Wren closer to the cast near the dome’s edge and positioned her next to Beau Montgomery and his handler. Beau’s face was the image of blankness; if there was any emotion behind his wax-like expression, Wren couldn’t find it. For a second, she thought he was just good at hiding his feelings, like Roman, but then Wren realized there wasn’t anything there.