“I Googled you,” I admitted, and then regretted it.
Her full lips parted in apparent surprise before snapping shut in a prim line. All of a sudden, the prissy princess was back. “All weekend?” she asked. “Were you cyberstalking me or something?”
I smirked. “Yeah, right. Like I would admit to that, even if it were true.””
Especially if it was true.
It was true.
“Why’s that?” Her big blue eyes were soft. “I Googled you, too.”
“I don’t date coworkers, actresses, or princesses. Personal rule.” I blurted it out, and probably with less finesse than I should have. She just shrugged and looked at me like I was foolish.
“I guess I can understand that,” she said after staring at me for long enough to really rub in my lack of timing. “You have quite the well documented tabloid history when it comes to dating your costars.”
I frowned, although if I was going to be blunt and borderline rude, I guess I couldn’t fault her for doing the same. She wasn’t wrong. I’d been dragged through the gossip columns a few times. Part of me appreciated that Lucy refused to let me rattle her. It was nice to meet someone who could give as good as she got. I met a lot of fans who turned into walking puddles of flattering, fawning mush around me. While nice at first, that shit gets old quick. The sort of women who want a good story and a good time rarely want a good man, although I wasn’t sure I was one. Maybe I got what I deserved.
And maybe growing up in a palace had taught Lucy a thing or two about dealing with big egos. Maybe she even had one of her own, although it didn’t show. If anything, she had to have all confidence without all the baggage and self-importance. I couldn’t for the life of me figure her out.
We stared at one another for a long moment. There was something about this woman. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. One moment she was haughty and elite, and then she was sensitive and shy. It was no wonder she was cast as Eva. Ordinarily I’d most likely be annoyed that her personality was so unpredictable, but I wasn’t. I was fascinated instead. Unfortunately, because she wasn’t late, we could actually get started on time. I cursed Lucy’s punctuality as the director cleared her throat.
“Alright everybody,” Vanessa said, settling into the director’s chair. “Welcome to the last table read for the cast of ‘Admit You Want Me.’ We’ll be spending today getting everyone acquainted with one another since we’ve had a few casting changes and new additions and we’ve got our writing staff and some crew here as well...”
As Vanessa went through the introductions and instructions for our assembled group, I let my eyes wander around the room. It was a full room. We did indeed finally have a complete cast. It felt like it took forever, but it looked pretty damn good. I was excited about this movie. I had been ever since I read the script and decided to take a break from playing action cops, action spies, and action dudes in general to play a retired NFL player finding true love in a Texas bar.
The screenplay primarily focused around Eva and Will. It was their love story, after all. But there was a romantic subplot involving Will’s sister and Eva’s best friend, Kara, and a friend of Will’s, Caleb. There was also a revenge subplot involving Eva’s jerk ex-boyfriend, Edward, and a character subplot involving Will’s avuncular mentor, Nelson. It was a fairly simple, straight-forward movie, but it was charming, sweet, and cleverly written by Emma Williams.
Emma Williams, our writer, was the real-life version of Eva. She and her husband, Ward, ran a real bar called the Lone Star Lounge. The story was all referential of their actual courtship, business, and friends.
Maybe that was why Emma had been so incredibly particular about the casting of Eva. She didn’t want just anyone portraying her in the movie version of her life. But she’d turned down some of the most charismatic and beautiful Hollywood actresses. I’d been sure Brie Larson was going to end up with the role. But now that I saw Lucy, I was glad Emma and my dad had held out for perfection.
While Vanessa was still going around the table and introducing folks, I saw Darcy slip in. She took one look at Lucy and turned a color that I can only describe as looking like an unripe apple. There were shades of red, green, and yellow going on. It wasn’t a good look. She appeared to be ill. And livid? That was weird. Lucy stared back at her impassively, and that only seemed to piss Darcy off more. You know those little lines in cartoons that show something is steaming hot? She basically had those coming out of her.
No one else seemed to notice either Darcy’s entrance or Lucy’s reaction. They were all focused on getting to the first scene. I blinked into the sudden silence. We were starting.
Shit. I was in the first scene. Good job, Peter, I thought to myself, way to blow it on the first fucking day in front of everybody. Especially Lucy. I told myself that her opinion was irrelevant, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. I could very easily see “Admit You Want Me” becoming a bit more literally true than I ever intended. I’d need to be careful.
She wasn’t mine. She wouldn’t be mine. I didn’t even want her. Not really. It was just the script getting to me, and Lucy’s big blue eyes. I shook my head and tried to focus.
I flipped through the script, then relaxed when I remembered I had it memorized. The first scene was a flashback to college when Eva and Will had been at a Halloween party. I turned and looked Lucy up and down, imagining her wearing the iconic green and yellow bustier and butterfly wings of a Tinkerbell costume. She spent a lot of that particular scene kissing me. Tomorrow, I’d get to see her in it. Tomorrow, I’d get to kiss her.
“Your line, Peter,” Vanessa chirped. The room was looking at me expectantly, including Lucy.
Oh, right. Time to work.
8
Peter
Movies are fake. Like, really fake. Everybody knows that, but what most people don’t necessarily know is how fake they are. Not only are the stories fake, the food is fake, the locations are fake, even the weather is fake (most of the time). It’s all one big, elaborate, shiny lie.
For instance, the soundstage the actors and crew were currently touring on our mid-morning break contained a perfect copy of the real-life Lone Star Lounge. We’d be shooting the exterior shots in front of the real location in downtown Austin, but the majority of the movie would be shot here, in this fake bar. I liked it immediately.
It wasn’t the most elaborate set I’d ever seen, not by a long shot, but it was well done. Every detail had been carefully replicated. It looked like a place I wouldn’t mind hanging out in, just like the real thing. It even had working neon lights, a jukebox, and taps that actually worked (although only one was connected to anything). It was fake, but it was good fake.
I would bet that even the bar’s real owners wouldn’t be able to tell the difference on film. We were lucky that Vanessa’s property just happened to have a giant empty barn that was perfect for this. The set designer’s assistant, a meek and somewhat mousy girl named Isabelle, was showing us around.
“And this is where Will’s office scenes will be shot,” Isabelle said, showing us around the three-walled, ceiling-less version reproduction. Lucy and I both stared at the desk, then at one another, and then away. We had a pretty intense make out session scheduled for that desk later in the week.
“You and Maurice did an amazing job with all this, Isabelle,” Vanessa told her.
I was inclined to agree. The details in the space were incredible. There was even faux painting on the bar to make it look like it’d been beat up and graffitied by patrons over the years. Oftentimes I thought romantic comedies looked too shiny and fresh, and like everyone had just taken a shower. This place had a bit of grit to it, some history. It would help bring the movie to life. It’s incredible how great an effect the scenery has on the performance of the actors.
“This is incredible,” Lucy added. “I can’t believe I get to work here.”
The girl blushed. “I mostly just helped out with the textiles and execution,” she sai
d modestly. “My dad did most of the set design work.”
Vanessa shook her head. “Where is Maurice anyway? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Isabelle looked uncomfortable. “I think he had to take a phone call.” Our set designer, a man who also doubled as our wardrobe coordinator, Maurice Morris, was reportedly a genius. He was also a flight risk. It seemed like he was never around when we needed him. At least we had Isabelle. She seemed pretty good. “Do you want to see your apartment next?” Isabelle said to Lucy, clearly wanting off the subject of her boss.
“Sure,” Lucy replied. “Is it attached to the bar, too?”
Isabelle nodded and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose excitedly. She turned the corner and showed us right into a tastefully decorated, very feminine living room. “I thought it would be cool, I mean, my dad and I did, if the whole set was totally continuous. It saves space, and money, and it lets you just swing the camera equipment around instead of having to reset it so often.”
“That’s clever,” Vanessa said. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“The other benefit is the way the whole thing is built around a central point,” Isabelle explained, pointing to a wall. “That wall can be taken out and then you’d see that the set is like a donut. You can set up everything in the center—like wardrobe and makeup—and then not have to spend so much time between takes.”
I was beginning to think it was Isabelle rather than Maurice who had some of these ideas. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Lucy was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Does that mean when we shoot the, er, sex scene the whole thing will be on display to the entire cast and crew?” she asked.
Isabelle’s eyes widened in panic, but Vanessa stepped in.
“No, no, of course not,” she told Lucy. “We’ll shoot that scene once everyone else has gone home so it’s just you, me, Peter, and the essential crew.”
Lucy nibbled her bottom lip. Her eyes grazed over Vanessa’s face, then mine. She turned a bright, livid pink color. She was obviously nervous.
I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
“Is this your first sex scene, Princess?” Darcy asked rudely.
I felt like the question, especially asked publicly, was unnecessary. It was obvious that it was.
“Are you scared of Peter?” Darcy continued. “He is rather intimidating, isn’t he?”
Lucy frowned at Darcy. “I’m not scared of anything,” she said, drawing herself up to her full, impressive height. Her previous vulnerability vanished. The blushing princess was gone in a nanosecond. “But I’m not some kind of wild exhibitionist either.” She cocked her head to the side and stared her down. “How would you like to be topless on camera?”
Darcy just smirked at her. “It’s not my problem. You wanted to be an actor, right?”
“I am an actor.”
“I’ll say,” Darcy replied scathingly. “I guess we’ll find out if you’ve got what it takes when we get to that scene.”
The rest of us were standing around and staring awkwardly. This was weird. I had not expected this to escalate so bizarrely and quickly. Slut shaming a professional actress for doing a love scene seemed beneath Darcy, and yet, she was doing it. Vanessa cleared her throat, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Lucy,” Vanessa explained. “We’ll have an intimacy coordinator on set. I can understand your concerns,” she continued, glaring at Darcy who clearly didn’t, “and I promise everything will be tasteful. And we’ll do our best to make you comfortable. Everybody knows these scenes are hard to do.”
Lucy nodded diplomatically, but I caught her stealing glances at the bed in her fake apartment. We were destined to fake-fuck in the bed. And once in the shower in the adjacent set. This wasn’t a movie that had a lot of sex scenes, just the one shot in two locations, but now that Lucy had brought it up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her.
What she didn’t know, maybe, was that there was very high likelihood that this would be much more awkward and unpleasant on my end than hers. Women, after all, don’t wear their arousal on the outside of their bodies. There was no way in hell that I wouldn’t get hard with Lucy half-naked beneath me. It wouldn’t matter if a stadium full of people were watching. It wouldn’t matter if my dad dropped by the set that day. I’d be hard as a rock and she’d definitely know it. And then, when it was over and the scene was done, I’d have to just pretend that I hadn’t been ready to fuck her in front of a ton of people and a camera and tell my arousal to go take a hike. Yeah right.
“So, um, if you want to just follow me this way,” Isabelle continued, “I’ll show you all where your trailers will be...”
9
Peter
“So, what do they eat for breakfast in the Swedish royal palace? Caviar with gold dust? Eggo waffles?” Darcy asked Lucy while we were on our catered lunch break. I’d been talking to my agent on the phone and came back inside to find a small crowd assembled around the two women. People were discreetly and indiscreetly listening in on the conversation. Everybody was curious about the princess and Darcy seemed intent on publicly interrogating her.
Lucy shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t live there.” She frowned. “But probably not Eggo waffles. They aren’t popular in Sweden.”
“Have you ever been?”
“To breakfast? Of course. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Do you have a crown?” she asked.
"No.”
“Really?” she asked. “Shouldn’t princesses wear crowns?”
“Generally not, no.” Lucy looked like she wanted to be left alone, but Darcy wasn’t picking up on her body language. Or maybe she was and didn’t care.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because crowns don’t go well with blue jeans. I’m also not the crown princess. So, obviously, no crown is required.”
“Oh really? Well, do you ever go to fancy balls?” Something about Darcy’s questioning struck me as rude. It was obvious that Lucy wasn’t comfortable talking about any of this. Given that I’d lived my entire life being questioned about my own famous family at inopportune or inappropriate times, I could sympathize.
Lucy cocked her head at Darcy. “Do you?”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said, gesturing around to our fellow cast and crew, “everybody wants to know about being a princess. You have to share something with us.”
Lucy stared back at her coolly. “I don’t have to do anything.”
Darcy couldn’t really come back from that without sounding like a jerk, so she just frowned at her.
“What happened to your Swedish accent?” Darcy asked. “Now you just sound like everybody else.”
Lucy frowned. “It’s easier to stick to one accent than to switch back and forth. It can get confusing,” she said, dropping the American dialect and letting her accent show through. “I’m not here to do a Swedish accent. I’m here to act.”
“Oh, so you’re a method actress,” Darcy replied. “Are you going to get a part time job in a bar?”
“Probably not,” Lucy told her, clearly starting to get very annoyed. Her little audience seemed to be picking up on how uncomfortable Darcy was making Lucy and several were eyeing our producer disapprovingly. “Can I please just eat my sandwich now?”
“Hey, Darcy,” I interjected, “I think Vanessa was looking for you.” Lucy’s eyes flashed up to mine gratefully.
Darcy smiled at me invitingly. “Walk me over to her office?”
The woman liked me a bit too much. I was used to women liking me. I liked when women liked me. At least, ordinarily I did. But Darcy’s interest was weirdly... predatory. It made me uncomfortable.
I shook my head. “I’m expecting a call back from my agent any second.”
She took off, clearly disappointed. The little crowd around Lucy dispersed with a few well-placed glares from me. They scattered like hyenas. Maybe that
made me lion in this situation. Although, I thought to myself as I looked at Lucy, that would mean my costar here was dinner.
“Thank you,” she said, staring at me like I was a knight in shining armor instead. “I really appreciate the help.”
I shrugged. “No problem. I guess people are really curious about you, huh?”
Lucy looked supremely uncomfortable. “I guess so, yeah.”
“You’ll have to get used to it,” I told her. “Either that or you’ll have to get better at shutting people down.”
“I can go full ice princess if I have to,” Lucy replied. “You saw Frozen, right?” I nodded. “It was based on Sweden and Swedish royalty.”
I laughed. “I bet you can shoot snow out of your fingertips and create sentient snow men too, huh?”
She giggled back at me. “Maybe.”
“So, you really don’t have a crown?” I asked her, purely because I was curious.
She shook her head and looked like she'd rather discuss literally anything else. “I really don’t. Does that make you think less of me?”
Strangely, I got the idea that my opinion actually mattered to her.
“Hardly,” I told her. “To be honest, I was really worried when I found out a princess was auditioning. I thought you’d be all prim, insufferable, and uptight.”
“How do you know I’m not?” She cocked her head to the side. “Maybe I just keep that hidden on the first day, so I won’t lose my job.”
I felt myself smiling at her. “It’s not exactly the easiest thing to hide.”
“Not even for a really, really good actor?” she questioned. “I could be hiding all sorts of things. I probably am.”
I wondered what she meant, but I didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just wanted to sound mysterious. “Let's just say I’ve worked with plenty of uptight actors in my day and I know how to spot a diva,” I told her. “You aren’t one. You haven’t yelled at your assistant once.”
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