Page 48 of Let’s Make a Scene

I look down at my fingertips, resting on either side of his pulse. Even though I want to touch him, my subconscious must have instinctively stopped me from grabbing his hand. Holding hands would feel like something… tender. This, this is something else. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, baring his forearms, and I watch a trail of goose bumps break out across his flesh.

Neither of us speaks, and I squeeze a little tighter, my nails leaving tiny pink crescent moons against his golden skin. It feels obscene, seeing those marks on him, knowing that I put them there, and my heart hammers relentlessly in my chest. It’s barely anything. I’m touching his wrist, for god’s sake… It’s hardly a particularly erotic body part, and yet something—that something that is always just frustratingly there between us—flickers.

I look up and find his head bowed, his whole body tense, like a spring coiled tight. When he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his eyes have changed again. There’s nothing cool about them now. Now, they’re full of storms.

I tilt my face, bringing it closer to his, close enough that for a moment we share the same air, his exhalation coasting across my lips.

I’m about to close the final painful millimeters of distance between us, when he yanks back, the movement so violent that I almost fall over. My hands spring away from him, and I feel my eyes widen.

“No,” he snaps, already getting to his feet. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. It’s not appropriate to…”

It’s a jumble of half-sentences, but their meaning is painfully clear. So is the angry edge to his voice. He’s rejecting me, and the swift stab of pain in my chest that accompanies this leaves me gasping for air.

He stands over me, and my brain is still too slow, still trying to catch up, so I can do nothing but gape at him as he glares down at me.

“I would never…” he begins, but again he stops himself.

He would never? The words slash my defenses to ribbons. What was I thinking? Jack Turner-Jones has made it clear over and over and over again that he doesn’t consider me up to his weight.

Not good enough, my brain sings. And you never will be.

Had I really been about to kiss him? Him? The man who has been tormenting me for weeks?

“It’s fine,” I say stiffly. “I guess the truce is officially over.” But I’m talking to thin air, because Jack’s already striding back toward the house.

I sit for a moment, watching as the fire dies down. All the heat is gone, the cold night air beginning to leach into my bones. I feel so small, so stupid. With a sinking heart, I realize how vulnerable I just made myself to a man who has made no secret of the fact he dislikes me. I can’t believe I said all those things to him, told him so many personal, private details that I never share with anyone.

Eventually, Hannah appears again. She’s clutching an entire block of cheese and is gnawing on it like some sort of wide-eyed woodland creature.

“Fucking hell, Cyn,” she says, collapsing unceremoniously next to me on the ground. “You’ve got to try this cheese. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I think it’s, like, made by unicorns.”

She holds out the cheese to me. The label says medium cheddar.

“I’m good, thanks.” I shake my head.

She looks at me, narrows her eyes. “Hey… are you okay?”

I tuck my hand through her arm, lean against her. “Yeah.” I force a smile. “I’m fine.”

I sound so convincing, even I almost believe it.

NOW THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

Chapter 17 JACK

For our first public outing, Cynthie has suggested brunch with friends in LA. This actually makes a lot of sense: it takes some of the pressure off the two of us, but I know it also means that she’ll have moral support. It will be the first time she’s been seen in public for weeks, so every detail has to be carefully managed. There’s going to be plenty of scrutiny.

I tell myself that’s why I’m feeling nervous again when I pull up to the restaurant, which is a low-key little spot in Venice, not far from the beach. There are already a couple of photographers across the street, so they must know Cynthie is in there.

“Jack!” One of them has recognized me and is calling my name. “Over here!” There’s a ripple of surprise and the cameras flash. I lift a hand in casual greeting, smile, and make my way inside. I guess that means part one of the day’s plan is complete—the paparazzi know we’re in the same place. Chances are there’ll be more of them out here by the time we leave.

The hostess greets me with a professional smile and shows me to Cynthie’s table.

“No way!” I can’t help but exclaim, when I catch sight of the familiar faces. This, I hadn’t been expecting.

“Hey man!” Arjun leaps to his feet and comes around the table to pull me into a hug. We pat each other on the back with plenty of manly vigor. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” I reply, meaning it. Arjun and I had pretty much lost touch after we finished filming A Lady of Quality, which isn’t unusual, but I’ve always felt a bit sad about it. A few years ago we started following each other on social media and have exchanged the occasional message, which is how I know he’s now married to Patty.