Page 57 of Let’s Make a Scene

I know her well enough now to see the flare of temper in her face. “You don’t need to apologize,” she grinds out. “We’d been drinking. I was stoned. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“But that’s exactly why I owe you an apology,” I try again. “I shouldn’t have let it get so far.”

“Let what get so far?” Her laugh is brittle. “Nothing happened.”

Even though that is technically true, it doesn’t feel true.

“Look,” Cynthie carries on impatiently. “We called a truce, right, and obviously that was a mistake, but it’s over now. Everything can go back to normal. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“I don’t think the truce was a mistake.” I frown.

“Yeah, I bet you don’t,” she finally snaps, and for a horrible second I think tears glitter in her eyes. “I’m sure you just loved it that I was spilling all my secrets and giving you more ammunition for this stupid fight we’re trapped in. Can’t wait to see how you’re going to use all the tragic little details of my sad life against me.”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Where has that come from? I wouldn’t—”

“Of course you would!” Cynthie exclaims. “I’m just the fool who forgot who you were for five minutes, but don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

I rake my hands through my hair and a rumble of frustration escapes me. My head is pounding. I need someone to inject espresso directly into my bloodstream at this point.

“You are impossible.” I sigh, finally. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to turn me into some sort of Disney villain, but fine. Fine. Let’s not talk about it anymore. That’s probably for the best, given we’ve got scene forty-fucking-five to get through.”

“Right,” Cynthie agrees, her face carefully neutral. “So, I’ll see you on set.”

“Sure,” I mumble, but she’s already out of here.

“Hey, boss!” Scott shouts as he passes Cynthie on the steps. He’s reaching toward me with a bucket-size cup of coffee, and I fight the urge to fall, weeping on his neck.

“Some night, last night,” Scott says cheerfully, looking absolutely none the worse for wear.

“Yeah,” I mutter, burying my face in my coffee. “Some night.”

THE SCENE WE’RE FILMING TODAY is a big one, and it’s set up on the long lawn in front of Darlcot Manor, with the building looming in the background. There’s already a mist machine on set, a big cylindrical thing strapped to the back of a truck, kicking out huge clouds of soft, gray mist, which roll across the lawn looking atmospheric. An enormous, collapsible tank of water is positioned nearby to supply the stands of the rain machine, which loom high overhead.

Everyone is running about, looking damp and harried in waterproof gear. Cynthie is deep in conversation with Jasmine. She’s wearing the sunglasses again, as well as an enormous puffy anorak. As Reckless Ed is involved in the shot, Hannah is nowhere to be seen.

The horse stands looking mildly interested in the mist machine but largely unbothered by the chaos around him. Today, it seems, he’s chosen professionalism.

“Jack!” Logan rushes up to greet me. “Sorry to call you in on short notice like this.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“So,” Logan pulls me to one side. “I want to have a quick word before we get started.” His gaze slides toward his sister, and I brace myself. Jasmine and Logan often disagree on how a scene should be handled, and it’s a weird balancing act trying to juggle their conflicting expectations. “This is a big scene, and I know Jasmine is going to have some notes for you, but I want you to take them with a grain of salt.”

“What do you mean?” The ache in my head pulses harder.

He grimaces. “Well, much as my sister might not care to admit it, we’re making a film for an actual audience, and—frankly—sex sells.”

I’m totally thrown by this. “Sex sells?” I repeat slowly.

Logan laughs. Loudly. “Don’t worry, we haven’t changed things up on you—it’s still a kissing scene… but while Jasmine’s instinct is always to make things subtle, shrink them down, we don’t really want that here. All that repressed Regency bullshit is fine up to a point, but we need some heat. Less Austen, more lusty wenches making out in the rain, right?”

“Lusty wenches.” I repeat his words again, unable to do anything else. There’s a tremor of laughter in my words, but Logan nods seriously. “Right, so… you know, you’re the pro here, and Cynthie is doing fine, but I don’t want to overwhelm her with notes. I mean, at the end of the day she just has to stand there and take it, right?”

I blink. This is a horrifying insight into Logan’s romantic life, and I have no idea how to respond except with commiserations for whichever poor girl he’s currently seeing. Also, maybe the number of a good therapist.

“I think it’d be best for Cynthie to be an… active participant,” I say finally.

“Sure, sure.” Logan nods again, wisely. “Active in a sexy way.”