FOUR
Bella
I trace my lips with my fingertips, still thinking about the kiss I had no right to steal.
I shouldn’t have done it. I know I shouldn’t. Only, I can’t bring myself to regret it. He looked so sweetly stunned when I pulled back. And I’m still a little flustered myself at the feel of his lips against mine. Perhaps it’s just been so long since I’ve kissed anyone because I wanted to, rather than because it’s in the script, or because I feel I have to.
God, I’m an idiot. It’s this sort of impulsive behavior that gets me into trouble every single time.
A buzz from my phone makes me pull it out of my bag, only to find a message from my agent, Roksana.
Where are you? You were due back at the hotel 30 minutes ago!
I sigh. The hamster wheel never slows.
I used to think after I got my big break, things would be different. I wouldn’t have to work so hard. Turns out fame is more like a hungry abyss, always greedy for more and more.
I text back.
Bella: Be there soon. Got delayed getting the car. Tell Norman I’ll go over the script with him tomorrow instead and reschedule the other thing I have in the afternoon. I forget what it was.
I’m about to put down the phone, when something makes me reach for Will’s card tucked into the paper bag with my books. Sure enough, there’s a phone number at the bottom of the card. A mobile number.
I shouldn’t.
It’s not as if I’m in a position where I could pursue anything with a guy like him. Someone real. Someone genuine. Someone who won’t understand what it’s like to live in the limelight.
I push the card back into the bag and push my longing down along with it. When I get to the hotel, I sit while Sasha does my makeup and Roksana talks me through the important people I should talk to at tonight’s dinner. Technically, it’s an awards ceremony, but since I’m not nominated for anything this time, it should be a chance for me to sit back and let other people have the attention for once. Sadly, Roksy thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to get my face in front of the director casting for next year’s production of “Portrait of a Lady.” She’s predicting a trend for historicals.
I dress for dinner, then have my hair done. This is followed by two hours of photos for the new portfolio Roksy is putting together. I have a video call with the director of a new action film, but the part sounds too shallow. I can tell from the way Roksy keeps complimenting the director, though, she’s going to advise me to go for it.
The loneliness hits hours later when I step out of my limo onto the red carpet.
Lights flash; people call my name. All I can think is how much I wish I was anywhere else.
No, not anywhere. In the little sitting room in the quaint terrace house on Portobello Road with a fire in the hearth and my feet tucked up on one of Will’s sofa chairs and a steaming mug of tea in my hands while he reads me poetry.
It’s such a potent vision for a second I have to blink back tears.
Then the lights flash again and I paste on my movie star smile to pose for the cameras.
I answer questions and talk to all the right people, but all I can think through it all is how none of them is who I really want to talk to.
Three glasses of Champagne in, I pull my phone from my purse and type a message I shouldn’t be sending.
Bella: Hi Will, it’s Bella. I can’t stop thinking about today. I wondered if maybe you’d like to meet me tomorrow?
Stupid mistake to enter his number into my phone before I left the hotel. Only, now I’m sorely tempted to send this. Shaking my head, I close the message before I can press the button.
When the gaze of the older gentleman next to me slides to my cleavage, I spend far too many seconds not saying anything. That’s the worst part. Sitting here hating myself for playing this part again.
I want to spend time with someone who isn’t part of this world. Someone real. Just for one afternoon. I hit send before I can talk myself out of it again.
I’m disappointed an hour later when I check and find Will has read the message, but he hasn’t messaged back. By the time I make it back to the hotel that night, he still hasn’t replied, so I try to resign myself to the idea that he’s not going to.
He probably thinks it’s some sick joke. Or he’s seen some article about how many guys I’ve dated, or how I pout and sulk when I don’t get my own way on set, or how I’m a nightmare to work with.
God, it could be anything.
A small, bitter voice inside my head reminds me it could be none of those things. It could be because he never asked me to kiss him today and when I let him see a tiny piece of the real me, that put him off.
That hurts worse than all of the other options.