Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter
Thirty-One
The next few weeks passed quickly. Dylan kept her head down, her mouth shut, and concentrated on filming and Ramona.
That was it.
After the initial fallout of her drunken sidewalk episode—photos on myriad online gossip sites, Gia and Rayna both going apoplectic when they first talked to her about it—Laurel and Rayna managed to spin the story in a romantic light.
A lovers’ quarrel between Dylan and Ramona, the sites reported—a distraught, lovesick Dylan Monroe and a small-town girl rescuing her from her own demons.
Blah, blah, blah.
It was sweet, and the gossip sites ate it up, but it was hardly the truth. Not a single mention of Jack and Carrie other than them visiting their daughter on set in a show of solidarity , and Ramona seemed to trust Dylan when she told Ramona those sites weren’t worth looking at in the first place. She was sure April did, probably Olive and Marley too, but after the night they’d shared in the Riley house, Ramona hadn’t brought up anything the internet said about the two of them.
And Dylan certainly didn’t want to discuss it, particularly how dating Ramona—the romance, their history together, even the sidewalk rescue—had done nothing but help Dylan’s image.
Just like Laurel and Rayna said it would.
But it didn’t matter.
None of that mattered, because Dylan liked Ramona.
So damn much.
She liked holding her hand, she liked taking her out to dinner, she liked kissing her on the couch while they tried to watch a movie, and she liked taking her to bed when they both decided there were much more interesting things to do than watch a movie.
God, she really, really liked Ramona in her bed.
The sex was incredible, yes, but Ramona also just made Dylan feel so soft. She woke up every day and knew exactly how to be Eloise Tucker. She knew how to hold Blair’s hand as Mallory, knew how to smile shyly, and she knew how to let her smile reach her eyes on Mallory and Eloise’s first fake date. She knew how to be wary of Mallory’s rich family, how to act jealous when Mallory fumbles around an old ex, how to drum up some real tears when Mallory pretty much tells Eloise she could do so much more with her life.
In short, she knew how to fucking act .
And Gia wasn’t the only one who took notice.
“Can we talk through this scene?” Blair asked one morning, the day before the Fourth of July.
It was a big day on set as they prepared to film a hugely important scene, the one where Mallory and Eloise share their first real kiss. They were at the house the studio was using as Mallory’s family’s home—a gigantic and beautiful craftsman on the north end of the lake surrounded by the woods, greenery and summer flowers blooming all around the property, the blue water sparkling in the background. Inside it was expertly decorated, all spa blue and linen, white cabinets and gray quartz counters, the light gauzy and fresh and…well, rich . In reality, the house belonged to some finance bro named Jason Bonner who lived in New York City most of the year and barely frequented the house even in the summer months.
“Yeah, of course,” Dylan said to Blair, making a note in her own script. They sat at the patio table on the back porch, already done with wardrobe and makeup, the lake glittering in front of them as the crew finished setting up the huge fundraiser taking place in the backyard in this scene. The immaculate lawn was filled with round tables covered in white and sage-green linens, a buffet table was overflowing with gorgeous food they wouldn’t really get to eat, and a sign declaring the noble cause—a foundation that helped foster children who had aged out of the system—fluttered in the breeze between two oaks.
“I think I’m actually nervous about it,” Blair said.
“Because of the author?” Dylan asked. They both looked out at the yard, where Iris Kelly, the author of the book the film was based on, was chatting with the actors who played Mallory’s parents, her hands flying as she spoke. She had wild red hair and wore a long green skirt that hit midcalf, brown ankle boots laced up on her feet. Her partner—a stage actor in New York City, Stevie Scott—stood next to her and smiled. Iris was an executive producer for the film but didn’t have much involvement other than consulting. Still, she’d created Eloise and Mallory, so Dylan was a little on edge about her performance.
“Maybe,” Blair said. “I think it’s mostly…” She trailed off, her pen tapping on her own script. “I don’t know.”
“That we have to kiss ?” Dylan asked, drawing out the last word like a middle schooler.
“Oh, I can kiss,” Blair said. “I think it’s more that I have to pretend to like you.” She laughed as she said it, her tone jovial.
Blair and Dylan had been getting along pretty decently since Blair had laid into her a few weeks ago. Maybe they’d just needed to clear the air, and Blair’s points, Dylan had to admit, were all very valid. Dylan wouldn’t say they were friends, but they were friendly. Cordial. Which was enough to get through a day of filming without Dylan feeling the need to pluck out her entire head of hair with a pair of tweezers.
“I think I’m having a hard time getting it,” Blair said.
“Getting what?”
“Why Eloise is so into Mallory.”
Dylan blinked, then frowned.
“I mean, Mallory’s got money, right?” Blair went on. “She can do anything with her life, pretty much. Go anywhere. Give Eloise the world. So I get the material side to it. That’s easy. But Eloise is sweet and gentle, and Mallory is haughty and high-maintenance and an emotional mess, and I just…” She sighed. “I don’t know. Need to dig deeper.”
She looked back down at her script, but Dylan just stared at her, her heart suddenly thick and loud under her ribs.
“What do you think?” Blair asked. She was dressed in an immaculate suit—fuchsia, with a white lace blouse and bright orange heels Dylan was pretty sure cost about the same as this lake house. On the other hand, Dylan—Eloise—was in a cheap cotton sundress, sky blue, and ballet flats that pinched her toes.
“They’re too small,” she’d told Noelle when she’d been in wardrobe this morning.
“They’re supposed to be,” Noelle said curtly. “There’s the whole scene where Eloise’s feet are killing her and Mallory throws her shoes into the lake.”
Dylan frowned. “Can’t we just act like they’re killing me?”
Noelle just smiled without her teeth. Dylan knew the designer was known for authenticity on set, but Jesus.
“These really hurt, Noelle,” Dylan said, rubbing her toes.
“Look,” Noelle said, sighing and pressing her fingers into her eyes. “My assistant went waterskiing over the weekend and now has a fractured fibula, whatever bone that is. All I know is that Vee can’t walk, so they can’t work, and I’m a little pressed. So, please, Dylan, just put on the shoes.”
Dylan had kept her mouth shut after that.
Now, as Dylan sat in her too-tight flats and ruminated on the vast chasm between Eloise and Mallory—a chasm that was contrived and scripted and one hundred percent supposed to exist—her breath felt suddenly short and uneven.
“You okay?” Blair asked. “You just went white as a…well, a white person, but you’re even whiter now.”
Dylan forced a laugh. “I’m good.”
“So what do you think?”
Dylan swallowed. “About?”
Blair sighed. “Never mind.”
“I’m just not sure what you mean,” Dylan said. “Eloise loves Mallory because…because she’s…”
But she had nothing.
Her mind went blank, heart thrumming in her temples, taking up all the space. This was ridiculous—Mallory and Eloise were fictional. Made-up. Their creator was walking by the lake right this very second. There was absolutely no reason for this sudden panic building in Dylan’s chest like a violent storm.
“Because she’s…” Blair said, rolling her hand for Dylan to go on.
Dylan opened her mouth, determined to say something, anything, but then Ramona appeared at the back door, a set pass around her neck.
“Hey,” she said. “There you are.”
Dylan cleared her throat. “H-hey.”
“Oh, good, Ramona,” Blair said, sitting back in her iron chair and crossing her long legs. “Help me out here. You’ve read the book, right? Why does Eloise like Mallory so much?”
Ramona, who’d been visiting the set a few times a week when her schedule at Clover Moon allowed for it, just laughed. “What?”
“I need some insight,” Blair said.
Ramona flicked her eyes to Dylan, a small crease in her brow. Dylan’s panic surged, and she shot up from her chair. “Do you want to meet Iris Kelly?”
Ramona’s eyes widened. “For real?”
“Yeah, she’s here,” Dylan said, slipping her hand into Ramona’s and squeezing. She looked out at the yard and spotted Iris’s red hair ambling toward the house. “She’s heading this way.”
“Oh my god,” Ramona said. “She’s gorgeous.”
Dylan laughed. “She is. Bohemian vibe.”
“Yeah,” Ramona said, her voice breathy. Dylan just watched her watch Iris approach, those long lashes, her pink mouth open a little, thinking about how Iris wasn’t the only gorgeous one.
Which sounded cheesy and silly but perfect in her head. She started to say it out loud, but then Iris froze at the bottom of the porch steps.
“Dylan Monroe, oh my god,” Iris said, climbing the steps.
“Hi,” Dylan said, waving.
“You’re even more beautiful in person,” Iris said, smiling with her hands on her hips. “I’m a huge fan.”
Dylan frowned. “Are you?”
Iris just laughed, then glanced at Ramona. “Hey, I’m Iris.”
“Oh, sorry,” Dylan said. “This is Ramona Riley. My—” But she cut herself off. Girlfriend was on the tip of her tongue. It was right there, but she and Ramona hadn’t had that conversation.
Hadn’t used that word.
And this was just supposed to be a summer thing.
Wasn’t it?
“Hey, I’m a huge fan,” Ramona said. “I’ve read all your books. They’re amazing. So funny and tender and sexy and smart. Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”
“Please do, authors hate hearing how wonderful we are,” Iris said, then winked. “I’m so excited to be here on set. Everything looks gorgeous. My partner, Stevie, is wandering around here somewhere.” She waved a hand at the yard. “She’s fascinated with film.”
“I saw her in last year’s Shakespeare in the Park,” Dylan said. “She was an incredible Katherina.”
“She’ll be so happy to hear that,” Iris said, beaming.
“Iris, hi,” Blair said, appearing next to Dylan and sticking out her hand.
“Hi, Blair Emmanuel, good god, you’re lovely,” Iris said, shaking her hand.
Blair just laughed. “I’ve got some questions for you about Mallory and Eloise. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Iris said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Oh, god, sorry, Blair,” Ramona said, resting her hand on Blair’s shoulder. “I got so distracted.”
“No worries. Totally understandable.” Then to Iris, Blair motioned toward the patio table. “Shall we?”
Dylan watched Iris and Blair settle at the table, her chest still a little too tight for comfort.
“Should we sit too?” Ramona said. “I’d love to hear what Iris has to say about—”
“Dylan,” Noelle said, appearing from the house’s back door. She was frowning, a tape measure curled around her neck like a scarf, iPad tucked under one arm. She walked up to them and started fiddling with the hem of Dylan’s dress. “I think we need a wardrobe change.”
“What?” Dylan asked. “Why?”
Noelle didn’t answer right away, just mumbled to herself as she circled Dylan, her brows pressed together.
“Yep,” she said. “I need something…more.”
“More what?” Dylan asked. “Please don’t put me in a child’s shoe.”
Noelle didn’t respond, just narrowed her eyes at Dylan’s very simple dress. “Damn Vee and their fibula. Could really use their opinion on this.”
“Opinion on what?” Dylan asked, smoothing her hand down the garment. “It’s a good dress.”
“But not good enough, maybe,” Noelle said.
“Isn’t Eloise, like, not into fancy clothes?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah, but she’s at this fancy event and she’s nervous, so she’d probably tried a little harder than normal.”
This was from Ramona, who said it fast, then pressed her hands to her reddening cheeks.
“God, I’m sorry,” she said. “None of my business.”
“No, but you’re right,” Noelle said. “That’s what I was thinking too. It’s not…desperate enough.” Noelle tapped her chin with her iPad’s stylus. “Maybe something in stripes. What do you think?”
It seemed to take Ramona a second to realize Noelle’s question was directed at her. Dylan had to nudge her shoulder.
“Oh, me?” Ramona asked.
“You,” Noelle said, not even looking at her. She was still glaring at the blue cotton.
“Um, well.”
Dylan watched as Ramona closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“I think you’re right,” she finally said. “It needs more.”
Noelle nodded, then snapped her stylus into the holder on the top of her iPad. “Come with me, both of you.”
“Both…both of us?” Ramona asked.
Noelle just waved them on as she headed toward the door. “I need to change Dylan, and I need someone else’s input other than my own exhausted brain.”
And with that, she vanished into the house.
“Better follow her,” Dylan said, taking Ramona’s hand and starting toward the door. “Trust me, what Noelle wants, Noelle gets.”
Ramona’s eyes glittered as they followed Noelle into the airy house and toward the main bedroom, which was doubling as wardrobe and makeup.
“Is this really happening?” Ramona asked when they stepped inside the room.
“Is what happening?” Dylan asked.
“I mean…” Ramona shook her head. “Noelle Yang. Talking to me. Asking my opinion.”
“You’re a fan of Noelle’s?”
Ramona’s starstruck expression faded. She frowned, opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “I—”
“Okay, here’s what we’ve got,” Noelle said, motioning toward a metal rack of dresses. “What do you think? Muslin? Stripes?”
Ramona snapped her mouth shut, then squeezed Dylan’s hand once before she released it, and walked over to Noelle. Soon the two of them were talking fabrics, cut, hem length, Dylan all but forgotten. Dylan watched Ramona, fascinated, pride swelling in her chest.
Pride, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Don’t be so naive, Dylan .
That’s what Jocelyn had said to Dylan at Jocelyn’s birthday party. The party Dylan had planned and paid for. The party where they broke up because Jocelyn chose that moment to announce her record deal with Evenflow Records, Jack Monroe to produce. A deal Dylan had never known about before that moment. A deal she didn’t even know her girlfriend had wanted.
Everyone wants something. Everyone has an angle.
Dylan shook her head, swallowed down her doubts, and watched her girlfr—
Watched Ramona pick out her dress.