Chapter 14
His hand clenches around my shirt, pulling me close to him.
And then I’m against the wall of the trailer, hearing something fall – one of the books from the shelf.
But I don’t care. Electricity flickers through my veins like it did the other day on-set.
Igniting a flame in a way I haven’t allowed it to until now. The on-set control melting away.
His lips are soft then firm on mine, his hand grasping the fabric of my dress like he can’t get enough of me.
Like, somehow, he’s been waiting for this.
For a moment I lose myself in him. But then I replay his words.
Sienna’s not my girlfriend. I pull away and he looks at me with such longing I can hardly see straight.
But I force myself to step back. His chest is heaving.
What we just did was insane. And, despite all my better instincts, all I want is to do it again.
‘Avi,’ I say. ‘What do you mean she’s not your girlfriend?’
He looks at me for a second, faltering, not immediately answering my question. That’s when the regret hits. Memories crowding in – of the last time he looked at me like this. The last time he kissed me. The last message he sent me. Last night was a mistake.
But before the feeling can take hold, he starts talking.
‘I never meant to end up in a situation like this,’ he says. ‘Honestly, it probably sounds insane to you. And it is. I know that. But…’ He pauses, as if gathering his thoughts.
‘LA is a strange place, and when my first film came out, the paparazzi were everywhere. I didn’t know how to deal with it,’ he says.
‘At all.’ His voice shifts, a little vulnerable.
And despite the hurt I’m feeling, I find myself quiet.
Listening. Because I’ve never really seen this side of him; he seems like such a pro now.
And he never mentioned any of this in his postcards.
‘Sienna was my neighbour,’ he says. ‘And one day, she knocked on my door and introduced herself. And, slowly, we started doing stuff together – grocery shopping, driving each other to auditions. It was nice – she was an old hand. Someone who had spent so much time in Hollywood because of her parents that she was already sick of it, which made her refreshing to spend time with. It really felt like she had her head on straight, you know? So I liked being around her.’
I nod, recognising again how poorly I misjudged Sienna when I first met her. Everything he’s saying about her makes sense, aligns with the impression I have of her now.
‘Last year, she was having a really hard time,’ he says.
‘Could hardly leave her apartment without being followed and it was really affecting her. And we spent – spend – so much time together, that the rumours have been going on for years. On and off. One or the other of us always denies it. But it always comes back around, eventually. And I’ll be honest, it’s been good for both of our profiles.
So one day our publicists got together and suggested we start leaning into the rumours – and at first we thought it was insane.
But the more we thought about it, the more we realised that it might be a good thing, to take some of the heat off both of us for a while.
It made me feel safe, even. Because the photographers might still be hanging around, looking for snippets of my life, but I had some control over it.
I could give this to them – a story to digest and dissect that wasn’t real at all. ’
I nod, slowly. Because there’s logic to what he’s saying. But I don’t understand why he needed to keep up the act for me.
‘So,’ I say. ‘All of it was a lie?’
He nods. ‘Yes. Only our publicists know and a few of our friends.’
‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ I say.
He looks down. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I should have told you. In fact, I planned to as soon as we started working together. But then… When we got here, you seemed to find it easier for there to be some distance between us. And it didn’t feel right, to burden you with it.
To pull you into that mess, when everything was going so well. But then, after the Olivier Awards…’
He pauses and my pulse surges at the memory of that night. Our almost-kiss in the park, which I’ve been torturing myself over – apparently with no need at all. And some anger flares up, that he left me alone with those feelings. Because he was there too. He felt it too. And he didn’t say anything.
‘I started to think that maybe I should tell you. And so I made a plan – once the film was over, if you still wanted to spend any time with me, I was going to tell you everything. But it’s been killing me, Lara – presenting this fake front to you. And then you told me you had feelings for me and…’
His eyes burn into mine and my anger is still there – but there’s something else too. Something that keeps me stock still as he reaches up gently to push some hair from my face. My emotions warring inside me. And in the next second, I realise I can’t do this – not right now. Because it’s too much.
What am I doing?
‘You know what?’ I say. ‘I’m not sure I can do this right now.’
‘Lara,’ Avi says, his expression shifting. ‘Wait—’
But the way he’s looking at me hurts too much. And I feel used, like someone he doesn’t respect. Because if he did, he wouldn’t have deceived me like this.
‘No, Avi,’ I say, my heart thudding. ‘I need you to leave.’
‘Okay,’ he says, his voice betraying his emotions. ‘You need some time. That’s fine.’
I nod, my throat dry, but I don’t say anything more in this moment. Because I’m not sure what I would even say. He waits for a few seconds, his eyes on mine. Then he turns and walks towards the door, opening it and heading out onto the set outside.
Once he’s gone, I sit in a complete daze for I don’t know how long.
Trying to process the myriad of emotions running through me.
Failing to make sense of any of it. Frozen, not sure what to do.
We still have a week of filming left, but for the first time I’m not even thinking about the film – can’t find it in myself to care about anything right now, except the feeling of his lips on mine a few moments ago.
But I don’t know if I can trust him. It’s all too much.
I pick up my script and run through the lines for tomorrow a few times, trying to distract myself.
But it doesn’t work. Still, I try anyway.
After probably an hour, when the words on the page stop looking like words at all, I slowly start to come to my senses.
I need to get out of here, need time to think.
I pull out my phone, ready to call George and ask for a lift back to the hotel, and find five missed calls from Alison.
A text, asking where I am. If I’m okay. And the events of the last couple of hours disappear immediately, replaced by blind panic.
Oh, fuck, I think, a cold shock running through me.
Alison’s party. In all the chaos with Roman and now Avi, I completely forgot about it.
I get up, my actions dictated by panic, and pull on the pieces of the lobster costume that was hanging in a garment bag by the door – one that’s been in my eyeline for the last hour and I haven’t even noticed.
I throw the red Morphsuit, the claws and the red face paint she specially ordered into my bag, ready to put them on in the car.
My stomach churning as I do – because I confirmed three times that I’d be there on time.
Checking and re-checking my schedule to make sure. I promised.
I hurtle out of my trailer, tailed by a startled runner who looks more than a little alarmed by my probably maniacal expression.
‘Can I get you anything, Miss Francis?’ she asks.
But I’m already running, shouting ‘No, thank you,’ over my shoulder.
Pulling out my phone, calling George, who, mercifully, is still on-set, waiting for my call.
He pulls out the front and I leap into the car, asking him to drive as quickly as possible.
I check the time on the clock on George’s dashboard while squeezing myself into the Morphsuit, watching the seconds tick by as we pull into standstill traffic.
There’s a football match at one of the nearby stadiums today, so it’s backed up.
Once I’m no longer exposing my bra to George and have dragged the zip up my back I pull my phone out, pinging with a few more texts asking where I am, if I’m okay.
I’m fine, I type quickly. So sorry – work stuff. On my way.
A read receipt pops up but she doesn’t reply, and a knot twists in my chest. I silently will the car to go faster, but we’re stuck in gridlock.
I busy myself by painting my face, jolting as George accelerates where he can.
It’s probably going to look like a total mess by the time I arrive, but it’s the best I can do in these circumstances.
George manages to find a side street, which takes us a slightly longer route and avoids the main crush. But by the time I arrive at the party, I’m two hours late.
I rush through the door, sweating my make-up off and throwing my lobster claws on as I go, and find her, in the middle of a room surrounded by friends.
Some balloons extending up to the ceiling.
A large, sea-themed cake in the centre. With candles on it, wax dripping down from their black tips.
And a few slices cut out at the bottom. Fuck, I think, my chest pinching. I’ve missed the cake.
She turns and looks at me. And my first thought is how beautiful she looks.
A red wig, cascading down her shoulders.
Shell-shaped bikini top. A long, foil tail.
This costume must have taken hours. And she’s been telling me about it for weeks, so I should’ve expected this.
But I didn’t understand the full extent she’d be going to.
Then I see the look on her face and I stop thinking about her costume at all.
‘Ally—’ I say as she approaches me.