Chapter 16
I have a call scheduled with Nat later this week too, to discuss future projects.
Apparently she’s already had some interest, but has been keeping them at bay until I’m done filming.
One more day. And that should be at the forefront of my mind right now.
The shoot, and the fact that everything we’ve been working towards for the last few weeks is about to culminate in one final scene.
But I’m not focused on that. I’m worried about where my scene partner might be.
I sit up, a little confused and slightly concerned.
Maybe he just went to get breakfast, I think.
But it’s weird – the last few days, he’s stayed until I’ve woken up.
Said goodbye before heading to his room, to take his separate car to go to set.
I look around the room. His clothes are gone, any trace that he was here last night erased.
I roll up the sleeves of the shirt I’m wearing – his shirt, which I fell asleep in.
An Armani shirt that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table, in case he’s texted me.
And when I look at it, I find myself blinking hard.
Trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Avi and I had our phones on ‘do not disturb’ last night.
We wanted to close off from the outside world for our last night before the film ended.
To spend some uninterrupted time together.
And usually I have very few notifications anyway.
So I assumed it would be fine to take a night off.
Alison and I still aren’t talking, and for the sake of my sanity and her space I’ve decided to leave that resolution until the end of filming.
So that leaves my parents, and Hannah and Spencer, who are used to my sporadic reply times over the last few weeks.
At most, I thought I would have a couple of texts.
But looking at it now, I have three missed calls from my parents.
A flurry of texts from Hannah and Spencer, saying they’ve seen the news, asking if I’m okay.
What the fuck? I think, as I scroll through them.
A sudden anxiety hitting me that something might have gone wrong with the film.
I open Google and type out the film’s name, and find an article – several, actually. Which aren’t about the film at all. They’re about me. And Avi. Oh, my God, I think, clicking into the first one. Staring at the photo at the top of the page.
A small, grainy photo of Avi and I kissing on-set.
One taken through the window from outside my trailer.
Another of me leaving my hotel room the other day, wearing his shirt – I only went out to get coffee and a part of me thought it was stupid at the time.
But the hotel has been blocked from paparazzi for weeks.
I’ve not seen a single photographer. So I thought that I’d be okay – that even if someone happened to take a picture of me, I could claim the shirt belonged to someone else.
I flick my eyes upwards, horror curdling in my stomach, to see a headline screaming in my face, all caps: ROMANCE WITH SIENNA ON THE ROCKS?
AVI KUMAR AND CO-STAR CAUGHT KISSING ON-SET BEYOND THEIR CUE.
‘Oh, fuck,’ I say, my breath catching in my throat. I feel like I can’t breathe.
I scroll through the comments:
What the fuck is he doing with her?
Massive downgrade imo
Man didn’t know what he had – he fumbled badly
Who even is she?!?!?!
And then more comments, worsening as I scroll. Calling me a homewrecker. A whore. I open my Instagram messages to find a barrage of death threats, messages saying I’m evil, that I’ve ruined the best relationship in Hollywood. That I’m a fame-grabbing slut with no talent.
This is bad, I think, a stone sinking in my stomach.
This is really bad. And then the next thought I have is: Roman.
A crashing realisation that this must’ve been him.
I kick myself for how stupid I’ve been – to take his silence, those flowers, as evidence that everything was okay.
That I’d finally won. Because of course I underestimated him.
I threatened him with press exposure and he must have sent the flowers to put me at ease so he could get me back without me suspecting him.
‘Oh, my God.’ I take a deep breathe, the panic hitting me like a train now.
‘What have I done?’ Because I haven’t ever dealt with anything like this before, this feels irreparably bad.
Like my career might end before it’s even properly begun.
Like I might be for ever known as someone who was just trying to use Avi’s fame to boost my own profile.
And it will be awful for Avi too – and Sienna.
My heart clenches as I remember all the reasons they were in a fake relationship to start with, how hard everything has been for both of them.
Right now, wherever she is, she might not even be able to leave her hotel room.
I head over to the window, which overlooks the street below.
My throat constricts – it’s full of photographers.
And I’m high enough up that they can’t see me right now.
Won’t be able to tell that it’s me. But there’s no way I’ll be able to leave the hotel by the front entrance today.
Fuck, I think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Regret seeping through me – not for anything that’s happened with Avi. But for not thinking through the potential consequences. For being stupid enough to feel safe, when we clearly weren’t.
I click out of the article and open my contacts, scrolling down to Avi’s number.
Calling him. It rings through. And then I look for Alison’s number.
Hovering over it. Almost clicking on it.
But in the next second, I decide against it.
I know she’s been googling me pretty much daily because she’s told me and if she didn’t see it, one of her friends would have sent it to her.
Something tightens in my chest. She must be angrier than I thought, I think.
I consider calling Nat, but it’s early – I’ll try her from the car.
My eyes flick up to the time and I see that I’ll be late if I don’t hurry.
So I get up and get dressed quickly. At the very least I need to discuss this with Avi first. Before I freak out completely.
Then, maybe, we can work out a plan. Besides, it’s the last day of filming and I need to get to set. Whatever might be waiting for me there.
My throat dries up as I go to leave my room, worry landing in my stomach about what Alessandro will think of all this. The whispers on-set today. Everyone will know about this. Everyone will have seen it.
But I have no choice.
And so I exhale, set my nerves and walk through the door.
★ ★ ★
I get into the car and George’s ‘How’s it going today, Miss Francis?’ is even more comforting than usual, despite the fact that there’s no way in hell I can answer that question honestly.
‘Pretty rough, I’m afraid,’ I say, giving him a half-truth.
‘Sorry to hear that, love,’ he says. ‘Still, though – last day. You must be proud of the work you’ve done.’
I try to summon anything but panic, and can’t. So I just nod. Scrolling through my phone contacts, checking the time. Waiting until it’s an appropriate hour to ring Nat. But I don’t have to – her name pops up on my screen.
‘Hi, Nat—’
‘Lara,’ she says, cutting me off, her tone gentle but belying a light panic. ‘Would you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?’
‘I’m so sorry—’
‘I’ve just had Alessandro on the phone,’ she says, cutting me off again.
‘He is pissed, to say the least. And I realise you told me about this history you had with Avi, but I’m not sure I expected that anything like this would happen.
You’re a professional, Lara. This is your first big project with a major director.
I don’t think I need to tell you how potentially catastrophic this is. ’
I close my eyes, blinking back tears. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I fucked up. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise to me,’ she says. ‘Apologise to Alessandro. And look – you’re my client and I have your back. Always. So we’ll figure this out. But in the meantime, I need you to get to set and do the best job of your life today. Please.’
I nod, my hand shaking a little as I hang up the phone. For Nat to sound angry with me, I need to have really, truly, catastrophically fucked up. And – it seems – I have.
‘Darling!’ David says when I get out of the car. We’re filming on the river in Greenwich today. It’s cold and the air whips across my face. I can hear the distant sound of ships in the background. ‘Happy last day. How are you feeling?’
And for a second I wonder whether maybe he hasn’t seen it.
But then I catch the way he’s looking at me and my stomach drops.
He’s nervous, clearly. Oh, God, I think.
He escorts me to my trailer and I try to pretend I don’t see people looking at me as I walk past. Try to ignore the pit that’s forming in my stomach – at everything Nat said on the phone just now.
The prospect of seeing Alessandro. The fact that Avi hasn’t called me back yet.
Hasn’t even texted me. But I have to keep it together.
Alessandro is probably going to be apoplectic.
The least I can do is show up to set on time.
Sarah isn’t in WHAM today, so I have my make-up done by someone else, which is something of a relief because I somehow feel like I’d be disappointing her.
And I can’t explain, yet, that it wasn’t cheating, because that’d be putting Avi and Sienna at even more risk than they already are.
So I absorb the glances in the mirror from the girl doing my hair.
The sideways looks from runners as they pass.
I feel like I’m in hell, being judged for a crime I didn’t commit.
And to add to my anxiety, there’s still no sign of Avi.