Chapter 9
LILA
Iarrived on set early the following morning after barely sleeping. The sky was still a soft gray when I walked into the HMU trailer and turned on the lights at my station. I wanted to be the first one here because I needed the extra time to pull myself together.
I sat down in front of the mirror and started doing my own makeup.
My hands moved on autopilot, blending concealer under my eyes, covering the purple smudges and masking the puffiness.
I stared at my reflection as I worked, carefully building a version of myself that looked put-together and professional.
It took every ounce of my abilities to make sure I didn’t resemble someone who had just spent half the night crying.
But it was necessary because I needed to be here. Work felt safer. It gave me structure and purpose. People expected things from me here, and I couldn’t afford to fall apart.
Once my face was done, I immediately threw myself into preparing the stations. I organized palettes, checked product inventory, reviewed the shooting schedule, and kept myself moving from one task to the next.
Sitting still meant thinking, and that meant remembering Reid. I couldn’t afford either right now.
One of the assistant coordinators walked in and paused. “You look tired, Lila. Everything okay?”
“Yup, just a busy night.” I pasted on a smile.
And I kept it there because I was good at this. I could make other people feel beautiful even when I felt wrecked inside.
Except I found that it was much harder to do when my heart was broken, and the future I longed for was no more. I made it through my first chair time without anyone being the wiser, but Jade noticed me zoning out while doing her makeup.
“Earth to Lila.”
She tapped my wrist, and I shook my head to clear it. “Sorry, just debating if I should do another pass of volumizing mascara to enhance the cat-eye effect.”
Luckily, she accepted my excuse with a smile. “You’re the expert, but I vote yes.”
Later, when Leah came in after an emotional scene, I gently fixed her mascara where tears had caused it to run.
I worked carefully, soothing her with light touches until she looked camera-ready again.
All the while, I tried to ignore the irony of being much better at putting other people back together than I was at fixing myself.
By midmorning, I realized I hadn’t checked my phone in over an hour. For the first time since yesterday, a small flicker of relief passed through me.
Then during a short break between scenes, it rang. Kinsley’s name lit up the screen. I’d tried calling her last night a few times, but she hadn’t picked up. So I’d just sent a quick text asking her to call me today.
I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hey.”
My best friend knew me well enough to guess that something was wrong. “Are you okay?”
“Define okay,” I quickly replied.
“Lila.”
I closed my eyes. “Give me ten minutes. I can’t really talk where I’m at.”
“You’d better call me back in ten minutes, or I’m going to be headed to the damn airport to fly across the country and hunt you down,” she threatened.
“That won’t be necessary.” Although I almost wished it was because I could use a hug from her right about now.
I took the shuttle to the crew parking lot, climbed in my car to ensure complete privacy, and called her back. The moment I heard her voice, everything poured out.
Kinsley’s response was immediate. “Are you kidding me? I guess I’m getting that flight home after all.”
I let out a watery laugh. “You can’t do that. They need you on set, or everyone’s going to look awful in the movie, and you’ll never live it down.”
“She still has jokes. That’s a good sign.”
Wiping my tears, I sniffled. “Only because I’m talking to you.”
“He didn’t give you a choice except to walk away.” Her tone was the gentlest I’d ever heard her use. “You should start the way you mean to go on in relationships, and staying when he was completely dismissing you would’ve set the worst precedent. You know that, right?”
I lost the battle against my tears. For the first time since this nightmare began, someone was validating that my painful decision had been necessary. “Yeah, I just wish it had all turned out differently.”
“Of course you do,” she murmured. “You love Reid, and the dipshit loves you back. He just…forgot how to show it on the most important stuff.”
That was putting it mildly. “Mm-hmm.”
“I wish I had a better explanation for why he messed up so epically. Or that I was there so I could knock some sense into him,” she muttered.
“It’s too late for that. I already gave him the ring back.”
“And rightly so. I don’t blame you at all.
” She paused before adding, “But if he grovels enough for you to give him a second chance, I’ll have your back.
What happens next is ultimately up to you.
I don’t care what your parents or Sienna think about it.
Or what Reid wants. You’re the only one who knows what’s right for you. ”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I really needed to hear that.”
“You don’t need to thank me. That’s what best friends are for.”
When we finally hung up, I felt a little better. I was nowhere near fixed, but I was less alone.
That feeling stayed with me through the next hour. Right up until a production assistant walked into the HMU trailer carrying a large white box tied with an emerald-green ribbon. I assumed it was for one of the stars since gifts arrived for them all the time.
Then the guy announced, “Delivery for Lila Sinclair.”
I stared at the box before taking it from him. “Thanks.”
Soft peach ranunculus were inside, my favorite flower.
The kind that was supposed to have been in my bridal bouquet, which made my chest clench.
There were also fresh pastries from the little bakery I loved near the studio and a box of the blonde roast coffee pods with hints of citrus and toasted almond.
It had been out of stock for months, since it was a limited-edition summer release.
The gift was thoughtful. Not flashy or expensive for the sake of it.
And a handwritten note rested on top.
You told me I wasn’t listening.
I hear you now.
I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.
— Reid
I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking this was too little, too late. Gifts wouldn’t take the pain away. Or change the fact that he hadn’t treated me with respect when it counted.
One of the other makeup artists leaned over and smiled. “Aw, that’s sweet.”
“Nah, someone’s in trouble.” The actress in her chair quirked a brow. “That’s an apology gift if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Flowers and pastries?” one of the assistants said.
“Girl, whatever he did, make him suffer a little longer.”
Laughter followed their banter, and humiliation flooded through me, mixing with the fresh wave of pain. I refused to give in to the feeling, though. Not when everyone was looking.
So I pasted a smile on my face as I shook my head. “Not at all, but I’ll be the one in trouble if I let myself get distracted, so these will have to wait.”
As much as I wanted to toss everything in the trash, I set the box on the counter behind me before turning back to the talent who’d just sat in my chair right before the delivery arrived. “Sorry about that.”
She waved off my apology. “No worries, you’re already ahead of schedule, which is unheard of in this business.”
When I finished work, I was emotionally exhausted, every part of me drained.
Even though we had stayed at Reid’s house far more often than mine these past months, there were still reminders of him when I walked into my house, like the sweater I’d stolen the last time he’d been here.
And the toothbrush he kept in the bathroom.
Seeing them, I couldn’t help but wonder what he had done today besides arranging for the gift I’d dumped in the trash before going into my bedroom to wash my face and change into something comfortable.
It was Saturday, but sometimes he went into the office over the weekend.
At least he hadn’t shown up in person. Getting the gift had been hard enough. I definitely wasn’t ready to see him.
Eventually, I wandered back into the kitchen. My gaze immediately landed on the trash can, and I stared at it for several seconds. “Dammit.”
Crouching down, I dug through it to pull out the note. I kept thinking about the words he had written all day.
I desperately wanted to believe that he really meant it. That he was ready to listen.
I stared down at his handwriting and hated how much four short lines could still affect me. But I wasn’t sure if it would serve as a reminder of what I’d lost or a beacon of hope that we’d find our way back to each other.
I slid down to the floor beside the couch, my back pressed against its side, and clutched the note tightly to my chest. I’d thought I was all cried out, but the tears came again.
I had wanted this weeks ago. Not perfection or a grand gesture. Just for him to listen. To actually hear me when I told him something was hurting me. And now all I could do was grieve the relationship I thought we were going to have.