Chapter IX
IX
Ana
Tennessee is hot. What do they say about humidity making it worse?
Whoever they are, they’re right. Standing with the rest of the crew in the mid-morning sun, my hair is growing bigger by the minute.
Tony, the eager tour guide for our mandated orientation, is giving us the history of the city’s life-size replica of the Greek Parthenon, the site that made this the ideal shooting location for Athena’s War.
Levi bumps his shoulder against mine. “What would be ideal is a cold pop right about now.”
“Did you just say ‘pop’? As in soda?”
“Nah, I don’t trust people who say ‘soda,’” he whispers back. “So you better tell me now: Can you get on board with pop?”
“Maybe we skip pop and daydream about lemonade. Less controversial.”
“You just called it pop.” His grin is as wide as it is smug.
I pull a face but find myself drifting closer to him, itching to make contact.
To touch his arm or tuck the tag into the back of his shirt and graze his neck as I do.
This isn’t what “acting” attracted to someone feels like, I think, but it doesn’t stop me from reaching behind him and grabbing the phone out of his back pocket.
I decide it’s a nice hint at the comfort between us. For the sake of the cast and crew.
“Selfie?” I say as I swipe open the camera. “Ready?”
He grabs the phone from me, raises it, and flips to the front camera.
I had envisioned something more considered—find our angles, get the light right—but he tilts his head toward me and snaps before I can protest. He hands it over for my approval: his one-dimple smile, my face in profile looking up at him expectantly, a sun flare that bathes us in just enough mystery.
It’s perfect. I ask him to text it to me so I can post it.
There’s a lot to hate about social media, but at least there I can control my image. This shot of us, with a coy, throwaway caption like Athena at the Parthenon, will get my six million followers into a buzz about the two of us. And if the comments go south? Emily can turn them off.
I’ve almost forgotten about the tour until I hear Tony clear his throat.
“For decades after its opening, our Parthenon was missing its Athena. Any guesses about how long it took to craft our goddess?” He points to a towering golden statue inside, like we might miss it.
“Eight years! That’s how long this monumental—pun intended! —feat took to complete.”
“Monumental is right!” Levi’s voice is a bright burst, and even I know him well enough to know that he’s kissing ass.
But Tony’s eyes grow soft. There are roughly twenty-five cast and crew members in his midst, mainly lead actors and those doing stunts, and I can’t imagine he will be thrilled to watch them scale these pillars a few days from now.
Warmth, less harsh and more fragile than the sun searing my skin, blooms in my chest. I’m starting to believe Levi genuinely wants to make people happy.
And if I wasn’t so jaded from years in a job where people are only kind if they want something from you, I’d find it endearing.
A tiny part of me still does, and that feels dangerous, like a liability.
Instead of dwelling, I catalog the trait as a strength we can use—to win people over for us. For me.
“Suck-up,” I whisper. Levi flashes me a smile, and the singular dimple in his cheek makes a fleeting appearance.
“You’re just jealous Tony likes me more than you.”
“I don’t need him to like me. I need this to wrap up so I have time to shower and do a final read-through before the event later.”
“Is it normal to do a meet-and-greet before filming starts?”
“It’s a first for me, but according to Francesca, it was part of the deal with the city, in exchange for us filming here. You’ll have fun—children’s hospital visits, where showing up really means something to the kids, are my favorite.”
He nods with his lips pulled between his teeth, like he’s mulling this over. “Will there be photographers there?”
“Outside, most likely, though it’ll probably be fans instead of paparazzi. We should be blissfully press-free during the visit, though the guests could say anything to the media afterward.”
I’m speaking in code again. I give him a look to say, So you better act like my boyfriend.
Levi slides an arm around my shoulders, a silent acknowledgment that he’s picked up the message. After another few minutes walking up and back down the stairs in front of the Parthenon, Levi glances at his watch. “Hey, Tony! What’s the ETA on wrapping this up?”
Tony shrugs and keeps walking. Francesca, who’s been trailing behind him while taking calls and occasionally pointing things out to various production members, shoots Levi a look and then me an eye roll.
After seeing our fake dating scheme in action, her iciness has started to thaw.
Now, after the plane ride here, our rapport includes acknowledging the shenanigans of the men we work with.
“I tried,” Levi says.
“See you at 3:30. And be ready to smile so big your cheeks hurt.” I slip out from under his arm as I peel off from the group.
“Am I ever not smiling when I’m around you?
” he replies with a shit-eating grin, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen his nervous, scrunched-up face since that day at the studio in LA.
Either he’s a better actor than he gives himself credit for, or he’s actually enjoying this game we’re playing.
As I turn toward the parking lot, a devastating thought takes hold: I am enjoying this too.