Chapter 16
DANNY
I didn’t expect to find Anya when I left the hotel this morning but thank god I did. After she gave me the tongue lashing I rightfully deserved, things have been awkward between us. I don’t know when things changed, but the idea of her disappointment in me suddenly became a strong motivator.
McBride is still getting under my skin, but he manages to do it in a way that no one else can notice. It will just be a sly comment under his breath between takes that sends my blood pressure rising. And then I snap at him and end up looking like the bad guy.
I feel like I’m drowning under the whole thing. Relentlessly being prodded and poked and stared at. Watched with weary glances waiting for the inevitable breakdown. It’s all crushing. If I’m set up to fail, what’s the point in trying?
When I woke up in my hotel this morning, paid for by production and picked out by my father, I felt the walls close in. I was itching for en excuse to leave, to get out before the door sealed me in forever, when I had a text.
Anya: Everything okay?
I was stunned. Everything was very much not okay but how did she know that? Was she messaging me out of duty or was she genuinely asking? I had to know.
Me: Why are you texting me?
I had stared at the phone in my hand, willing it to buzz with her reply. The longer I waited, the more I realized how ridiculous I was being. She was just doing her job, she didn’t actually want to have contact with me outside of it. Refusing to wallow in my gilded cage, I left the hotel intent on taking my mind off the job and the girl.
Which didn’t work. In her dark red dress and sipping a coffee, Anya looked like a dream. A dream my mind crafted to distract from the empty feeling in my chest. I felt like rubbing my eyes just to be sure she was really there. I couldn’t resist talking to her, seeing her eyes light up with challenge as I needled her.
I could have left her alone. Her words were asking me to but her eyes…her eyes wanted me to stay. Sharing playful banter with her has been the highlight of this whole ordeal. I couldn’t walk away from her even if I tried.
Now, as I watch her out of the corner of my eye as we wander through the streets, I can’t help but be thrilled that she listened to me.
“Where shall we go now?” she asks me, a far cry from her reluctance to be seen with me earlier.
I smile. This whole day I’ve felt lighter than I have in months. Joking around and playing with Anya —I feel like a different person.
“Let’s go get a drink,” I say. The sun is already setting over the Seine but I don’t want the day to end. The thought of sitting in a restaurant makes my shoulders hunch. I think we’ve been inconspicuous so far, constantly on the move. I don’t particularly want to sit so openly where anyone can see me, but the thought of leaving Anya now is out of the question.
“I have an idea,” Anya says, taking my arm. I love when she touches me like this. Guiding me without thinking. She can take me anywhere and I’ll follow.
She pulls into a small store and leads me straight to the wine section. “Red or white?”
She crouches down to read the bottles on the bottom shelf, her crimson dress billowing around her. “Red,” I say, dazed.
Anya grabs a bottle from the shelf and then wanders across the aisles grabbing a baguette and a block of cheese. I take them all from her, cradling them in my arms precariously. As we make our way to the check out, we pass the stationary aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a stack of small blue notebooks, small enough to fit in my back pocket. Anya walks ahead oblivious as my feet halt on the linoleum. Shifting the groceries in my arms, I quickly grab a book off the stack and follow her to the cashier.
I unload our stuff onto the conveyor belt, hiding the notebook under the cheese. Anya goes to pull out her purse, but I stop her with a hand on hers. No way am I letting her pay.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. She puts the food in the canvas bag on her shoulder and I quickly put the notebook in my pocket.
Anya leads me through winding alleyways until we cross a busy street. We don’t turn left or right, instead, Anya finds an opening in the tall brick wall that lines the river. I follow her down uneven steps until we reach the path that wanders along the length of the Seine. The sun is starting to set over the horizon, bathing the water in flecks of gold. Small crowds of people linger along the cobblestones, sharing glasses of wine and perched on picnic blankets. No one looks up as we pass. It’s perfect.
Anya finds a spot against the wall. She plops down and extends her long legs in front of her. The hem of her dress brushes the tops of her thighs and my mouth goes dry. I settle down next to her. I can’t keep myself from sitting close, pressing my denim clad thigh against her bare one.
She gestures for the bag I have with the wine and snacks. She takes the wine bottle as I peel off a chunk of baguette. The soft bread melts in my mouth.
Anya swears. “You don’t have a corkscrew do you?”
“I don’t usually carry one, no.”
“Well shit,” she says, chewing her lip and contemplating. “Give me your shoe.”
“My shoe?” I ask, amused.
“Yes, we’ll bash the end of the bottle until the cork pops out.”
“And that will work?” I ask, unlacing my trainer.
Anya shrugs. “I saw it online once.” She takes the shoe I hold out and starts smacking it against the bottom of the bottle. I try not to laugh at her look of concentration as she spanks a wine bottle with half of a pair of Reebok trainers.
“Stop laughing,” she hisses. “You try.”
She shoves the bottle and my shoe into my hands.
“Why don’t you just see if one of the people around here have a spare we can borrow?” There are a lot of things I would do for this girl, but this is probably my limit.
“Why don’t you ask?”
“You’re the one who speaks French.”
She rolls her eyes as she pushes to her feet. There’s a smattering of dust on the back of her smooth thigh from the ground and I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from brushing it off.
I watch as she approaches a group further down the bank. She gestures with her hands and the woman at the front nods as she hands over a corkscrew. Anya says something which makes the group laugh and she waves as she walks away.
“Pass it here,” Anya says, standing over me. My eyes are level with the hem of her dress as it flutters in the wind. I can’t take this anymore. It’s like I’ve never seen legs on a beautiful woman before.
I pass over the bottle and she uncorks it easily. She returns the corkscrew to the group and I wait for her to settle before saying, “We don’t have glasses.”
“Ugh.” She groans dramatically, slumping against the wall.
I laugh and place my hand on her thigh, “We can just share, freckles.” Her soft skin under my palm is inviting and I can’t help myself from brushing my fingers against her smooth skin. Her eyes widen at my ministrations, her mouth parting.
I could easily lean forward just slightly and capture those lips with my own.
“Here.” I hand her the wine and watch as she brings the stem of the bottle to her mouth.
“Have you ever done this before?” she asks, looking away.
“Drink wine out of the bottle?” I ask, taking it from her. “Once or twice.”
“Very funny,” she replies. “Have you ever worked in Paris before?”
“I haven’t, but I’ve come with Pip for Fashion Week a few times. Not my kind of thing usually but it was alright.” I look out at the setting sun as it bathes the banks of the Seine in beautiful pink and gold. “What about you? You worked here before?”
“No,” she says. “I came here to visit my aunt once or twice as a teenager but then my mum stopped speaking to her and I haven’t been here since.”
“What did they stop speaking?”
Anya shrugs. “I have no idea. I was too young to get it and it’s too late to bring it up now. Although, mum did reach out about using Claudette’s apartment so who knows? Maybe they’ll make up.”
“What’s your mum like?”
“She’s one of a kind,” Anya smiles. “She’s a French teacher so she’s always complaining about her students, but I know she loves it.”
I see her open her mouth ready to ask about my mother so I jump in with another question before she can.
“So what do you want to do next? After the film, I mean.”
She takes a swig from the bottle and glances at me out the corner of her eye. “Marry rich.”
I laugh and gently nudge her shoulder as I take the bottle for myself, deciding not to think too hard about who her rich husband could be. “I’m serious.”
Anya sighs and looks out on the glimmering river.
“Honestly?” She shrugs. “I don’t know what I want to do. I picked this job when I was seventeen and now I’m twenty four and I’ve barely done anything. This is my first professional job and I’m on babysitting duty.” She glances at me. “No offense.”
I smirk. “None taken.”
“I don’t know. I feel like I placed all my eggs in one basket when I was a teenager and now I’m trapped. Back then I wanted to be a director but now I don’t even know if that’s a genuine life goal, or a dream I just came up with as a child with no concept of what the job actually was or how to get there.”
“You don’t want to work in film anymore?”
“It’s not that. Or it is. I don’t know.” Anya leans her head back on the wall and reaches her hand for the wine. I pass it to her. “I guess I’m still working it out.” She takes a sip from the bottle. “What about you?”
I snort. “What about me?”
“Will I be seeing you at the Oscars one day?’”
I laugh. “I doubt it.”
“What are you talking about?” Anya exclaims. “You’ll definitely get one one day.”
“Maybe if Better You Know has a sequel.” It has the desired effect when Anya giggles. I want to record the sound and listen to it every day.
Once her laughter dies down, her smile causing her eyes to crinkle in the corners, the words tumble out of me. “I feel the same.”
She looks at me, confusion etched on her face. “Trapped.”
Her eyes study my face, searching for the lie.
“Well, what would you want to do?” She finally asks. “If you could do anything.”
I laugh, rubbing my hand across my face. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, there must be something. Selling whiskey, hosting a podcast—”
“Music.” I blurt out. I pinch my eyes shut. I can’t believe I just said that.
“That’s a great idea! Composing your own music?”
I gape at her, my head tilting in a jerky nod. This conversation has run away from me. I never thought I would confess this side of me, let alone to my bossy assistant. What are the odds she’ll let this go?
“Is that what you’ve been writing in your trailer?”
Not likely to let it go then. I’m stunned.
“What?” she asks, fidgeting. “Was it a secret?”
“No,” I say, quietly. “I’ve never tried to hide it, but no one has ever noticed.”
I take a swig from the bottle.
“You didn’t have music lessons or anything?”
“Oh, I had lessons. My father was all about making sure my education was well rounded. But it was made very clear to me that I had one avenue to take and that was this one.”
“So, you were forced to act?”
I nod. “I wasn’t forced, more like I was put on this path and then all of a sudden I couldn’t get off it again.”
“Do you like acting?”
I let out my breath. “I don’t know if I like any of it. But it’s been brought to my attention that millions of people would kill for my job, so I can’t complain too much.” I watch as a faint blush rises beneath her freckles.
“Well, there must be something you like about it.”
“I like this job.” I rest my head against the wall and turn to look at her. The setting sun picks up the reddish strands in her hair. I could spend the rest of my life picking out the rust color strands.
Suddenly, Anya stumbles to her feet.
“Where are you going?”
“Uhm,” she says, her hands flapping. “I had a cramp.”
I raise an eyebrow and catch her flailing hand. My fingers smooth down to grab her wrist. I gently tug until she’s back down with me, but the force of the motion almost pulls her into her lap. She readjusts at the right moment and collapses next to me, close. Too close.
“We haven’t finished the wine,” I say softly.
She nods and swigs the rest of the bottle. I would be impressed if I didn’t think she was trying to distract herself. “Music right?”
“Music?”
“I’ve heard of somewhere near here. Let’s go.” She stands again, holding her hand out as if to pull me to my feet. I don’t need her help but the prospect of holding her hand is one I won’t give up easily.