22. Erika
ERIKA
Morning light slanted through the shutters, striping the sheets in pale gold. Erika had slept maybe two hours. Her phone woke her. Anneliese’s name on the screen.
Annie Banana:
Rise and shine, sis! I just finished PT. My leg feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. But the hot nurse with the forearms? Worth it. How’s my doppelg?nger doing with Satan Cruz?
Eri:
It’s fine.
Annie Banana:
“Fine”? That’s it? Did you post the thing yet?
Her throat tightened. The “thing.” First came the blind items, sources say Cruz demanded top billing over Morgan. But now Anneliese wanted more. A full takedown post, drafted and waiting in her sister’s notes app, ready to torch Stefan Cruz.
Eri:
Not yet.
Annie Banana:
Eri. #Stennalise is trending. TRENDING. People are making fan edits. Writing fanfiction. Acting like he’s some kind of romantic hero instead of the snake who tried to destroy my career. We need to shut this down.
Eri:
I just think with Isabelle coming—
Annie Banana:
It’s the PERFECT time. Post it today. Before the narrative gets away from us completely.
Erika read the message twice, resistance settling into her.
A week ago, she might have done it without question.
Anneliese asked; Erika delivered. That was how it had always worked.
But a week ago, she hadn’t stood in a villa with Stefan’s hand warm against her jaw.
Hadn’t felt the word real hit her in his mouth like he’d been waiting to use it.
Eri:
What actually happened at the Temmys?
Annie Banana:
What?
Eri:
You’ve never told me. Not really. Just that he humiliated you. But HOW?
The typing dots pulsed for a moment.
Annie Banana:
He made me look like a fool in front of everyone who mattered. Isn’t that enough?
It wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere close to enough. But Erika knew her sister enough to recognize the wall going up.
Eri:
I don’t think I can post it, Annie.
Annie Banana:
Can’t or won’t?
Both. The word sat on her tongue. She deleted three different responses before settling on something safer.
Eri:
It doesn’t feel right. Not without knowing the whole story.
Annie Banana:
The whole story is that he’s a manipulative, ambitious, self-serving asshole who will use anyone to get ahead. Including you, Eri. ESPECIALLY you.
Annie Banana:
I’ve watched him do this before. Get close to someone. Make them feel special. Then twist it into something he can use. He’s GOOD at it. It’s literally his job—making people believe things that aren’t real.
Annie Banana:
Don’t let him play you the way he played me. Please.
Anneliese never said please. She demanded, she maneuvered, but she didn’t ask. The word hung there on the screen.
Eri:
I’ll think about it.
She wouldn’t. She knew that even as she typed it. The past week had shifted something finally loosening. She wasn’t ready to confront Anneliese directly. But she also wasn’t going to destroy a man’s reputation just because her sister asked nicely.
Annie Banana:
That’s my girl. Anyway. Speaking of men who complicate things . . . Bradley Smart just texted. He’s “in the neighborhood” and wants to stop by. Thoughtful, right?
Her head spun.
Eri:
Bradley? The guy who bailed on this movie?
Annie Banana:
He didn’t bail, Eri. He had a breakdown. And for the record, he’s the only one who knows I’m here. He tracked down the retreat last week to apologize in person.
Eri:
He tracked you down? Annie, if he knows you’re in Malibu, he knows I’m a fake in the Bahamas.
Annie Banana:
He’s a sweetheart, not a snitch. He promised to keep our secret. Besides, have you SEEN his jawline?
Eri:
The same Bradley who cost the studio millions and stuck you with Stefan? And now he’s visiting? What aren’t you telling me?
Annie Banana:
Gotta go! PT round 2. Love you, mean it!
The last text sat on her screen. Annie had deflected about Bradley twice now. Changed the subject both times. Erika stared at “Read 7:23 a.m.” anger building.
Her sister was hiding something. And Erika wondered if Anneliese’s version of events wasn’t the only one.
A knock startled her. She yanked open the door to find Lily balancing two coffees, sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair.
“Jesus Christ.” Lily thrust a cup forward. “You look like roadkill in designer pajamas.”
“Last night Stefan almost kissed me.” The words scraped out. “Not Anneliese. Me. He looked at me like—” She stopped. “And I wanted him to.”
Lily’s coffee stopped halfway to her mouth. She shouldered past Erika into the villa, kicking the door shut behind her. “Back up. All the way up. Almost kissed you—as in, he wanted to kiss Erika? Not the character, not the performance?”
“He sees me, Lily. The real me.” Erika wrapped both hands around the coffee cup. “And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
Lily was quiet for a beat—which was more alarming than any reaction Erika had prepared for. “He’s a lot of things—cocky, infuriating, way too aware of his own cheekbones—but he’s not a schemer,” Lily said finally. “If he wanted to burn you, he would’ve done it already.”
“Annie thinks he’s playing me. She texted this morning.”
“I’m going to say something, and I need you to hear it.
” Lily set down her cup. “I love Annie. She’s been my best client for five years, and I’d take a bullet for that woman.
But sometimes she’s so blinded by her own brand that she can’t see past it.
” She paused. “Annie sees threat because that’s how her world works.
Everything’s leverage. But not everyone operates like that. ”
“That’s a big bet on a man I’ve known for three weeks.”
“It’s a bigger bet to push him away when Isabelle Vance just landed on this island.
” Lily’s voice shifted into that calm, strategic register.
“Stefan knows Anneliese better than anyone on this set. The mannerisms, the deflections, the bullshit. If he’s willing to help, we use that.
He coaches you today. You become so convincingly Anneliese that Isabelle can’t find a single crack. ”
Erika stared into her coffee. Using Stefan meant trusting him. And trusting him meant last night wasn’t just adrenaline.
Lily pulled her to her feet. “Time to get dressed. You’ve got a role to play.”
The set was already humming when they arrived. Grips hauling cable, the AD’s voice carrying across the sand. Stefan stood by a PA getting mic’d up for the day’s shoot.
When he turned and caught her staring, the corner of his mouth lifted. She looked away too fast. Peripherally, she caught Lily’s subtle nod from the edge of the set. Two minutes later, his shadow fell across her call sheet.
“You’re staring at my ass.” His breath was warm against her ear, close enough to make her jump. “I’m flattered, but people will talk.”
“I was reviewing blocking.” She spun around, nearly colliding with his chest. He’d pulled on a shirt. Unbuttoned, because apparently, he was allergic to modesty.
Her fingers itched to sketch the way the fabric fell open across his collarbone. Purely for artistic purposes. Obviously. “Not everything is about you.”
“Mm.” His eyes dropped to the call sheet in her hands, then traveled back up. Cataloging her the same way she’d been cataloging him. “You always review blocking upside down?”
She glanced down. Goddammit. She flipped it, cheeks burning. “The light’s bad.”
“The light’s perfect.” A gust of wind whipped across the set, snapping tarps. Stefan didn’t flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on her face. “You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you.” The shadows under his eyes matched her own. “Guilty conscience?”
“Something like that.” He steered her toward the equipment trucks, one hand at the small of her back. “Before Martin decides to grace us with his charming personality.”
In the shadow of a grip truck, the wind dropped. Stefan turned to face her.
“Martin’s been telling the studio you’re slipping, ‘inconsistent’ was his word.
Don’t give him ammunition.” He adjusted the collar of her costume, fingertips grazing her collarbone.
“Isabelle’s going to come at you sideways—the PLUMP party, your ‘recovery,’ why you’ve been quiet on socials.
She collects gossip like currency, so when she pushes, you do what Anneliese does best. Redirect.
Give her something shiny to chase that isn’t you.
Feed her someone else’s scandal and she’ll forget she came for yours. ”
“You’ve thought about this a lot for someone who claims he’s not my protector.”
“Call it self-preservation. If you go down, I will lose my best scene partner.” His hand lingered at her collar. “And my best critic.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Cruz! Morgan!” Martin’s megaphone crackled across the set. “Chase sequence, market, pier jump—all of it before those clouds open up. Move, people!”
“You remember the blocking?”
“Run. Don’t die. Somehow end up in your arms.” She shot him a look. “Seems straightforward.”
His laugh was low. “There she is.” His hand found the curve of her spine, brief, grounding. “Forget Martin. Forget the crew. Just keep your eyes on me and your feet under you. The rest takes care of itself.”
“ACTION!”
Erika ran and sand grabbed at her feet, sucking her down with every step.
Her calf muscles screamed. A vendor cart loomed out of nowhere.
She threw herself sideways, shoulder clipping a tower of mangoes that exploded across the path behind her.
Shouts in three languages. A chicken shrieked and launched itself at her face. She ducked, stumbled, kept moving.
Where is he, where is he, where—
“LEFT!” Stefan’s voice cut through the chaos. His hand closed around her upper arm, yanking her sideways just as a motorcycle roared through the space she’d been occupying half a second before.
They plunged into the market: bodies everywhere—extras playing shoppers, real locals who’d wandered into frame. A fish stall appeared in front of her. She vaulted it without thinking, hands slapping wet scales. Silk scarves tangled around her arms, blinding her. She tore through them—
Stefan was there. Right there. His palm pressed flat against her back, steady and sure.
“You’re doing great.” His voice was low against her ear. “Pier’s twenty yards. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t stop.
They burst out of the market into gray light and open air. The wind hit her like a wall. The pier stretched ahead, weathered wood, gaps between the planks, and at the end—
Ten feet of empty air gaped between the sections of broken pier. Below it, rocks. Churning water. A fall that would break bones if she missed the mat.
Her steps faltered. Her toes curled against the wood.
Stefan crashed into her from behind, his chest against her back, fingers lacing through hers. “Remember what I said—eyes on me, feet under you.” His grip tightened. “One. Two—”
He launched them both before three could leave his lips. The world dropped away.
Wind screamed past her ears. Her stomach lurched into her throat. She was falling, flying. Stefan’s arm locked around her waist, his body curling around hers, his heartbeat drumming against her skin.
Please, please, please—
They hit the mat and the impact punched the air from her lungs. She lay there, fighting for air, staring at the gray sky overhead, every inch of her humming.
“CUT!” Martin’s megaphone crackled. “Reset for coverage—and someone get me that angle again, the light was perfect!”
Scattered applause broke out. Erika’s chest heaved. She turned her head and found Stefan’s face inches from hers. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere behind her sternum. Half relief, half joy. She flung her arms around his neck.
His arms came around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. He spun her, feet dangling, his laughter shaking them both. When he set her down, he didn’t let go.
Someone wolf-whistled and they flew apart as if the contact burned.
Heat rushed to her face. The set snapped back into focus. Half the crew stood frozen. Martin slack-jawed behind his monitor. Lily caught her eye from the edge of the set; one eyebrow raised to her hairline.
“Sorry.” She stepped back and found her footing. “The blocking called for contact. I was committed to the scene.”
“Committed.” Stefan’s mouth twitched. He raised his voice for the crew. “Someone tell Morgan that committed doesn’t mean tackling your costar off a pier.”
“Someone tell Cruz his ego barely fit on that pier in the first place.”
The set creaked back into motion as Martin barked orders about coverage, the strange spell breaking. But when Erika turned to head toward the monitors, Stefan caught her elbow.
“Hey.” His voice was low, just for her. “That fish stall vault, where the hell did that come from? Anneliese would’ve filed a lawsuit.” His thumb swiped a fish scale off her shoulder. “Not bad, Morgan.”
She didn’t trust her voice. Just nodded, warmth spread through her chest. She’d refused the takedown. She’d questioned the Temmys. She’d jumped off a pier because a man she was supposed to hate told her he’d catch her. And he had.