Chapter Eleven
Eleven
We spend the rest of the morning rehearsing.
Just me, Violet, and Ronan on the edge of the cliff behind the main house.
It’s the scene in which Mrs. Semple chats with Daisy while sketching her, right before they spot their boat adrift.
Poor planning on Ronan’s part. It’s hard to pretend there’s a way off this island when, for the time being, I know there isn’t.
Also hard: trying to forget what Susie said she heard last night.
On top of what I heard, and how that same message was inexplicably spelled out on the parlor table this morning.
And the fact that neither Loretta nor Brad is back yet and that Julianne possibly thinks it was all Azra’s doing.
Hardest of all, though, is acting opposite Violet, who did indeed show up on time and off book.
I feel like an idiot holding my script with one hand while trying to pretend I don’t need to peek at every line.
As a result, my performance is stilted and weak.
Especially when compared to Violet, who slips effortlessly into character.
One second, I’m talking to Violet Wright, charming movie star.
The next, it’s Ruth Hume Semple seated on a rock in front of me, saying lines lifted directly from Daisy’s diary as if they’re being spoken for the first time.
“What are your thoughts about Azra?”
I check my script. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Stop there,” Ronan says.
I tense up, humiliated. If I can’t get even one line right—during rehearsal, no less—there’s no way I’m going to be able to act my way through an entire movie.
When Ronan kneels beside me, an arm around my shoulder, I’m certain I’m about to be fired.
Instead, he says, “It’s okay to be nervous.
And it’s okay to mess up. That’s part of the process. ”
“We all do it,” Violet says, ignoring the fact that her line reading was flawless.
“Now, what do you think Daisy means with that line?” Ronan says.
“Um, that she doesn’t want to talk about it?”
Ronan smiles, his teeth as blindingly white as his oxford shirt.
He looks both of-the-moment handsome and utterly timeless.
The reincarnation of Cary Grant. I spend a millisecond wondering if Susie’s right about him being smitten before dismissing it.
Ronan’s my director. It’s his job to pay attention to one of his lead actresses.
Just like it’s my job to focus on what he’s saying and not the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
“Or maybe Daisy does want to talk about it,” he says, “but is scared to admit it. Remember, people don’t always mean what they say.
Sometimes they mean the complete opposite.
” He pries the script from my hand and, when I protest, says, “Don’t worry about the words.
Focus on how you feel when saying them.”
We try it again, and this time I follow his advice, zeroing in on the way Susie acted in the parlor earlier. The bitchy front she put on when, deep down, she was also trying to understand what happened there last night.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say, adding a nervous spin, as if I’m worried Mrs. Semple will realize I’m lying.
“My dear, you must,” Violet replies with the perfect amount of maternal pressure. “There must be a reason Azra communicated with us.”
In that moment, everything clicks in a way that I can only describe as alchemy.
I’m no longer Marin Keane, struggling-in-every-way actress.
I’m Daisy Rue, frightened yet fascinated by what’s happening on this island and seeking comfort, information, and validation from the person who brought me here, all while pretending I’m not.
“And what reason would that be?” I ask Violet, who’s channeling Mrs. Semple so well I can’t tell the difference between them.
“Clearly, Azra has something to say.”
“I don’t care,” I say, when I do. I feel the desire to know more all the way down to my core, even though I remain frightened. “I don’t want to hear from Azra ever again.”
Violet nods, as if she understands the tug-of-war taking place inside me. Like she knows because she’s gone through it herself. “Sometimes we are forced to listen to things we don’t want to hear.”
Ronan stands, breaking the spell. “That,” he says, “was fucking perfect.”
Later, after Violet returns to the house, he stays behind, nudging me until there’s room for two of us on the rock.
“You doing okay? In spite of all this?” He throws his arms open, gesturing to the lake spreading out for miles beyond the vertical drop of the cliff.
“I’m worried,” I say. “We should have heard something by now.”
“I know. Hopefully everything is okay and Loretta’s on her way back this very minute.”
Ronan stares out at the lake, as if Loretta will appear if he looks for her hard enough.
Because all that water reminds me of how isolated we are, I turn in the other direction, to the house rising behind us.
From our spot on the rock, I can see the parlor’s ornate wall of windows.
Faintly visible beyond it is the table where the séance took place.
“Who was Elise?” I say.
“A girl I once knew,” Ronan says with a nervous tug of his neckerchief. “Elise Haines. She was an actress. Well, an aspiring one.”
Just like me, I think. A foolish dreamer hoping for a big break. I assume hers never came—and that it’s now too late.
“When did she die?”
“Two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning for both his loss and my prying. Still, I can’t keep from asking a follow-up question. “Were the two of you close?”
Surprisingly, based on his reaction during the séance, Ronan needs a moment to think about it. “Yeah, for a little bit,” he finally says. “Then not so much. I know I went a little nuts last night. Hearing her name was such a shock. And, well, I guess I overreacted.”
He certainly did, although I can’t fault him for that. I was equally shocked to see Molly’s name spelled out on that table, as were all the others when it came to their lost loved ones. Only Susie got to avoid the experience, but she was unnerved in a different way.
You will be first.
The opposite of the message I’d received, both whispered last night and spelled out on the table this morning.
Which, the more I think about it, couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Even though it looked like I was the first person in the parlor this morning, that might not be the case.
Someone else could have been there earlier, arranging the letters on the table just so, hoping I’d find them.
“Please be honest,” I say. “You’re not still continuing with the tricks even though Brad’s gone, are you?”
“What? God, no. I was hesitant to even do it in the first place. I worried it would, I don’t know, make people not trust me. Especially you.”
“Me? Why?”
Ronan nudges my shoulder with his. “Because we’re a team. Yes, the others are part of it, too. But it’s different with them.”
“Different how?” I say as my heart rate ticks up a notch.
“Daisy’s the most important character. Which means you’re the most important actress. Don’t tell that to the others, though. Especially Violet.”
I nod. “It’ll be just between us.”
Now I understand why so many actresses have fallen in love with their directors. There’s an intimacy there. You have to trust each other, be vulnerable, reveal parts of yourself that you wouldn’t share with anyone else. Because of all that vulnerability, you also need to feel safe.
I feel safe with Ronan.
I have since the moment we met.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For being so patient with me earlier. I was nervous.”
“I could tell.”
“I just want to do a good job. I don’t want you to regret casting me.”
“Regret meeting you?” Ronan says. “Never.”
He pats my knee, letting his hand rest there just long enough to give me a pleasurable jolt. Is he…flirting with me?
“We should head back,” he says. “Don’t want the others to think we got lost.”
I stand, slightly weak from, well, literally everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.
When I take a step, my right foot catches on the hem of my skirt, throwing me off balance.
I feel myself tilting—fast. A second later, I’m on the ground, rolling on my back like a dying bug as sharp pain shoots up my leg.
Ronan’s there in a flash, helping me sit up, the motion making my leg hurt more. I hike up my skirt and see that the same knee he just patted got scraped in the fall and is now oozing blood. I try to touch it, but Ronan stops me.
“Wait, let me clean it,” he says as he starts to unbutton his shirt.
He strips it off, revealing the kind of physique you’d expect from someone playing Superman and not the guy who could direct it. Impressive biceps. Broad chest. Eight-pack abs, for God’s sake. It would all be jarring if it wasn’t also, well, hot.
I try not to stare—much—as he folds the shirt into a square and presses it against my knee. Blood instantly seeps into the pristine white fabric, painting it red.
“I’m ruining your shirt,” I say, allowing myself another peek at his sculpted torso. “You should have used your bandana.”
Ronan gives the neckerchief another tug, embarrassed this time. Almost as if he’s just realized he’s half naked. “Shit, I didn’t even think of that. Too late now, I guess. That’s one shirt ruined. Lucky for me, I have a dozen more just like it. How does the knee feel? Think you can walk?”
“I’m fine,” I say, adding, in a horrible British accent, “It’s just a flesh wound.”
Ronan laughs, which is more surprising than his eight-pack. And, in a weird way, sexier. “God, I love that movie,” he says. “Must have seen it a hundred times.”
“Me, too,” I say, suddenly struck with the urge to tell him that I watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail so much because it was one of the few things that made my parents laugh. Instead, I say, “Now we really do need to head back. I’ll try not to trip again.”
“I won’t allow it,” Ronan says, lifting me up and literally sweeping me off my feet. “Can’t risk any more injury to my leading lady.”
He carries me all the way to my cottage while I keep his shirt pressed against my knee. Even though it’s not very far, I feel self-conscious being so openly manhandled by someone without a shirt. A shy bachelorette at a Chippendales show.
The good part? Only one person sees it.
The bad part? That person is Susie, languidly sitting on her cottage porch, vape in hand. She watches intently as Ronan lowers me onto my own porch and says, “Here we are. You all good?”
I check my knee and see the bleeding has stopped. “Right as rain.”
“Excellent.” Ronan takes his shirt and bows his head. “Well, Marin Keane, it was a pleasure rehearsing with you.”
Susie watches him leave, waiting until he’s out of sight to give me an I told you so nod.
The jury’s still out on that.
But I do know one thing.
Even if Ronan Peters isn’t smitten with me, I wouldn’t mind it if he was.