4. Sienna
Sienna
Iopen up the curtains the next morning and see dark clouds hanging over the mountain tops. I really hope it doesn’t snow—I love the beauty of it, but I don’t do cold weather anymore.
I flip on the TV in hopes of finding something cute and easy to watch.
I don’t know the first thing about taking it easy, since I’ve never really been given the opportunity, but I start by putting on under-eye patches.
Something needs to be done about these bags.
They’re getting worse each day. Give it another week, and an interviewer will be mentioning how I look like a panda, implying that I’m too heartbroken over the whole Holden situation to sleep.
They wouldn’t be lying, but I’d rather not have that type of gossip circulating if I can help it. I’m trying to get myself back on track—not derail things for myself even more.
“Several blizzard warnings have been issued in various parts of the San Bernardino Mountain range. Please take extra caution.”
I sip on my green tea and glance up at the TV.
It’ll be a real shame if I get snowed in and can’t make the meeting on Monday…
I finish the tea and throw on a fresh robe, heading out of my hotel room. A gentle piano melody welcomes me back into the spa. I find the heated infinity pool outside, unbelt my rope and slip into warmth.
Mineral water envelops me and I inhale the essential oils all around, feeling cleansed by lavender and the smell of pine from the nearby forest. I sink gratefully into a state of bliss for a moment.
It’s nice to be alone without others around, taking photos of me.
They almost always get the wrong angles.
Of course, the joys of enjoying something alone are short-lived when you’re Sienna Lane. Even way up here in the mountains, I can’t catch a break.
Two women join me in the pool, and although they’re far enough away for it not to feel awkward, my skin prickles as soon as they open their mouths and start talking about me.
“That’s her,” whispers one to the other.
Aside from the sloshing water as they move around in the pool, all I hear is them. And my own heartbeat thumping like crazy in my chest.
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. She must be going through a rough patch.”
“Her acting was atrocious.”
“Agreed. Apart from when she was begging for Christopher to go faster.”
The women start giggling.
I keep my gaze fixated on the valley below, hoping that they’ll go away. It’s obvious that they think they’re talking low enough that I can’t hear them.
I’m so stupid for thinking that I could actually catch a break up here and go unrecognized for even a small amount of time.
“Every actor in Hollywood has their time,” one of them says. “They go after fame, let it go to their head, until they eventually lose it. It’s so insufferable. Even when they’re playing a character on screen, you can’t separate the art from the artist.”
“There is no art,” says the other. “Not anymore.”
“What the hell are those shoes, Sienna?” mocks one of the brattiest girls in my class.
“Cut her some slack!” adds another. “She doesn’t have parents. That’s why all her clothes are thrifted.”
“Like that totally adds up. Didn’t they leave you any money behind?”
My heart rattles, my throat closing up.
“Sienna?”
I walk away, too numb to speak, to do anything but lock myself away in the bathroom stall and cry.
The empty feeling in my chest has to go away. It can’t be this way forever.
One day I’ll show them what I’m made of.
I hear the click of a camera and jump out of the pool.
I quickly return to my hotel room. Fuck this. How the hell am I supposed to relax when everyone’s seen the new movie and agrees that I’m the biggest flop ever?
And to top it all off, people still think I’m in love with Holden. Which is absolutely true. But my acting skills are supposed to be good enough to hide that.
Locking the door behind me, I crash on my bed. My hair is sopping wet, dripping all over Egyptian cotton sheets that are now soaked, but I couldn’t give a damn about anything else other than my life being over.
I could fly somewhere remote, disappear from society for a while, but it’s hard to do that when flying makes me so anxious I vomit. Literally.
My mom died in a plane crash, and anytime I get on a plane, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Flying is out of the equation, unless completely necessary…
I don’t want to be here anymore but where the hell am I supposed to go?
I stuff my belongings in my bag, put my wet hair up in a bun and put on my huge sunglasses.
Of course, no matter how big the sunglasses are, I’m still recognized by someone. And one person is all it takes for the entire room’s attention to be on me.
I’m in the lobby when it begins…
“Sienna Lane!”
“Have you talked to Holden Gray since he got engaged?”
“When does filming for the next movie start?”
I try to drown out the noise, but it’s hard to ignore when your worst fears are coming to fruition.
I hear the “whispers” now from onlookers: “What happened to her acting?” and “she’s not looking like she used to.”
No shit, old man. That’s because girls aren’t sixteen forever.
Panic explodes, my chest tightening as I rush through the lobby, dodging flashing cameras and another group of paparazzi that have just arrived on scene.
I speed away in my Bentley convertible, leaving with more tension than I arrived with. I make it to the intersection, looking left and right. I have two options: up or down the mountain.
Down will only lead me to more drama, more noise.
The only chance I have to escape is up, away from it all.
I make a sharp right and head for the heavens before the press can catch up to me. Snow starts to fall, and my stomach clenches. What if I really do get snowed in up here?
I press on the gas pedal and start my ascent up the mountain. The radio announcer runs a weather report, and it feels like he’s personally warning me about the incoming blizzard as I climb higher.
Safety can suck my ass today.
And the news always dramatizes everything anyway, so I’m sure it’s no biggie. I get rid of the news and put on my favorite new band. Yes… that’s better.
The snow starts to fall harder.
My window wipers do their best. I increase the setting and ease off the gas a little, starting to see a build-up of snow on the road.
I speed up and slow right back down to prepare to round the next corner.
The higher I climb, the sharper the turns get. I gulp and hope that my nervous stomach doesn’t get the better of me.
I fly right past a heavy snow warning sign, deciding it’s just more drama. I’m sure there will be some quaint bed and breakfast soon that I can check into, and no one will recognize me.
I bring my attention back to the road in front of me, pressing harder on the gas. The Bentley is handling the snowy roads pretty well, considering I rarely drive it outside of always-sunny LA.
I don’t know much about driving at this kind of elevation, but so far, things seem to be okay. I take it steady around each bend…
Until a fallen tree appears out of nowhere and I’m forced to pull an emergency-stop. The car skids on the ice. I duck my head, bracing for the worst, heart going crazy in my chest.
I suck in a breath and release it only when I know I dodged the tree.
Maybe I should turn around…
“She must be going through a rough spell.”
“There is no art.”
Holden on one knee when I’m still so painfully in love with him…
I step on the gas and keep going.
That’s when the snow becomes a problem.
Here comes the blizzard.
I dig my fingernails into the steering wheel and brace for the worst. Two days ago, that would’ve meant breaking a nail.
But now I’m faced with life or death.
Wind howls through the mountains, the snow taking flight. It slams into my windshield and my wipers are going crazy, but there’s too much snow.
All I can do is keep my hands locked on the steering wheel and hope there’s not much longer to go before I’m on the other side of the mountain. The wind should be calmer on that side.
I glance through the side mirror again. Terrible idea. My stomach rolls over with nausea, and I’m unable to tell if I feel like vomiting because of the altitude sickness or because I’m paralyzed with fear.
I need to concentrate. But the rational side of my brain is being overshadowed by hard, cold fear.
I’d rather not die today if I can help it.
I regain some focus but totally lose it again when the literal ground disappears, like someone has slid a carpet out from under me. My car falls for half a second, my stomach going with it.
I land safely on solid ground, but there’s no way of knowing yet if I’m safe.
I keep my foot on the brake pedal for a moment and weigh up my options. The wind howls even more aggressively than before. If Mother Nature could calm her shit for a moment, I might actually stand a chance of surviving this.
I exhale a few breaths and go again… except my wheels are turning and not going anywhere. I try again and get the same result.
I kick open the door. And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.
I’m snowed in.
“Fuck!” I panic and slam the car door again.
Let’s try this again.
Slamming my foot back down onto the pedal, I wait for a miracle. But it doesn’t come. The engine grumbles, climbing higher, getting ready to finally accelerate. But aside from my rev counter venturing into the red zone, there’s no movement.
I grab my phone and realize I have zero cell service. I’ve got no way to tell Jules that I won't be at that meeting tomorrow.
I can’t even call mountain rescue to come and get me.
Fuck.
I push open the car door again and step out into chaos, a different kind than the one I’m used to and right now, I’ve got to say, I’d rather be walking a red carpet.
To make matters worse, my Dior slingbacks are officially ruined from all the aggressive pedal-slamming I was doing. And they were a limited edition.
I wade through the heavy snow, making it to the trunk of my car. Pushing from the rear might be my only shot at getting out of here.
I give it a big heave, though they don’t really prepare you for this kind of thing in Pilates.
I growl like an animal when my nail breaks. Now I’m one nail down and still no closer to getting anywhere.
“Excuse me, miss?” calls a very deep masculine voice.
I turn and see a figure approaching through the snow. Walking through it is no real challenge for him, given his height and the tree trunks he has for legs.
Shit.
The broken nail can wait. I think I’m about to be murdered.
The snow stops blowing for a second, and his face comes into view.
And suddenly I’m on board with the idea of being murdered.
The unbuttoned shirt he’s wearing flaps open in the wind, revealing impressive muscles that definitely have to be fake. I’d have to run a hand over him to check.
There’s dirt smeared all over his clothes. The same goes for his face, which is even more jaw-dropping than the body.
My pulse quickens, and it’s not because I’m stuck out in the middle of a blizzard. It’s hard to know if I’m out of breath because of the fear of the unknown or because of how drop-dead gorgeous this man is.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Lines appear between his brows as he stares down at me. Yeah, down. Because he’s a whole foot taller than I am, probably more, when I take off these Diors.
It’s a question I don’t know how to answer, so I open and close my mouth a few times like a fish out of water and wait for my mind to catch up.
It finally does.
But now all I’m thinking about is what I wanna do to that body.