11. Sienna #2
My appetite fades as soon as I see the message, the fork falling from my hand and crashing to the plate with a clang.
“Trouble in paradise?” says Cash, at it again with the malicious remarks.
“Something like that,” I mutter absentmindedly, too focused on the dread spreading through my body to give a damn about his obvious hatred of me and Hollywood.
Honestly, I’m starting to feel the same way. Especially when I see the notifications roll through.
There are emails from the costume designers and other people I’m supposed to have met with.
My dialect coach keeps pestering me with emails, reminding me that I need to see her immediately.
I blame the director. He’s the one who said I needed to work with a dialogue coach, because apparently my British accent in the first Hearts For You movie didn’t land well, and lots of British watchers were offended.
The only people capable of pulling off a Yorkshire accent and making it sound believable are those from the area.
I bring a hand to my temple, breakfast now abandoned. It tastes better than homemade diner food, which says a lot, but I can’t stomach another bite. Not with all this noise buzzing around in my head.
“Is everything okay?” Knox leans forward, concern etched between his brows.
“Everything’s fine,” I sigh, climbing off the barstool. “I have some work calls to make. I’ll be right back.”
I ring Jules as soon as I’m out onto the porch, my pulse pounding.
The sun is shining, but it’s not powerful enough to melt the snow. And I’m kind of glad. It gives me an excuse to avoid responsibility for another day. I’m not in the right headspace to return to LA. Not yet.
The second I step foot in that city, I’ll have cameras in my face, my pushy dialect coach to deal with, and so much other shit to work through.
And that’s before I even bring Holden into the equation.
I’m not filming the sequel with him. They couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to have me pretend-fuck him again.
“Jules?” My heart is in my throat by the time she picks up.
“Sienna? Jesus, where the hell are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her.
“Tell me where you are. I saw the pictures they took as you were leaving the spa. You looked totally distraught.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Because I wanted to get away from the noise, but it has a tendency to follow me around wherever I go.” I pause, debating whether to tell her about my location. She’d flip. “Until now.”
“Until now?” Jules repeats. I hear traffic in the background, blaring horns and grumbling engines. I feel glad to be out here, away from it all. “What do you mean by that? Are you alone?”
“Not exactly…” I grimace, peering into the steamed-up window. “I’m with some men. They took me in.”
“Sienna.” Jules' voice turns concerned. “Where in god’s name are you?”
“At the top of the San Bernardino Mountains.”
“You’re at the top of the… What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?”
Up for debate.
“I don’t know what to tell you. After the premiere on Thursday, I was totally out of my mind. Like I told you, I needed a break.” I stare into space as I sum up my weekend to Jules, my chest getting heavier just talking about it.
“People recognized me at the spa and started shitting on my acting. A full team of paparazzi showed up, and I knew I needed to get out of there. I didn’t know where to go. I felt worse than I did before I left the city.”
“So, let me get this straight—you chose to ignore the weather warnings and drove into a blizzard?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t thinking straight and needed to get away.” I clutch my throat, feeling it close up.
Jules sighs. “I know. I get it.” She changes her tone. “Please tell me you’re safe. Who are these men?”
Another story for another time.
“They live up here and seem nice enough. One of them has a nephew who’s probably about four. He’s super cute.”
“What’s the forecast up there looking like? When are you able to return?
“I’m not sure. The snow’s still up to my knees.”
“Message me as soon as you find out. I have your costume designer and dialect coach bombarding me with calls and emails. Do you have access to the script so I can let the coach know that you’re at least making a start on learning your lines?”
I grimace, feeling sick to my stomach just thinking about the lines. “Yeah. I think I have access.”
“Okay, good, I’ll let them know,” says Jules. “That should keep them quiet for a few days. In the meantime, while you’re stuck, get some rest up there. At least you got your mountain retreat after all,” says Jules, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. “What about the guys? Any of them hot?”
“Um…” I gulp. “Let’s just say I’m not thinking about Holden up here.”
Jules squeals. “How hot are we talking on a scale of one to ten?”
“Fifteen.”
“O-M-G! Make sure you use a condom.”
Honestly, these men probably don’t even know what a condom is.
“Yeah, I will. Promise. And you know what makes this better? They don’t know who I am.”
Jules goes quiet on the other end of the phone.
I know her too well. It’s easy for me to read her mind, even from the top of the San Bernardino Mountains.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to move up here.
The men are hot, and they treat me like I’m normal…
kind of, but there's nothing up here. I can’t find a Pilates studio or a place to get a green juice. ”
Jules sucks in a breath. Finally, someone who understands my pain. “I miss you,” she says. “Make sure you get your ass back down here as soon as the snow clears.” A blaring horn drills through the phone. “Shit, I gotta go. Keep in touch, okay?”
I end the call and stare into the distance. Eventually, I decide to head back to my own cabin.
I swear Jules is the only good thing in LA.
My chest tightens the more I think about going back.
Even after a few days, there will be questions and interviews— people snapping photos of me and plastering them all over social media, saying how unwell I look after being caught in a blizzard.
No, honey—that’s just my face, a visual representation of how I feel about being back in the city.
I walk into my cabin, intending to shake off the anxiety with a Pilates session. For the time being, I’ll have to tolerate the dust and my leg hitting the couch. The main cabin is occupied, and Cash has a vendetta against me that I’m too emotionally exhausted to deal with for the time being.
I step up into the cabin and switch on the light, waiting for the flicker to settle. Before doing anything else, I take a shower since I slept in my clothes from yesterday. Gross. This has to be the longest I’ve ever worn the same pair of underwear.
I shimmy out of my jeans and step into the shower. It’s a race against time as I wash off before the water turns cold.
I count twenty Mississippis before the hot water turns freezing cold.
And then the bathroom light goes off.
I groan and step out of the shower, dripping wet. I didn’t even get a chance to shampoo my goddamn hair. It’ll be drier than the Mojave Desert tomorrow if I leave it like this without any product in it.